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A Poem on Boundaries
Day One The first day of boundary setting must be the hardest, but really, I wouldn't know, because every Day One is difficult, and I'm not sure which other day I'll make it to. Here I am, and it's hard, and I'm tired just getting started, like a kid in Kindergarten, like someone jumping into a pool they've never gone swimming in. How deep does this thing go? And how badly will it hurt when my face hits the cold water? Will I be liked and loved, or will someone share a crayon with me when I look around the room? Day Ones are always hard, and maybe if I make it to Day Two, I'll let you know just how hard it ends up being, the day after, the day that maybe gets me to what's next, to the good parts of care. But today, the headache creeps in and I long for a good nap and a hefty lunch that will get me through to the next big thing, the next little thing, the next day. I long for the courage to keep this up. We are told that habits take somewhere between 18 and 284 days to form, which means we really have no earthly idea what it means for us to make room for growth and change. The blueprint ink has been smeared, the list of instructions are faulty, we are so hopelessly human, and that's it. So I'll be here, and I'll remember this day, Day One, the day it all began, the day the boundary-setting started and the day I checked the box and said I did it, today I accomplished the thing, and if tomorrow I fail, I'll still call it something like living, something like the beauty and exhaustion of being human.