Just Guyton

This year has taught me a lot about boundaries.

Not the kind you announce with anger. Not the kind you use to punish people. And certainly not the kind you establish because you’re trying to control someone else.

I’m talking about the quiet kind.

The kind that happens when you finally realize there are conversations you don’t have to keep having, behaviors you don’t have to keep excusing, and tables you don’t have to keep sitting at simply because you’ve always had a seat there.

Sometimes people will dismiss what you’re feeling because they don’t see the situation the way you do.

Sometimes they’ll interrupt before you’ve finished explaining.

Sometimes they’ll give you a quick solution when what you really needed was for someone to listen.

And sometimes you’ll hear some version of:

“Well, you know how they are.”

I do.

But knowing how someone is doesn’t mean I have to continue accepting how they treat me.

Taking someone seriously doesn’t mean you have to agree with them. You can think I’m completely wrong and still respect me enough to listen. You can see something differently without making me feel foolish for seeing it the way I do.

Because being dismissed often enough can make a person start questioning their own voice.

I’ve done enough of that.

There was a time when I might have stayed at the table just to keep the peace.

I might have swallowed what I wanted to say. I might have worried about upsetting someone. I might have wondered whether establishing a boundary made me difficult, dramatic, or disrespectful.

These days, I see things differently.

Their disrespect may be loud, but my respect for myself is going to be louder.

That doesn’t mean I’m angry.

I’m not.

I’m not asking anyone to change.

I’m simply changing what I allow.

There’s a difference.

A boundary doesn’t say, You have to behave the way I want you to.

A boundary says, You are free to make your choices, and I am free to decide what I will participate in.

And yes, sometimes that means there will be parties I don’t attend.

There will be conversations I walk away from.

And there will be tables where an empty chair sits where I once would have been.

I’m okay with that.

Growing up, I heard the Bible described as “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth.”

Do with that what you will.

Think about it however you choose.

Because here’s something else I’ve learned: once my words leave my mouth, I cannot control what another person does with them. I cannot control how someone interprets them. I cannot control whether someone agrees with me, misunderstands me, or decides to be offended by something I never intended maliciously.

I can only be responsible for what was in my heart when I said it.

And there is no malice in this.

There is peace.

There is growth.

There is faith.

And there is finally an understanding that loving people does not require me to abandon myself.

I don’t need to flip the table.

I don’t need to yell across it.

I don’t need to convince everyone sitting there that I’m right.

Sometimes the healthiest thing I can do is simply stand up, push in my chair, and walk away.

You can keep the table.

I’ll keep my peace.

— GUYTON