Boundaries take practice, especially when you have a history of trauma. Being a survivor of abuse can make the inner alarm bells malfunction — they either don’t go off at all because mistreatment has been normalized, or they go off at the slightest whiff of something that reminds you of a past traumatic experience.
This can make it extremely difficult to establish and maintain healthy boundaries.
Examples of healthy boundaries include:
- Saying no to something without explaining your reasons why
- Asking someone to stop doing something that bothers you
- Canceling plans when you are too tired or overwhelmed to socialize
- Taking a step back from intimacy in a relationship
These seem like they’re easy, but a history of abuse can make them seem insurmountably difficult. Complex PTSD, anxiety, and other mental illnesses can turn simple boundary setting into an exercise in self-loathing and self-sabotage.
You feel like you’re being difficult for no reason and that by saying no, you’re going to make everyone hate you and it will be all your fault.
It sucks. It is hard. It is painful.
And you have to keep practicing.
I got a message over the weekend asking me out for lunch. It was a perfectly polite message, very complimentary, and I felt warmly about being asked out. But I wasn’t feeling a dating vibe with this particular person and I confess that I panicked for a moment. How do I say no? There’s no real “reason” to say no!
Not feeling enthusiastic about something is enough of a reason to say no.
The idea of a date wasn’t sparking joy for me, and it took me a moment to breathe and realize that this was just a conversation with an acquaintance and not a life and death situation. I wrote back to her and said thank you but I am not interested in a date. And she said that was totally fine and then we talked about a party she was throwing. It was a complete non-issue.
You’re allowed to say no when you’re just not feeling something. It doesn’t make you a bad person, and you don’t owe people a yes when you’d rather say no.
The fear: Saying no will make them hate you.
The reality: If it does, that’s pretty messed up and definitely not your problem.
I also canceled a date over the weekend because I just wanted to lay in bed and be lazy. That was totally okay too. (Side note: dating is exhausting, and my energy to do it waxes and wanes faster than the moon).
You are in charge of who is around you and how you spend your time.
What about when you do want to spend time with someone and your anxiety tells you THEY don’t want to hang out with YOU?
Recently, the little voice in my brain decided that I needed to put some boundaries in place with a friend because he didn’t actually care about me and it was all a game. I was being toyed with. I was a punchline. Ha ha, who wants to be friends with sad traumatized Caitlin?
When someone is important to you, anxious traumatic patterns will convince you that they’re not safe (just like before!), so you protect yourself from future heartbreak by ending things ASAP. Constant self-sabotage is the name of the game when you’ve been raised with love and abuse as two sides of the same coin.
I wrote a very polite message to my friend, explaining that I needed to take a step back from our relationship because I felt like my mental health was at risk.
He responded by telling me that my mental health came first and he would respect what I needed to do. He asked if I would like to talk about it and we talked out what the little chattering weasels in my brain were saying. He gave me the safe space to get out all of my anxieties and fears. He responded with reassurance and kindness.
Oh. I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Thanks a lot, brain weasels.
The huge, glaring, neon sign of difference between my relationship with this friend and my relationship with my abuser: My abuser told me that I was responding to an imaginary villain version of him in my head and that he’d never do something to make me feel that way — completely invalidating my fears and telling me they were made up. It’s not safe to express discomfort to a person who tells you your discomfort isn’t real.
My friend took my concerns seriously, let me talk openly about my fears, validated my feelings, and worked through the anxious spiral with me. We came out the other side of the experience feeling closer to each other, and I felt safe and seen and valued.
The fear: Talking about my trauma will make people think I’m too much work and I should just stay quiet and never be open about it.
The truth: The only way for me to keep learning that it’s safe to talk about my fears with people is to talk about my fears with people.
Moral of the story: Boundaries (and healing) take work. But it’s worth it.
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