Boundries

Posted on October 17, 2011 by Amy Jane

Apparently they aren’t just about saying *no*.

I pretty much have that down (despite it making me feel like a jerk sometimes), so I’ve not paid close attention to the topic when it comes up.

The study of boundaries (or rather, the person teaching about them) also suggests that I, like everyone, am continually teaching people how to treat me.

Last week I went off on an unorganized verbal riff with a total stranger (that is, we’d just introduced ourselves to each other as we worked in the same garage). Toward the end I felt embarrassed at her patience and made a joke about how “I’m just thinking with my mouth open, feel free to walk away any time.”

But for real, that’s the worst thing she could have done. That’s the sort of thing that completely burns me, and I only said it because I was trying to absolve my felt-foolishness.

Later that evening, in a different (and more organized) exchange, she did just what I had “taught” her and decided it was time for her to leave (albeit, more graciously than just walking away). I had “taught” her that I didn’t care if she listened (or participated) or not, and that was untrue.

But this also means I need to consider how I want to be treated, and subsequently how to convey that.

For me it means being not-flippant, and treating as serious the things that are serious to me. I often criticize (or redirect) Natasha for using “baby talk” when something is disproportionately important to her, or she’s not sure how I will respond. But I think I do the same thing: trying to hold lightly to something when I’m not sure my listener will equally share the weight of it. I make a joke out of something important to me, then feel wounded to watch it tumble.

This is something I want to work on.

Another angle on boundaries that isn’t just saying no, it’s also not saying anything I’m not comfortable saying, or just don’t want to say. The idea that I am allowed to not-share certain thoughts with anybody. (This in contrast within both Christian and the modern culture’s emphasis on being “real” or “genuine” at any/all costs.)

A commenter on this short and thought-provoking post called authenticity and transparency “the most important thing about social media.” Yikes.

But it’s my tendency to agree, and not just about social media. I’ve always acted as though it was my purpose (or at least my job) to be transparent as possible.

A healthy sense of boundaries teaches that nothing about me is public property, or available for mistreatment.

An interesting aspect of The Perilous Gard is how the main character, Kate, refuses to push another character for the inner workings of his (obviously troubled) mind. She feels there ought to be one person in his world who lets him choose how much he’s willing to share. But it’s not like she enjoys it.

“Though she honored his privacy, she resented it very much, always to be shut out…”

This story was the first time I’d ever thought of feelings or inner battles as private property.

And I wonder a bit if any of that came from my time working with foster kids. “Use your words” was the cure-all/preventative for most behavior issues, so openness with everything was strongly reinforced.

But these two new ideas have made me curious to pull out my old book (that I’ve started ~ five times and never finished) to see what else I’ve missed.

Eccentric

Posted on October 14, 2011 by Amy Jane

“Wow,” my mom said when I told her. “I though you had to be way older. That’s really cool.”

Last week someone was describing first-impressions and one of the words he used for me was eccentric.

I mentioned this after church, and one of the women seemed to grow offended or anxious for my sake.

“Did he really know you?” she asked. How could he say that? was all over her tone.

“That wasn’t the point,” I tried to explain, not sure how to say that no matter how he meant it (and I was convinced he meant it in a neutral way), I felt honored by the word.

You see, though I didn’t have the label for it yet (that came about two days later), I was sure eccentric meant strong. It takes a distinct measure of strength to continue to be notably different from the world around you.

I’ve expressed how thankful I am that I was homeschooled, because it meant that I wasn’t pummeled into some standardized mold by my peers. I don’t think I would have been this strong then. And I rather like who I’ve grown into.

When I meet (usually in a story) an individual that is both weird and attractive, I just assume they’re good at something. The Bunny-Ears-Lawyer can get away with anything because they are. that. good. so no one forces them to change.

But I have a few people in my world that are just weird. Not the eccentric + attractive combination that is necessary to assume skill. So I was sort of putting myself down, putting myself in that (“merely weird”) category, when, two days after I found the label, another recent acquaintance spontaneously addressed this.

I’ve gotten the distinct impression, on reviewing this last week, that God has been telling me over and over again, You have value. A message I needed to hear.

“I remember seeing you at the last potluck,” the new woman said. It was the first time we’d spoken much. “I saw you talking with all this energy and information– you had so much information– and there were people around you, and they were listening to you. And I thought, I want to sit near *her*.”

Many many times I’ve been afraid of burning people, vaguely aware that my intensity is higher than, well, what people expect.

Whatever that means.

And I forget that God has placed people in my world who actually enjoy the way I am. Including my eccentricity.

And that I’m allowed to enjoy me too. :)

Self-Doubt

Posted on June 20, 2011 by Amy Jane

On one level I think it is a very good thing.

How many tragic (powerful, often, but tragic) stories unfold primarily from the foolishness of hubris? The idea that everything needed is already within. Including wisdom.

How much grief could be avoided by following good advice?

One of my favorite lines is the one that goes, Sure “experience is the best teacher,” but if you can learn second-hand the tuition is cheaper.

I’ve practically made it my life’s work to learn everything second-hand. At least at first.

That said there are people with the opposite problem. Those who don’t trust themselves at all.

While at first this might seem the solution to the problem of hubris, it can’t be, because of the simple reality that no one can be as invested in you as you.

G.K. Chesterton in his book Orthodoxy posits that humility used to mean doubting one’s self, which at least has the potential to motivate working harder (i.e. to prove or validate one’s self). More recently, he says, humility has come to be doubting one’s purpose, resulting in not working at all (i.e., freezing up).

He calls it the difference between a spur and a nail in the shoe.

I have wrestled with the latter question a lot. And felt ineffective; not because I’ve particularly been thwarted, but because I’ve not fully invested and worked. I hold back, still looking around for the right pool to jump in before I hold my nose.

~ ~ ~

When I have the (sometimes) conflicting spheres of ability, interest and responsibility; all ranged out before me, all under a ticking clock, I end up with something like anxiety.

From my conception of God, I know I am not responsible to make up my own reality, and in my view of his sovereignty, I expect he has equipped and prepared me to do something unique.

C.S. Lewis provides one of my favorite quotes on this:

God makes each soul unique. If He had no use for all these differences I do not see why He should have created more souls than one. Be sure the ins and outs of your individuality are no mystery to Him; and one day they will no longer be a mystery to you.

And it seems that I must regularly remind myself of this.

Because what is important to me hasn’t changed.

What is changing is the distractions and responsibilities that deflect me from what I still believe is important.

Have I said what that is?

That thing that’s been around since before children, I can apply with them and expect to still be important when they’re raising their own families?

Story.

It matters because I don’t know of any other (let alone better) way to train the imagination.

And whether you ultimately make decisions from your mind, emotions, or convictions, all of those capacities are informed and trained by imagination.

I have no doubt that to neglect this foundation is dangerous.

Score One for the Closet Introvert

Posted on May 14, 2011 by Amy Jane

I’ve self-identified as an introvert for a few years now, but I can’t remember ever using that knowledge to reshape my behavior. Until recently.

Just this week I went to a graduation celebration, and I took my knitting. Instead of trying to fight my way into the talk I just sat in the vicinity of conversations that were interesting to listen to and made progress on the little cardigan I’m working on.

Years ago I knew a woman who described her outrage and surprise at being the only individual to defend a core tenet of her faith in a group of fellow Mormons. She told me she was contemplating a month- to year-long experiment.

“I’m just going to quit speaking up,” she said. “And I’m going to keep a journal of people’s responses.”

“Well,” I said, trying to be gentle, but wondering how this could provoke notice from other non-responders, “I think that might be giving others too much credit for even noticing the difference.”

I was feeling this way.

Wondering how much it mattered to me that people wouldn’t notice I was different. Not being sure how much explanation I did or didn’t want to offer.

YES I feel very different than I did 5 years ago. Or 11 years ago, when I still lived at home (and family had more opportunity to figure me out).

No, I don’t think I’ve actually changed that much, just quit fighting who it’s easy to be. Started thinking that maybe this is actually who I’ve been created to be…

Who is still allowed to keep changing, so if I’m too confusing now, just love me and wait. You’ll see something new in another six months if you keep paying attention.

Part way through the evening someone noticed

He accused me of being bored with the company, since I wasn’t participating. I bit back my hurt response at being unfairly sniped and retorted, “When I have something to say I will.”

My sister heard. And remembered it, too; longer than I did.

Today she told me how much she liked the line, and how she’s trying to remember and apply the idea in her own communication.

So am I.

The Measure of Reality

Posted on May 5, 2011 by Amy Jane

For all that trusted friends are the best mirrors, it is still true that for each of us we are the measure of the world.

That is, for all that we confuse ourselves, we also are the thing we know best.

Today’s revelation: I figured out my love-formula.

I mean “what it takes for me to feel loved”:

being appreciated/honored – I’m treated as worthy of someone’s time
being made to think – the ending is that endorphic euphoria you might recognize from the end of a good workout.

Now, taking myself as “the measure of reality,” I can do several things with this information.

I can see where I’ve already applied it, in the unconscious way we naturally speak our own language
- Reading to my children, training them to think
- Feeling *really* connected to individuals who have parallel definitions of love– or at least provide what I need
I can understand how my feeling unloved by certain people is a matter of practice and not of truth
And I can be motivated (combining those two) to more-actively apply my observational skills to be sure and learn how to communicate love in a meaningful way.

I got this multiple-languages concept (and looking for others to be different from me) from The 5 Love Languages model, but I was unsatisfied with the broad strokes of “only” five. I can see the Five bound up in my Two, but knowing what specific “vitamins” I need I want to jump straight there.

Question: Do you find The Five Love Languages a useful model?

There is no shame in Ignorance

Posted on March 20, 2011 by Amy Jane

Unless it is purposeful.

Had a lovely lunch with friends today. The children adored the fresh audience for their exploits and collected trivia.

“Caterpillars have sixteen legs,” 4-year-old Elisha declared with conviction.

An adult looked to me and I nodded. “Six to be adult legs and ten more for creeping along,” I affirmed. Adding quickly, “The only reason I know is that we just read all about it on Friday.”

The story prompted the memory of an exchange that would happen between me and my siblings when we were kids.

Kid X: FACT!

Kid Y: You only know that because you read it in a book.

And I remember shame and accusation being in the rebuttal (I imagine being on both the giving and receiving end of the sting). but looking at it today we adults laughed at the idea we could inherently know anything. Especially about caterpillars.

As a child I would have been ashamed for not going out and counting for myself. And then needed to find multiple examples before I’d be sure I could trust what I’d observed.

A friend I went to high school with can only hear with one ear. A surgery cut the critical nerve and she has no way to hear on the right side.

One day she was looking for her cell phone and had to call it four times before she realized it was in the right-hand pocket of her jeans.

“I felt so silly,” she told me. “I could hear it and I kept looking and looking…”

“There’s no reason to feel silly,” I said, feeling fierce and defensive of her. “There is no reason to recognize direction without two reference points!”

And I have no idea why I made this jump, but I instantly thought of emotional health (okay, the idea might be simply because the topic is near the top of my mind).

There are a spectrum of issues that people can deal with: bitterness, depression, fear, anger. There are predictable causes, and nearly as predicable results and even “cures.”

My observant, analytical mind looks at the slice of issues I face, and questions why I haven’t already reached perfection. I mean, gotten over these unattractive elements in myself that I find embarrassing. But probably that means perfection.

I’m hearing the phone ring. I’m looking all around. I know what I want is within reach and I’m ashamed I haven’t found it yet.

But right now I have only one reference point. Myself turning in space. We don’t learn in a vacuum.

So I reach out, discern which way is up, and identify reference points.

I will refuse to be ashamed of not knowing everything. And I will trust God to guide me into all Truth, as he promised.

A Warning:

Posted on February 26, 2011 by Amy Jane

The Number One reason to cultivate good habits is that when you are too tired to do anything else, habits are what you live from and on.

I am sick.

I hate being sick. It enhances all my limits and tendencies.

To my relief I see light as well as darkness: I couldn’t spend more than a day utterly doing “nothing.” My need for order (hey! I have one of those!) has dragged me through my sludge to get significant (though not nearly “enough”) things done each day.

I have taken more time to read (non-fiction– I haven’t had the stamina to enter anyone else’s drama this week), and I feel like a long-neglected part of my mind has been watered and nourished.

But mostly this experience has made me more aware of habits, and how much I want to focus on training them once I have the strength again.

God Designed Religion for Us.

Posted on February 15, 2011 by Amy Jane

Life itself is a series of problems that often act as obstacles to our search for significance… Our fulfillment in this life depends not on our skills to avoid life’s problems, but on our ability to apply God’s specific solutions to those problems.

Robert S. McGee in The Search for Significance

There is a complicated confusion for Christians in the area of self-image. I have even been chastised for “thinking of myself.” Not for thinking of myself more than others, but simply thinking of myself at all.

And that almost makes me angry. As if in thinking of myself (with anything other than contempt at my sin) I’m somehow being disloyal.

In his book Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton pointed out that it is only when the unlovely is loved that it improves. That the disgusting inspires disgust is no surprise, but disgust leads to destroying, not enhancing. (Think snakes, spiders and rats, as opposed to specialized breeds of dogs or rabbits.)

We must accept that we have value if we are to proclaim that all human life has value.

If we are to champion the unborn, and the poor and infirm, we must also recognize there is something beautiful even in this soddy old skin we happen to be confined to.

Jesus Christ gave His life as a ransom for or lives. The price is too high for us to even calculate. Our desire to be loved and accepted is a symptom of a deeper need– the need that frequently governs our behavior and is the primary source of our emotional pain. Often unrecognized, this is our need for self-worth. God knows we need to know how valuable our lives are, and he spends much of his Word telling us so.

Robert S. McGee in The Search for Significance

I think there are very few passions or needs within us (I question if there are any) that don’t originate form the core of needs and desires that God himself planted in us.

It was C.S. Lewis who wrote, God designed the human machine to run on Himself. He Himself is the fuel our spirits were designed to burn, or the food our spirits were designed to feed on. There is no other. That is why it is no good asking God to make us happy in our own way without bothering about religion. God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.

In his book The Search for Significance Robert McGee creates a mind-spinning connection between four big churchy words, and how they meet four deep areas of hurt in our wounded self-worth.

I’ve read many many Christian books, so new gets my attention. McGee asked a new question that totally rocked my mind and still has me reeling: If God has one perception and you another, whose is correct?

Well, we all know the Sunday School answer: God’s!

Why then do we preface such discussions of value or even forgiveness with the words, “In God’s eyes, I’m-“ as if we’re qualifying what we’re about to say. As if he’s a dear old man who doesn’t really know what’s going on, but we’ll humor/acknowledge his version out of respect for his position as, you know, GOD.

We’ve lived backwards.

I love to quote 2 Peter 1:3 – His [Jesus’s] divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness (emphasis mine). The following quotes are from McGee’s book, and showed me for the first time the tremendous and usable gift of words I’d heard all my life.

Broken Ribs Are Broken Ribs

Posted on December 11, 2010 by Amy Jane

I like watching pilots.

My parents like to laugh when I say this, since my husband recently earned his license.

I like watching T.V. show pilots, because the good ones, next to songs, are the most compact form of good storytelling I know.

And with my journalism background, compact is meant as compliment.

In the pilot show of Burn Notice (the only episode I’ve seen) our Smart, Tough Protagonist finds himself seriously beat up in the first ten-minutes.

Later when the episode fall-man takes a swing at our STP and has his split second of triumph, the image freezes and STP narrates matter-of-factly: It doesn’t matter how much training you have; a broken rib is a broken rib. It doesn’t matter who you are or how you got it, it’s going to hurt.

Fall man thinks his punch was particularly effective, because he’s experienced enough to recognize real pain. What he doesn’t know is that STP’s already outlasted tougher punks than this guy. And can prove it.

Other favorite line from the show: People with happy families don’t become spies. A bad childhood is the perfect background for covert ops – you don’t trust anyone, you’re used to getting smacked around, and you never get homesick.

The point is that injury = injury. It’s part of being a member of the human race and, honestly, doesn’t define who you are any more than a bloody nose (though it might be argued broken ribs and bloody noses are indicative of a particular identity).

Sinners sin, and fragile people get broken.

And there is the rub: even most of us who admit we’re sinners would rather avoid the nitty-gritty of it (fair enough), and all of us feel a bit affronted to be called fragile.

“I’ve taken care of myself til now!”

My whole life I’ve wondered about the horror of tears; why they are so desperately fought.

Why are tears so dreadful? So shameful?

Some thoughts:

They confess need.
They show weakness
The mourner’s core has identified a reason to spill a limited resource.
Observers now know too much, and/or too deeply. Where there is often no desire or right to know.
The crier is on display, subjected to public interpretation.

Tears come from so deep it feels like a betrayal to have anyone either ignore or interpret them.

And if I barely know where they come from, so the effort of wondering how others see them is too great a burden.

The reality is, I break.

I bleed.

And somehow this is the natural order of things. This is part of creation and our finitude as humans.

It doesn’t matter how much training you have; a broken heart is a broken heart.

So my latest theory is of tears being as natural as bleeding. As legitimate a sign of wrong-ness, and as natural a thing to tend. Evidence of a wound that needs cleaned and protected.

Yes, I guess that means I’ve been the odd sort that was waiting for some kind of “permission.”

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