Stronger Boundaries, Softer Heart

The tales of my first practice of early relational discernment, && how it is keeping my heart soft && true.

So many times in this life, I’ve wished for a harder heart. 

A more tough interior. 

For some badass alter ego that could step in as my proxy && handle all the tough shit without skipping a beat.

(Like I’ve said before) As if I had a hope of ever being someone with fewer fucks to give. 

(Backstory: I am a giver of a humongous amount of fucks. A boatload of fucks given. A plethora of every last little fuck you can imagine. Ambivalent, I am certainly not). 

 

You see, I know well that my deep wells of compassion && near-infinite stories of forgiveness are priceless gifts.  

So if not a hard heart, then what?

What I do need, && have had to work so hard to cultivate to make that dream a reality, stronger boundaries. 

Not boundaries like built walls, mind you.  

I want boundaries like glass doors on oiled hinges allowed to swing freely in both directions. 

Boundaries like a high water mark on the beach, erased by the tide && redrawn every few hours wherever the moon pulls the waters next.

Boundaries (as I once read) that function like an instruction manual && allow the humans I love a way to access the very best of me. 

Lately, cautiously observing instead of rushing. 

Acting from wisdom rather grasping scarcity. 

Speaking with conscious && clarity. 

Naming hesitations. 

Holding the line.  

Slowing my own roll. 

Leaning in && embracing stillness until I’ve gathered enough bearings to continue along.

Dancing duality, && discipline instead of blindly writing a story without assembling the binding that will hold it together first.

Rather than experiencing the complexities of another human (who came with their own history && woundings && baggage) as a bouquet of red roses or red flags, it all became information that required time && experience to translate. 

Instead of waking up in 3 months, or 6 months, or a even a year wondering who is this stranger laying next to me, I have been savoring the slowness, refusal to rush, offering allowance for a connection to become && name itself, if && when it was ready.

I have realized, or perhaps remembered, that in the early days of any connection are not a time for certainties && surety. Oh yes, the whole “head over heels, soulmate, fate brought me to you” trope is intoxicating && has a pull that is really hard to ignore. But it is proven also foolish && foolhardy && a damn poor method for the creation of a foundation of safety && dependability solid enough to rest my hopes upon. 

This is a time of exploration, a sort of wonderment centered on myself. On my needs && way my body feels in their presence. The way my nervous system reacts. The awareness that chemistry doesn’t equal compatibility, && that compatibility doesn’t reveal itself with any sort of haste. 

&& so the questions became, almost paradoxically, their own source of stability.

Slowing everything down, moving “as slow as my slowest parts”, leaves space && voice for necessary boundaries to rise && surface.

&&, as it turns out, clarity of a boundary is a true pathway to a heart that will stay safe enough to remain soft.

A boundary simply means:

It means “My spirit is sovereign && ungovernable force that fuels. To enter my door is to accept the terms of engagement include your refusal to subject me to external control”

My capacity for loving increases as well as my bullshit meter grows. 

The truth?
Entering a relationship, any relationship, is not for the faint of heart. No easy road, no shortcuts given. To protect this heart of mine, while leaving it open, requires a fierce devotion. && as any novice knows, devotion is hard work. 

But it’s a hard work in perpetual progress, && that progress is rewarding as fuck. 

&& sometimes, that progress hurts because it looks like turning my back && walking away from something I’d rather run toward. 

What it does not look like is slapping on definitive labels without collecting the necessary evidence to name a place or person worthy of the trust of my heart.

It does not look like self flagellation for the offense of caring so much it guts me from the inside out.

It doesn’t look like loving && throwing myself headlong into a container that has not yet proven itself strong enough to hold me.

&& it sure as hell doesn’t look like offering an apology for requiring radical honesty && exquisite safety.

As  I read, “this door only opens for the remarkable now”.

Truthfully, holding boundaries && a soft heart actually looks a lot smaller than I expected. I’m still a fumbling student. Testing hypotheses && getting them wrong && adjusting as I go.

What strong boundaries && a soft heart really look like is knowing exactly what I bring to the table.