How Are You With Assertiveness, Boundaries, and Speaking Up?
Image by Martina Mainetti from Pixabay
For a whole bunch of reasons (requiring a few separate stories so I won’t even attempt to go there right now), I’ve lived a pretty isolated life for about 22 years. Eventually (and after yet another divorce — the sixth…🤦🏻♀️), I was pushed to the point of seeing that I needed to stop chasing the elusive Happily Ever After with someone else and have a relationship with myself.
Which is what I’ve been doing ever since.
Due to other circumstances, the isolation has persisted. In fact, it has actually meant even fewer interactions with other humans. And the thing is, I’m quite happy this way.
I remember a time in the distant past when I was a young adult, a single parent with virtually no support. I was struggling with various anxiety disorders such as OCD, panic attacks, anorexia, agoraphobia — even an addiction to deal with all of that — and I could not bear to be alone.
And when I was alone, I always had to have the TV or stereo on. I didn’t realise it at the time but it was because I couldn’t stand my own thoughts. I hated myself; I was filled with self-loathing along with loads of self-doubt and more fears than I could ever have imagined possible.
I hated being in my own head. I hated being with myself. And I was also terrified of some nameless “something” that might happen if there wasn’t another adult in the house.
Now?? I love it! I’ve created a cosy little nest for myself and I absolutely love my home. I never run out of things to do, things that light me up and make me happy and keep me being creative.
So … with that as the backdrop, I want to share an interesting thing that happened at the weekend.
I met a woman, “SL”, several years ago. We had only one in-person visit at her place and otherwise, only extremely infrequent Facebook interactions. I’ve been thinking it’s probably a good idea to re-establish a few connections here and as a part of that recent endeavor, with her popping up on FB again I invited her for dinner.
We’d been chatting throughout the evening and sharing stories. Well, she shared many more than I did. I was quite happy to remain fairly quiet and let her do most of the talking. I’m glad I did that. I learned a lot…
Later in the evening, she acknowledged that “we don’t really know each other very well.” I can’t remember the context, but it’s irrelevant to the points I’m about to make.
Somewhere in the course of the evening, I’d mentioned about my isolated life, especially the past few years with health issues. First, after a series of frightening events in England I ended up with a diagnosis of Complex PTSD in 2021. Still reeling from those events a year later, I had the leg injury that left me holed up and learning how to walk for almost the past 2 years. And now, at last I can finally do it (though still not 100% healed). It’s my choice to stay home most of the time. I always was a homebody; this is nothing new. It’s my happy place.
Toward the end of the evening, the conversation turned to her wanting me to go to her home for dinner. By then, I could see that we’re on very different wavelengths. Completely different vibrations. And I had no interest in seeing her again. Before I could figure out a polite way to get out of the dinner invitation, she let me off the hook (quite inadvertently) by moving directly into telling me it would be good for me. She went on to say, “You need to get out of here.”
I laughed. Out loud. Oops. Not a big belly laugh, but an obvious chuckle. I was so taken aback, it slipped out.
After I bit back my laughter, I said — with a smile — something like, “I think I’m pretty good at knowing what I need.” It was much nicer than the more emphatic version in my head.
She dismissed my words. She disagreed. Yes, folks. She flat out disagreed that I know what I need for myself.
Here’s where it goes over the top. (I know. As if a person who admits to not knowing me very well and who claims to know what I need more than I do isn’t already “OTT”…)
While I was still trying to figure out what to say to her, uh, “surprising” comments, she added, “You need to expand your life. You need get out of this place, and I’m here to help you do that.”
I must say, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit again. Forgive me, I was just so incredibly shocked that anyone who barely knows me — and who had acknowledged that just minutes before — could have the audacity to:
tell me what I need
tell me I don’t know what I need
treat me as if there’s something wrong with me for the way I live
disregard the fact that earlier in the evening, I’d said I’m really happy with my life — including the isolation
tell me I need help that I don’t want, don’t need and for which I did not ask (and even if I did, I would not ask her, especially in light of all I’d learned through her stories that evening)
insist that it’s her role or duty or right to fix me
Look, I get that she had the best of intentions. And you know what they say about those.
Given all the trauma, abuse and other personal info she’d shared that evening — finishing off with proudly declaring that she hasn’t ever had any therapy for any of it (which explains a lot), I understood why she had no sense of boundaries. And why she was adopting a rescuer role, even though I’d made it abundantly clear through the evening that I’m quite happy with my life and have no desire to change anything about it.
I was glad for this bizarre turn of events immediately on the heels of her dinner invitation because it got me out of it without having to decline. Instead, I made it clear that she was completely off the mark in her assessment of me and that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
Not surprisingly, given her issues, she became defensive and somewhat sulky with a hefty side order of martyrdom (moving into the “victim” role). No doubt the “more than one bottle of wine” she had consumed was a contributing factor. She said she would never bring up dinner again and that if I ever wanted to communicate with her, I could do that but she was never going to contact me again. No over-reaction then…
She pulled out her phone, ordered an Uber and was out the door in 2 minutes. Awkwardly.
I sank into a comfy armchair, greatly relieved that she was gone, and reflecting on the events of the evening. I was remembering how in years past, I would have been afraid to speak up. I might have even bought into her speculations — no, her beliefs — about me and my needs. I used to be that person who struggled with boundaries (one doesn’t get into six unhealthy marriages if one has good boundaries).
I was that person who might feel indignant or offended or insulted by another’s opinions. Now? You can think whatever you want about me. You can think you know me, and unless we’re really, super, extra close, I can promise you, you don’t. My “inner circle” of friends know me quite well, but there is only one person on the planet who absolutely knows me almost as well as I know myself, and that’s my daughter Willow).
Here’s the thing: We always get to choose how we respond to any situation. We get to decide if we feel hurt, humiliated, embarrassed, intimidated, “less than” (as people say these days) or whatever else in response to another person’s words or actions. I could have responded to SL with indignation, anger, hurt. I could have felt insulted, belittled or shamed. But thanks to many years of therapy and a lifetime of ongoing healing, I knew her outrageous comments were not about me. They were a reflection of her own wounds, her own needs, and they had nothing to do with me.
Gotta love growth and healing. Gotta love boundaries. Gotta love knowing what — and who — is for you, or isn’t.