Boundaries... The space you need.

Feroshia R.J. Knight, MA, PCC

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Spa Day, November 2010. I was psyched for six hours of physical, spiritual, and emotional nourishment. I planned to re-fill my tapped wells and allow others to pamper me. And it was long overdue.

Just as I walked out the door, my house phone rang. I have just an itty bitty need to answer loudly trilling machines, so I marched back inside.

My mother shouted into the phone. "Your brother's gone off the deep end. He's actually taking that job in Somalia. There are pirates in Somalia! Machine guns and mosquitoes and anarchy! Are you listening? It's anarchy over there!"

I blew out a sigh. "He's doing what he wants to, mother, and he's a grown man. Why would I interfere?"

"Because you're his sister! It's a rule or something. And you're the only one he'll listen to. He'll never find a nice girl in Anarchy!"

"You mean Somalia?"

"I'm begging you. Call him now before he gets on the plane?"

I glanced at my watch. If I was late, I'd miss my mani/pedi. I weighed my choices. Missed mani/pedi or distressed mother?

Then my mother uttered words that struck terror in my heart. "Don't make me come over there!"
"I'll let you know what he says," I told her.

I dialed my brother and got his voicemail. Then the doorbell rang.

My neighbor, Carolyn, pushed inside and brushed past me, straight for my refrigerator. "You'll never believe what just happened!" She pulled out the bottle of wine she'd given me the week before.

"Let me guess," I said. "Mr. Right broke up with you. Again."

Carolyn rummaged through drawers for the wine opener. "How do you do it? You're, like, so psychic!"

I warned my brother to call back before he got on his plane, and hung up. My watch said eight-fifteen. "Have you even had breakfast?" I asked Carolyn.

"This is my breakfast."

Uh-oh, visions of a big cry-fest danced in my head. "But I have a spa day!"

"Oh yeah, throw it in my face. I'm dying here, and you're going to get all rejuvenated. A best friend would help me make sense of this."

"Carolyn, the guy you're in love with is married. You're the only one surprised. He's not the one for you."

"Is that you helping me?"

She poured two glasses of wine and pushed one toward me. I then sipped on it for two hours while Carolyn ranted, sobbed, and polished off the rest of the bottle. Our conversation was quite lopsided as I leaned on the counter with my chin balanced in my hand, preoccupied with my missed mani/pedi and now the oxygen mask facial.

Carolyn burped into her fist. "Thanks for . . . being my sh-ounding board. I'm going to (hiccup) sh-leep it off now."

I brightened. What? I'm free? "Good girl. Call you later!"

If I hurried, I could make yoga and meditation, followed by a relaxing Swedish massage. I grabbed my keys, when my chiweenie growled and barked. And then I remembered, he was out of food. Poor thing, I was starving him! Off to the pet store I went for his special doggie kibbles.

So much for my spa day!

Time for a reminder about personal boundaries, right? Since there were no real emergencies, my mother could just as easily have called my brother as I could, and my neighbor could have hooked up with me later in the day to cry on my shoulder. Had my needs been met, I would have been more present and I wouldn't have resented missing out on my special day. And if I'd worked the previous day's plan better, my chiweenie would have had nothing to complain about.

Here are three tips for establishing and maintaining your personal boundaries:

  1. If you're a consummate giver, create a special space in your day to accommodate your important people, while remembering that it's usually better to let them help themselves while you offer secondary support.

  2. Don't take on more than you can manage. By spreading yourself too thin, you delay or forget important tasks and waste time on half-measures that only do your relationships a disservice.

  3. Ask for what you need too. Open up communications and be honest about the time and support you have to give, without sacrificing your own needs to a degree that's unhealthy.


Uh-oh. I hear my mother at the door. Looks like my brother took off for the land of anarchy. Or perhaps my mother brought it with her . . .

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