Watch out for the Hell loop, it’s a long drop into the abyss

I did it again. I made it about me when it wasn’t about me at all.

Last week, before I posted my first blog, I sent a draft to a few trusted friends and I heard back from everyone – positive or negative, in one form or another – except for one. Of course, with me already neck deep in a full blown ‘I’m worthless and nobody loves me’ Hell loop (from my recent break-up), I made it all about myself.

This isn’t new. I’ve done this before. But I wasn’t supposed to do it again. I learned that lesson already. I know I’m not the centre of the universe. I’ve put considerable effort into not making everything about me. The world doesn’t revolve around me; I’m not the only one here. There are numerous people on this planet, and we all have our own issues, our own unique set of ups and downs. So, if someone doesn’t call me, email me, or message me, that’s okay. They’re just busy with life. I understand that. I do. (It took me more than 30 years to figure it out. Possibly 40. Almost definitely 40. But I figured it out.)

Anyway, I clearly have some residual work to do on this front. For now, let's get back to this week that just past.

I decided one of my friends had to be mad at me. I was sure I must have overstepped and crossed some unseen boundary that I should have known was there, but somehow didn’t. And, of course, I gave way too much time and attention to this, worrying about whether I was a bad person. Worrying that I had caused the silence because I had sent my blog to them before asking if they were comfortable receiving it. You see, I’m not good with boundaries. I don’t know where they are. I can’t see them. In fact, I have no idea where they’re supposed to be.

To get by in life, and to be safe, my philosophy has been to err on the side of whatever works best for the other person. I find it’s safest that way. Most of my life has been spent with the idea that people have the right to step all over me. I grew up learning to be accommodating. To not ask why. To not give my opinion. And to not stop people from invading my personal space.

I didn’t know what boundaries were, I didn’t know I needed them, and I didn’t know I might be crossing somebody else’s and potentially causing them pain or discomfort.

I was getting by in life by copying the behaviours of the people around me. Adults, peers, strangers, anyone. From the time I got up in the morning until the time I went to bed at night, my mission was to just do what everybody else was doing. I mimicked their smiles. I mimicked their laughs. I mimicked the way they stood and the way they ran. I had to be one of them. It was the only way to stay invisible and to keep them from finding out that I didn’t belong. So, I would bend over backward for them, and they could walk all over me to their heart’s content.

I’ve had a few significant relationships in my life where it’s been okay for someone to cross one of my boundaries simply because I didn’t know there was supposed to be a boundary there. I didn’t know I was allowed to have boundaries. I didn’t know that I was allowed to say no. I didn’t know that. That’s not what I learned when I was growing up.

To give you an idea of what I'm talking about here, I'll share the story of when a former friend waltzed right through what, in retrospect, should have been a ginormous boundary, and I let them glide on by, watching them whistle while they walked. They called me, talked for hours about their feelings, relationship issues, and so on, and then they diagnosed me, explaining how they were sure I had whatever mental health disorder was popular at the time. Assuming this must be okay, and that this must be how we do things now, I tried to do the same thing, but on a less invasive scale. (There was no talk of mental health disorders on my part, at least not where they were concerned.)

Major. Fudging. Freeze out.

You'd think I’d committed some major crime. I was scolded. Reprimanded for crossing a boundary they swore I should have known was there. They played the part of the adult, lecturing me, and I played the part of the misbehaved child, repentant and cowering in shame for being bad. I was frustrated and I was confused. I didn’t understand the discrepancy. I didn’t know why the rules were different for me.

Was there something wrong with me? Why was it okay for them to contact me, but not for me to contact them? This can’t be right, can it? Shockingly, it took me a lot longer than I’d like to admit before I arrived at the following conclusion: It’s not right. It’s a double standard. It’s wrong and I’m not okay with it.

And the Hell loop ends. Reason prevails. Light overcomes shadow. Another lesson about boundaries gets checked off my personal development to-do list. But wait, there’s more. I’m not done yet. I still don’t know where the boundaries should be. Not for me, not for anyone. It’s a little sad considering that I’ve been working on this issue with my current therapist for years, AND the one before her!

The first time I heard the term personal boundary was just before I turned 30. That’s when I joined Overeaters Anonymous (OA). At the time, I was bulimic. Then I became anorexic. And now, I’m just a part-time situational binge eater. (But that, of course, is another story for another day.) Back to when I first joined OA. That's when I began seeing a therapist again, but not the one I’m seeing now. This was the one before the one I'm seeing now. Her name was Lorraine.

It was the first time I had been in therapy in more than three years. I started seeing Lorraine weekly until it became clear to me that this fixing me business was going to take much longer than I’d expected. At that point, we moved it to a more affordable bi-weekly arrangement, where at least one boundary issue showed itself at every session. But, more often than not, it was usually more than one. In fact, I would estimate somewhere between two and four. (I think it was during this time that the bricks and mortar forming the foundation of my ego started to crumble and crack.)

And back to the present...

Boundaries – or the lack of boundaries - has plagued me for years. So, it’s no surprise that this past week, when I thought a friend was mad at me, I was sure it was because I had crossed a boundary of some kind. I had no indication that this was the case, but it didn’t stop me from thinking it did, and it didn’t stop me from worrying about it. I tried telling myself there was a logical reason for the silence and that it had nothing to do with me. There was something happening in that person’s life, and they were probably just busy. But I couldn’t let it go. All day, every day, in the background of my mind, I kept wondering and thinking, mulling it over.

Did I do something wrong? I must have. I crossed a boundary. A big one. Yes, that must be it. That’s totally what I’ve done. I crossed a seriously significant boundary. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. I mean, I would have heard from them, otherwise, right? It was probably the email I sent. Was it inappropriate? Was it out of line? Oh my God, was I out of line?!

Damn it, Sandy. Just because you’re comfortable talking about emotionally laden topics, doesn’t mean everyone else has to be okay with it. You should’ve asked for permission first. Remember that next time, and never make this mistake again. Seriously, you should never have presumed you were the kind of friends who can share such emotionally heavy thoughts with one another. I mean, did they say that? No, they didn’t. There’s never been a conversation about that. What if you’ve completely misread the whole relationship and you’re not even friends at all? You’re an idiot. An idiot, I say.

Clearly, I was on the fast-track heading for Hell. I was on a downward negative thought spiral, and I had to find a way to stop myself. I had to become conscious of the thoughts I was thinking. I had to recognize the impact they were having on my feelings. I had to stop and look at the facts, look at what I knew was true.

I had no idea what the other person was thinking – good or bad – let alone what it might have to do with me. So, I decided to ask.

It turns out, it was never about me. Not even a little bit. In fact, they had no idea I was freaking out at all, let alone freaking out all week. They had no idea I thought they were mad at me. Why would they? They weren’t actually mad at me because it wasn’t about me. I hadn’t crossed a boundary.

But wait a minute. Does this means everything is okay? I allowed my narcissistic shadow self to turn this non-situation – this something that was none of my business – into something that was all about me. I subconsciously believed myself to be the centre of the universe. And now I’m back to shame. Shame for being narcissistic. Shame for feeling shame. And, of course, shame for feeling shame about feeling shame. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to be making progress on the mental health front, not slipping slowly into reverse.

What to heck is my damn issue? Why can’t I get it right once and for all? It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.

Okay, so the ‘woe is me’ stuff usually only lasts so long nowadays. I’m getting quicker at catching myself when I fall into the victim or the martyr mentality. I stop and I reframe it. I try finding a new and different perspective. I try looking at the story with love and try seeing it through the lens of a loved one.

I’m not pathetic. I slipped, but for barely a week.

I used to be depressed for more days of the year than I was fine. That hasn't been true for more than ten years now. I know that I’ve taken at least two, maybe three, steps forward here (lot’s of aha moments today) and I’m fairly certain I’ve only taken one minor half-step backward. That puts me a step-and-a-half ahead.

Check it out, here I am, moving in the right direction. Yay, me!

● ● ●

Okay, for all of those reading this, in case you’re anything like me, this isn’t about you. I’m not mad at you. And if you don’t hear from me, it’s not about you.

For those who know me, if you’re not included in one of my “I feel blessed” posts, it’s not because you’re not important to me. It’s not because I’m not grateful to have you in my life. In fact, I’m tremendously grateful for you, for every person I’ve met, for those who have come and gone and for those who have come and stayed. I’m even grateful for those who have brought chaos and painful challenges into my life because without them, I would never have learned the lessons I’ve learned so far. And I’ve learned a lot of lessons. A lot. It’s hard to believe I’m not already done with the learning.

“Hey! Universe! It’s time to turn on the rainbows and sunshine, please! 😉”

Note from Soul Me to Ego Me: Never assume you know what someone else is thinking or why they do what they do. You don’t know. You’re not a mind reader, and that’s okay. You’re learning how to be a better human and humans make mistakes. It’s not the end of the world. You will no doubt continue to feel shame popping up here and there at the most inconvenient moments, but don’t worry about it. Just shine a light on the shadow and invite it into the spotlight to tell its story. And, for Heaven’s sake, drop the damn Hell loop. It’s toxic.

(Note to readers: My thought process jumped all over the place while writing this entry. I’m hoping you were able to follow along, and maybe get a small peak into the inner workings of my brain, my ego, and my soul without getting frightened, confused, or dizzy. Or bored. I’m really hoping you weren’t bored. I had an English teacher once who said my writing – a mandatory daily journal about my life – was boring. No, they said it was mundane. The word they used was mundane. You know, I think that might have been the day I began giving up on my dream of becoming a writer. Look at that, something else to consider.)