It would appear, I have difficulty setting boundaries.

Not in the traditional sense. As many people would attest, I have no difficulty saying no to requests. Sure – I sometimes take on more than is considered wise (or sane), but that’s not because I can’t say no. It’s because I’m afraid of having nothing to do (that’s a whole other blog post). But I feel quite content (albeit somewhat guilty) if I say no to your request.

Setting emotional boundaries are an entirely different kettle of fish.

I thrive on spending time with people (one-on-one) – learning about their world, letting them vent, trying not to problem-solve (I have more work to do in this area) while steering towards solutions if a solution is an option. This is why I was a teacher for 36 years. Being entrusted with someone’s inner world is an honour and I gain far more than I ever give. Losing the intimate connections I have with so many people would be devastating.

The trouble is… my emotions become inextricably linked to yours.

That’s not your problem. It’s a puzzle I need to muddle through and over the past week or so, I’ve been doing much muddling. And a lot of crying.

Highly sensitive people are often empathic and empaths often feel other people’s emotions radiating out like a solar flare. No amount of 50+ sunscreen can shield the soft flesh from the onslaught of heat – so we absorb it. Which is fine, because not all emotions are dreary. Joy, hope and excitement wash through me in the same way as grief, fear and despair. Trouble is – I don’t let it go. I spend more time grieving and despairing for someone else’s woes than they do. I’m more invested in other people’s problems than they are. This seems like an inappropriate boundary – not to mention, an excuse to stop dealing with my issues.

Naturally, I spend endless hours discussing this with my psychologists – and would-be psychologist friends – trying to learn how to let people in, without letting their world burn me out.

Just let it go, isn’t helpful. If I could, I would.

Just don’t breathe, I want to reply.

My depression has sky-rocketed in 2020. Thankfully, however, there are 10.5 more months for the year to improve. I’m stripping away old coping mechanisms by attempting to put self-harm and eating disorder behaviours behind me. When coping mechanisms are swept away, what’s left? Hopefully some of the skills I’ve been trying to rote learn in DBT.

A beautiful friend shared a very helpful analogy this week and I thought I’d share it with you – in case, like me, you struggle with setting emotional boundaries.

There’s a car on the road and it’s pulled up outside your house.

You have a gate and a driveway and a really lovely garden. There’s a garden path that leads to the front door and on the other side of that door is your home. Nestled safely in your home, is your bedroom.

All sorts of people pull up on the side of the road at your house. Some of them are only allowed up to the gate, but most of them seem to come through the gate and venture down the driveway.

There are some people that hang around and you invite them to a tea party in the garden, while others are even allowed to come up to your front door for a neighbourly chat.

A very small number of people make it through the front door and into your house. Those people are your nearest and dearest – the people you intimately trust.

But your bedroom? Absolutely nobody goes in the bedroom. It’s a safe space for you – and only you.

Everyone is in my bedroom.

Emotionally I have no safe space because there’s nowhere I don’t take people’s problems, and my bedroom has become extremely crowded. I’m the first to admit I invited everyone in and even when they think they’ve left, I keep them around. I have nobody to blame but myself.

As I’ve found myself drowning the past few weeks, another beautiful friend (who liked the analogy), asked if I know of creative visualization. No, is the answer. So she took me through a visualization where all these people – whom I love dearly – were crowding my room. My room sported no windows or doors and was like a mosh pit of loving friends. A very clean, pristine white, mosh pit, but a place with no boundaries nonetheless. So I sought help to build a door and construct a safe space outside, letting everyone out into the garden for a great big tea party.

It had to be a safe space – otherwise, I can’t stop worrying.

Between praying with yet another close friend and trying to hand burdens that are too big for me over to God; mentally visualising a door and lovingly letting everyone out, while attempting to keep everyone I love safe and cared for but out of my bedroom; I think I’ve made progress. My mood is pitiful but I’m no longer spending every waking moment living other people’s pain.

Aside from frequently being highly empathic, we highly sensitive persons are often introverts. Not necessarily quiet, shy, retiring types, but people who need time alone – physically and mentally – to recharge. Finding both physical and mental alone time is extremely difficult for me, so perhaps my 2020 vision should embrace setting emotional boundaries. So I can enjoy big happy tea parties in my garden, intimate soirees in my house and peaceful surrender in my bedroom.