When I’m working.
When I’m writing.
When I’m on the phone.
When I’m on the computer.
When I’m reading.
Nope, no boundaries there.
When I’m cooking.
When I’m baking.
When I’m eating.
When I’m doing laundry.
When I’m cleaning.
Nope, no boundaries there.
When I’m exercising.
When I’m in the shower.
When I’m on the toilet.
When I’m brushing my teeth.
When I’m getting dressed.
Nope, no boundaries there.
When I’m in my bedroom with the door closed.
When I’m talking with my husband.
When I’m in bed—awake or asleep.
When I’m watching TV.
When I’m watching Sunday mass.
Nope, no boundaries there.
In the middle of the night.
In the wee hours of the morning.
In the car.
During my writing class.
During a work meeting or online tutorial.
Nope, no boundaries there.
When I’m crying.
When I’m mental.
When I’m spent.
In the silence.
In the chaos.
Nope, no boundaries there. No boundaries anywhere.
I can’t remember when I lost my boundaries, but I’m slowly disappearing without them.
Am I to blame? Maybe.
This pandemic forced many of us to make impossible decisions, decisions we believed were best for our families at the time. I made mine and I own them. But does that mean I am any less deserving of my own space, my own solitude, my own self-care? No. In the beginning I sacrificed every piece of myself to shield my children from the blunt effects of this past year. A year of isolation and loneliness and anxiety and mental fatigue and overwhelming, often debilitating, sadness. And now I’m paying the price. We all are paying the price.
The problem is I have no idea how—or where or when—to move forward. I have no idea how to even establish boundaries, let alone enforce them. All I know is something needs to change, and soon. One baby step in the right direction. That’s always been my motto. If only I could figure out in which direction I should face.
Help.
*Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay.