Letting our Sensitivities Lead: The Link Between Wellness & Boundaries.

Sensations skitter through my chest. 

It’s not anxiety, but it could be. It was for a long time. 

My body is a tuning fork—my nervous system, in particular. Feelings and emotions, my own and others, reverberate through my flesh leaving ripples in their wake. Sometimes the waves are set off by fear or confusion, but more often it is pleasure.

My relationship with anxiety is one of my longest-standing…well, relationships.

One of my close once friends described me as: “Being like Valium to be around.” I was soothing, calm, and good at putting others at ease. Was I, myself, at ease? Not likely. But, as many of us do, I had learned to calm my own inner turmoil by making others comfortable. 

As a child, I was so sensitive that I would literally projectile vomit in the presence of disturbing emotions.

There was a certain volatility that seemed to lurk just beneath the surface within my family dynamics and, like a shark, it would occasionally rise to feed. It wasn’t particularly predictable, this rising and feeding, so part of me learned to be alert all the time. Even now, as I sit in my bed on this cool late summer’s morning, watching the light filter through the lace curtains that drape around my window, there is a part of me that is still “waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

It’s an unsettling feeling—waiting with no evidence of anything being wrong. 

This certain unsettledness used to set off waves of panic. I would catastrophize (most commonly) around 2 areas that are particularly sensitive to me: money and intimacy. 

I would imagine that something terrible was unfolding just below the surface with my lover. I would ruminate over what I had done to cause this imaginary break. 

I would also worry about money, but the way that would come out was in random spending on crap I didn’t need while other more pressing financial matters languished unattended. (That reminds me: pay the power bill.)

This patterning could be described as codependent. Worrying more about the wellbeing of others, what they are doing, and how to control that relationship is pretty much the definition of codependency. Thinking (without realizing I was thinking it) that if I was just perfect enough, then they would behave in the way that I need them to was, and is, exhausting. 

The trouble with people-pleasing (and the subsequent illnesses that can develop from it) is outlined in Gabor Maté’s book, “When the Body Says No: Exploring The Stress-Disease Connection.” He offers up multiple case studies in which patients’ long-term people-pleasing behaviors wind up having lasting impacts on their health. Conditions range from various autoimmune disorders to cancer. 

People-pleasing tends to be at the root of codependency and it stems from a lack of boundaries. 

Being well-boundaried is something I have worked to develop. 

Boundaries start with ourselves—internally—and extend through every area of our life. How we relate with our own behaviors, the behaviors of others, our resources, our time, our dietary habits, our spending habits… everything comes back to boundaries.

For many of us a lack of boundaries can lead to over-functioning, taking on too much, internalizing our worth from others' approval, and not preserving enough time, energy, and resources for ourselves.  

When we force ourselves to say yes when we want to say no we override our bodies instinctive and preservative cues. This behavior often begins in childhood. We may have parents that push us past our comfort zones or we may have parents whom we feel we need to comfort. The latter process is known as parentification while the prior process can be mildly to extremely invasive. 

In extreme situations having our boundaries violated will look like emotional or physical abuse. In more subtle circumstances it may be experienced as prolonged states of intimidation or neglect. Either way, our bodies learn that it is not safe to be at ease. This lack of ease or heightened stress (over a prolonged period) literally contributes to disease in the body. 

Whereas my own ingrained habits around boundaries (or lack thereof) have not led to any outright diseases, I can link several patterns—migraines, anxiety, certain muscle tensions, as well as upset stomach—to my tendency to stifle my voice and needs while prioritizing the comfort of others.

Oddly enough, or not, it was when I got to the point of no longer being able to ignore myself—what I felt and what I knew—that my anxiety stopped masking itself as migraines (and the subsequent desire to dull them with high octane beer and entirely too much crap TV) and began to run riots through my body, instead. 

The day after my longtime live-in lover proposed, I awoke with such a headache it should have been utterly clear that my body was screaming no. However, at that time, I hadn’t let myself awaken to my instinctive wisdom in the way that I am now, and the migraines were still containing all the energy that would (about a year later), become full-blown anxiety. 

Instead of letting myself deeply feel the pain of not being held, loved and made love to, immediately after our engagement I, instead, chose to drink, smile, and take appealing photos for social media that catered to the fantasy that I was not yet willing to relinquish. 

Sitting here, safely tucked into the bed that I have not properly made in days, my body can remember how it felt to be with him. There is tension in my back, I can feel my tailbone pulling up, a ghost of the migraine pattern tickles my trigeminal nerve (that’s the one that governs the jaw). It twitches—my jaw. They manifested there—the migraines. It’s been a long time since I had one, but my body remembers. 

Yesterday (whilst in the sauna at the hot springs), my mom was massaging my face. Along the jawline, into the sinus pockets, down my neck, and around the base of my skull moved her deft (if mildly arthritic) fingers. She remarked, “It’s a lot less crunchy and congested than it used to be.” 

True. Tending my anxiety has allowed me to clear what felt like physical debris from my body. 

Over time, when we live in prolonged states of stress, our bodies tend to de-prioritize detoxification as well as rest. Unreleased stress hormones build up in our tissue: lymph and adipose (that’s fat cells) mostly. My lymph nodes are particularly sensitive. It is for that reason that over 8 years ago, I stopped using chemical deodorants and stopped wearing underwire bras. I could actually feel the nodes under my arms swelling from the use of them. 

We give up what we can when we can. We let go at the rate that we feel seen, heard, and held. 

Some of us “burn bridges” as means of establishing personal, emotional, and relational well being. I, personally, prefer to pull up the drawbridge at times (in regards to relationships) and let people negotiate the moat. But when it comes to the well being of my body—I burned my damned underwire bra. 

In some instances no contact is absofuckinglutley the right answer when it comes to establishing boundaries in regards to our well being. However, we as adults are also capable of making more nuanced relationship decisions given time, space, and the safety needed to heal.

I don’t talk to him: the man who once proposed to me. Only when the dog we once shared recently died, did I reach out. And that’s fine. After nine years of being in a relationship that fundamentally lacked satisfying communication, we really have nothing to talk about.  

For 4 years I also went no-contact with my dad. As I saw it, my long-standing pattern of negotiating both subtle and blatant volatility—since childhood and beyond with my father—was what set me up to re-experience that dynamic in all of my intimate relationships with men.  

I pulled the (relationship) drawbridge up on my dad and it remained in a locked position until I felt safe, stable, secure, and at ease enough in my own life to care to consider lowering it again. Even when we first began engaging, and eventually saw each other in person, I remained deeply attuned to my own senses, my body, and my need for safety. 

I am ready and willing to prioritize my wellbeing over the trappings of any relationship. 

And this is what boundaries are: they are the invitation that can be rescinded. They are the no that passes our lips which allows us to breathe more easily and they are the yes that lights us up, the opportunity to receive. 

Boundaries are no less than the sacred ground we recover and claim after being abandoned, abused, betrayed, or violated. They are also the way we hold ourselves through the storm and the clarity that comes after the rain. 

As I sit here now, I can feel my body relaxing. 

My breath is coming easier as I am reminded that I can make nuanced decisions about how to care for myself. 

Things that I may say yes to today may be a no tomorrow. 

And that is another lovely thing about boundaries, sensitivities, and listening to our bodies: we get to be fluid. Rigidity need not be the way that we hold ourselves in structure. We can, instead, respond from tenderness, compassion, curiosity, and care. 

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Thank you so much for your support!

~Justice

To learn more about Justice Bartlett and the services she offers visit www.bedheadmystic.com