A Poem on Boundaries

Day One

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.