Understanding Personal Boundaries

How can we honor personal boundaries without constructing isolating barriers?

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The concept of strength often feels like a clash of various ideologies that have been shaped and distorted over time. The dictionary definition of strength doesn't resonate with the feeling I hold in my heart. In my view, true strength has little to do with visible muscle or the weight one can lift; it is not something that can be quantified.

There’s no award for surviving the challenges I face, nor is there a rank for navigating life without a roadmap or a manual of survival strategies. My journey through the treacherous landscape of emotions—dodging the mines of self-sabotage and despair—is a skill I take pride in, though I wish it weren’t necessary.

I have endured my own version of hell, grappling with deep sorrow. I understand what it feels like to long for death in my darkest moments, just to escape the daunting light of a new day. I have imagined an end because every new beginning seems overwhelming, filled with the weight of trying, hoping, and believing in something that often feels unattainable.

Initially, I built walls as a means to shield myself from fear and incessant intrusions—a silencer of sorts. In a world rife with the harsh judgments of social media, I became weary and distorted, present yet detached.

A therapist introduced me to the concept of boundaries, equipping me with tools to carve out a space for myself. However, instead of creating an entrance for support, I slowly erected walls of paranoia and resentment, brick by brick. Over time, what began as a protective barrier morphed into a fortress.

As the years went by, my self-confidence dwindled. Each heartbreak, setback, or tough day led me to add more bricks to my walls. There were no openings, no windows, and no signs of life within. My intention was safety, yet after years of self-imposed isolation, I found myself entrenched in solitude, surrounded by dreams left unfulfilled and a structure impenetrable to even faith itself.

I recount this in the past tense because the present is often less glamorous. But the reality is that I still reside in various fortresses, built from the materials I gathered in my quest for purpose and validation. I continue to champion self-preservation and the safeguarding of my heart, treating it as though it were a priceless treasure. Yet, I don’t want to spend my life evading heartbreak and, in turn, miss out on the joy that life offers.