New Hair, Who Dis?

Well, hey friends. It's been a little while. Today, I'd like to talk about boundaries. 

Although there are approximately a thousand things that have happened between May and now, most of them aren't worth discussing and some of them are not my story to tell. Here's what I can tell you: after nine solid months of searching, Tom and I found a new home in Loveland; I picked up a 2nd job working from home; two family members have passed away. 

To say that the last three months have been indescribably difficult would be an understatement. There have been more times than not when I was barely holding myself together and as a result of such, almost every part of my life has suffered - home, work, and relationships. All of it. Though I'd like to think that as I've gotten older, it has become easier to manage the unexpected, and at times unyielding, trials of being a person, the truth is that sometimes I fall victim to that burden. The overwhelming complexity of life has proven to be such an impregnable force that I have taken to total and absolute retreat. 

It's a fancy way of saying that I've been kind of a hermit the last few months.

Thankfully, there's hope. As it always eventually does, things are looking up I've started doing things again. Yes! Believe it or not, I've seen a couple of friends and left the house for something other than the grocery store. Talk about relief! It feels so good to be a person that I've actually started happy cleaning again. For those of you not in the know, cleaning is my love language. It is the thing that I do when I'm just bursting to the brim with joy. Don't ask me why - I just thrive in a clean environment. 

Also, I dyed my hair. Trauma response? Probs. Cute? Most definitely.
This haircut earned the 'Tom' stamp of approval.

Though I'm still not "out of the woods" in terms of my mental health, getting here also carried its own set of struggles. 

Over the past few years, I've been making a conscientious effort to communicate and verbalize my needs more often. Tom has pointed out countless times that I fail to tell him when I'm feeling frustrated until my own unmet needs burst out of me often in the form of tears. As an example of this, a couple of weeks after we'd first moved to the new place, still surrounded by unpacked boxes and living in a general state of unwelcome chaos, we got into an argument because Tom had been relentlessly complaining about the quirks of our new home (which, I might add, is $300 cheaper a month than what we were paying - "You're WELCOME, THOMAS"), and his needless criticism had pushed me far enough over the edge that I went from quietly stirring his dinner to sobbing. Though I had just been trying to protect his feelings and spare him the burden of dealing with my own mental health issues, I ended up having a latent revelation that all my attempts at subtlety had been lost on him entirely. It was then that I had to remind myself that sometimes being gentle isn't what others will respond to and I had fallen short of asking for the support I so desperately needed. 

And this, my friends, is where our story leads next. 

Setting boundaries is an important tool in self-advocacy. It isn't selfish or self-centered or immature to ask for what you need in any kind of relationship - familial, platonic, professional, or romantic.  In fact, in my experience, the opposite is generally true. When I have gone out of my way to tell someone how I'm feeling, there are usually one of two outcomes: either we find ways to support each other better or I learn that they are not invested in our relationship the way that I am. In short, they are not concerned about my feelings and it is a waste of my time to continue trying.

Figuring out that you are unimportant to someone you love is kind of painful. 

Though I don't think it's appropriate to air specific grievances, I will say that there are two family members to whom this situation applies. For years now, I've been asking for my needs directly, communicating explicit hurts, and seeking inclusion, only to be ignored entirely or otherwise gaslit. To be cornered and made to second guess my own intentions is not only typical for these individuals but practically predictable. Even Tom has expressed his disappointment in how poorly my own family has treated me, going so far as to speculate that their exclusion is not only intentional but malicious. While I am certainly not blameless and have my own mistakes to own up to, the fact is that I am also the only one who has actually apologized for said mistakes. I know that I'm not a perfect person but I do at least consistently try to be better for the people that I care about. Why is it so hard for others to do the same? Why is it that the people I love, who are supposed to love me, do not care about my feelings? Why do they not care that they've hurt me?

All of this came to fruition on the day of a funeral. My Grandfather, who was a complicated but kind man, had unexpectedly passed away and I was desperate for familial support. We'd had enough to deal with when my stepdad passed away but now, not even weeks after Dan's funeral, we had all gathered to mourn yet again someone else who was dear to us. I didn't even think my heart could handle more stress. There were a number of extended relatives who had come into town, some of whom I hadn't seen in ten years or more, and I begged, begged, begged to be included in whatever activities were occurring that day. It wasn't as though my request had been made in passing either. I spoke to them directly multiple times, texted. Nothing. It wasn't until much later in the evening that I even figured out the whole family had gotten together and not a single person even thought to invite me. Or even tell me about it. No one. To be stripped of the opportunity to grieve with the people who were supposed to be my support system was not only devastating but arguably soul-crushing. They forgot about me, as they'd been doing for years and years despite my explicit pleas otherwise. 

Though I will be the first to admit that my heightened emotions at the time of this situation blowing up was certainly a contributor to the inevitable falling out, the reality is that it would have happened anyway on some other occasion. The years of work I'd been putting in to try and have a better relationship with my family had been wasted entirely because after telling them how hurt I was to be left out of plans, all I got instead were excuses, blame, and insults. 

People always show you who they are. I have to learn to believe them the first time around.

After everything was said and done, I asked for some space and though I'm not getting it entirely for reasons that aren't worth explaining in detail (read: my needs are still being ignored), I seem to feel different about it day-to-day. Some days, I feel vindicated that I've spoken my peace and have left the door open for them to try to come to me when they're ready. Other days, I feel hopeless that my family doesn't give two shits and that this hill I've chosen to die on will be a lonely one. Who knows what will eventually happen? I can only speculate and the rational part of me is trying not to think about what the most likely outcome is because doing so is just more depressing. 

So, for now, I'm just going to lean on the people who do love and support me and focus on giving myself the space to heal, whatever that looks like. Now that things are finally settled, meaning we should be able to comfortably fall back into a normal routine, I'm looking forward to doing things that make me feel good - writing, hitting the gym, and spending time with my friends and Tom. All good stuff. That's my goal for the remainder of the year: just find the good stuff. 

Until next time.