“Imagine there’s no countries, it isn’t hard to do.”
- John Lennon, Imagine.
I spent a long time with very few boundaries. Although I didn’t consciously know this at the time. In fact, if you would’ve asked me what my boundaries were, I would’ve given you a blank stare. In fact, I prided myself on how flexible I was. I thought of myself as someone who was easy going, who could “go with the flow.” And then, after reading books like The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle, and other eastern philosophies, that idea of myself was reinforced. I’m not identified with my mind and my beliefs, man. I don’t need to hold any strong opinions, or debate anyone. That’s all just ego stuff anyway, and I’m above that now.
Sounds good, right? Except it wasn’t true. I wasn’t easygoing and at peace most of the time. I was tense inside. I had chronic stomach problems and pain in my neck, wrists, and shoulders. I disliked certain coworkers and colleagues, even though I was jovial and easygoing on the outside. And I couldn’t sustain a romantic relationship longer than several months. All of this was related to a lack of boundaries.
The truth is I didn’t know where I ended and other people began. I didn’t have a clear sense of who I was in any given moment. That might sound abstract or philosophical, so let me give a few examples to make it clear. If I was in a conversation with someone, I would be very aware of what they were feeling, and what they were wanting. I’m very perceptive and sensitive, so I was quite good at this. In fact, most nice people are. You probably are. It’s like having some kind of x-ray vision where you can see through people’s outer layers, their outer personas, and see how they’re feeling underneath.
If I noticed sadness, frustration, anger, tension, disappointment, or any other painful feeling in them, I would instantly feel obligated to help them alleviate it. I might even instantly conclude that their discomfort was due to me. And I certainly didn’t want to do anything that might contribute even more to their negative feelings.
So, I became a master at accommodating others. I sensed (or imagined) their underlying feelings and desires and did my best to fulfill them, even before they could ask. I focused on what others wanted to talk about, and acted like I was fully engaged and that they were interesting (I didn’t want them to feel like they were boring or that I wasn’t interested in them). I prioritized my life and schedule to be able to spend time with a woman I just started dating, so she would feel like she was the most important thing in the world to me. I anticipated when she might want to hang out next, and suggested it myself (I never wanted her to feel disappointed or unwanted).
I carried on like this for years, bouncing between anxiety and guilt. Anxiety about whether I was doing a good enough job on all this care-taking, and guilt when I determined I wasn’t. I didn’t realize this was one of the major contributors to my suffering and lack of sustained, happy relationships. With all this nice guy, no-boundary stuff going on, I was unable to sustain a romantic relationship, and often ended them after just a few dates. The woman would be surprised, saddened, hurt, or disappointed, which only added to my guilt. I then began building evidence for the oh-so-common there’s something wrong with me story.
It wasn’t until I joined a men’s group that I discovered boundaries and their impact on my life. I remember one winter evening I sat in the counselor’s office with seven other men. The season had turned and it was already dark outside, even though it was early evening. Rain was pouring down and occasionally pattering against the window when the wind turned. We sat in big soft couches, facing each other in a circle. These meetings led to some of the biggest and most life-changing shifts in my perspective. They helped me learn how to have relationships, be assertive, and a more powerful man in the world.
This particular evening, I was sharing a story about some family visit. My parents and brother were coming into town at the same time. I was sharing my concerns with the group, saying, “My parents get in on Wednesday evening. I work Thursday and Friday, but I’ll hang out with them in the evening, and we can go out to dinner. My brother gets in on Friday evening. On Saturday, we can go to the Farmer’s Market. I know my mom and brother will like that. There’s also a mausoleum that has my grandmother and other family members in it that my mom and brother like to visit as well…”
I went on like this, sharing my anxieties about what we would do, and how I sometimes felt burnt out or tired when people visited. One of the group members, Glenn, who was an older man in his sixties with glasses, a prominent nose, and a shock of white and gray hair, said to me, “Where’s Aziz in all this?”
I looked at him, slightly confused by the question. “Uhhh…”
“I hear about your mom, and your brother, and your dad. I hear about everyone else and what they want. But I don’t hear much of you in the story. It’s like you’re a minor character, and your needs and wants don’t really count for much.”
Whoa. That simple comment blew my mind. He was right. I spent the vast majority of my time and mental energy considering what everyone else wanted. My decisions of what to do, where to go, and even what to say, were largely based on other people. This sparked my journey to discover my own boundaries, to start looking inward for guidance, rather than habitually pleasing others as a way of being in the world.