I’ve said before that learning the concept of healthy boundaries really had an impact on me. Seriously, it’s such a simple concept, yet it’s one that can have life-changing effects.

A friend of mine who asks my advice on a semi-regular basis has no concept of healthy boundaries. He continually asks me for advice on how to respond to people in his life — but when I give him answers, he ignores what I have to say. Actually, that’s not entirely true. He listens, but just doesn’t “get it.” It figures that this is the friend who actually inspired MY learning about boundaries (from a counselor).

I’d love to have a book — or even better a “booklet” (something SHORT) that I could give people when I’m trying to explain this stuff to them. While Cloud & Townsend’s book does a fantastic job of addressing the concepts, the Christian-ese in it was bad enough for *me* to wade through, and I grew up in church. For someone like this friend — not necessarily athiest, agnostic maybe? — I wouldn’t want to hand him that book. The churchy language would likely turn him off to a sound psychological principal — one that is true to all humans, not just Christian ones.

At one point, I emailed C&T to ask if there was any possibility for such a book, but I’ve heard nothing in response. Considering the broader appeal it could have, I’m tempted to write it myself. Anyone have good suggestions for books about boundaries/personal responsibility/not taking on other’s shit?

Yes, I realize that I can set some boundaries with this friend in terms of his asking my advice. Here’s how today’s conversation (on instant messenger) ended:

(after my repeating myself about 10 times, saying the same thing in different ways)

my friend: ok… we can stop this..
me: I’m done, anyway.
my friend: honestly.. you have helped
my friend: but now we are circling
me: Seriously — I dislike being your advisor. It’s not my role, and it’s not one I care to keep.
me: What’s your mailing address?

I know this sounds harsh, but he’s asking in part about talking to the girl in dating. I used to be involved with this guy, and it’s just a smidge inappropriate. At this point, I was thinking I’d just mail him my copy of the C&T book and let him suffer through the language anyway, LOL.

my friend: then not another cent to me about refi’s and buyinghouses
my friend: but I do it anyway
me: You’ve never said before that you were unwilling to talk to me about those things. If that’s the case, and I know that now, then I won’t ask.
my friend: it’s a give and take.. or it has been.. but nobody said it was always fun Al
my friend: No it’s not that I’m unwilling… I dislike being your finacial advisor, it’s not my role, andit’s not one I care to keep.
my friend: goose and gander here
my friend: you are always fine to point out when I cross your line…
me: So, you should too.
my friend: but you never stop to see if you are crossing mine
my friend: thing is… it’s something I allow.. cause of the friendship

This is an ongoing issue with this friend. He takes it as his responsibility to figure out what someone else is feeling/thinking — and gets upset if other people don’t guess what he’s thinking too! When we dated, I guess I was more the “Mars” and him the “Venus” now that I think about it.

me: It’s not my job to guess if I’m crossing your line. It’s your job to tell me.
me: You’ve told me now — and in the future, I’ll respect that.
my friend: yes but you are the expert here
my friend: and what I’m telling you is… I don’t like the line
my friend: I think the line is shit
me: You’re making no sense.
my friend: sometimes it’s ok.. I’m in a good mood for it.. other’s I’m not
me: Well, when you’re not in the mood, what’s to stop you from saying, “I’m not in the mood to talk about this now” ?
my friend: I think the line should be tested.. not to test.. but because if one of us needs something.. an ear.. I want to be able to ask for it when I need it.. not based on some “line” that may or may not represent where you are today
my friend: I was trying that when you called last time.. I wanted to say my piece and go… and you just jumped on to the defensive bandwagon

(I’d called to ask his opinion of a loan I was considering for a house I was also considering . I’ve since decided to stay put and keep my condo a while longer. You know, I should have guessed that he was “not in the mood,” considering that instead of assessing the hard facts of the numbers, he started in on the assumption that I was dead-set on buying a house whether it was a good decision or not. Um…if I’d already decided, why would I be asking your opinion?)

me: Okay, this is something that I think you’re misunderstanding about the concept of boundaries.
me: A boundary is not a fixed line in the sand.
my friend: well I think they are fucked
my friend: that’s my understanding so far
my friend: but go ahead
me: I’m done. Perhaps we can talk again another time, but I have work to do, and this isn’t worth taking away from it.

(I switched my IM status to “Busy”)

my friend: yes… the “busy” status.. that helped show me your boundry with action not words…. “well except for the word “busy”…. *sigh*
me: That’s pretty much the point, yes.
me: I’ll talk to you later.
my friend: and it’s silly…
my friend: and condesending
my friend: and I’m leaving right now to go paint.. not cause of your silly busy symbol… I was trying to go anyway
me: No, it’s not. It’s respecting my own time needs and not allowing you to walk all over me.
my friend: bye.. and really… thanks

This is something that I’ve learned (that I wish he’d get) that’s helped my mental health in a big way…when someone says they’re busy, they may simply be busy. It’s not personal. I wasn’t stomping off and slamming a door; I was making a decision and communicating my decision. I remember in early counseling, if my therapist was online (we did most of our work via IM and a private blog I shared with him) but not talking to me, I almost would feel slighted. Or unwanted. Or something. How silly is that? In reality, just because he was online, that didn’t mean he was online to talk to me…and that in no way minimized the relationship we had.

My friend went out of his way to say, “okay, I’m leaving, but not because you said to.” So what? I told you I needed to work. You have things to do, too. I don’t *care* why you left the conversation, and that’s okay. It in no way minimizes my friendship with this person — just states as a fact that I have other obligations. ***sigh***

Another example:

Yesterday’s tiff over my daughter’s bio father is actually a good example of where I did okay…but could have done better. While I didn’t let that person push my buttons (even when I was threatened with a lawsuit for copyright infringement…huh?), I could have avoided all of this in the first place with a simple response to the initial email that would have read something like this:

Thanks for your concern and interest in my life. If you have comments or question related to a post on my blog, please publish them using the comment feature (anonymously if you prefer), and I will respond there.

I didn’t do it that way, but at least I guess I learned something. That’s all I can hope for, right? Trust me, I would never claim to be perfect on any of this stuff. As long as I continue to improve and learn, that’s enough.

From The Publishing Law Center, emphasis is mine:

Section 107 of the Copyright Act, entitled, “Limitations on Exclusive Rights: Fair Use,” is the statutory codification of the fair use doctrine. This judicially developed concept strives to balance the public’s need to know and be informed against authors’ incentives to create. The copyright law contemplates that fair use of a copyrighted work without permission shall be for purposes such as (1) criticism and comment, (2) parody and satire, (3) scholarship and research, (4) news reporting and (5) teaching, and that such fair use will not result in the infringement of a copyrighted work.

Some people really should learn to take themselves less seriously.

Today kind of sneaked up on me. I feel as though I should have something deep and moving to post in honor of a birthday, but you know…I just don’t.

Maybe that, in and of itself, says a lot. This year, my birthday just didn’t really seem like a particularly important event to me — I’m just marking another year gone by. So what?

There’s a small part of me that finds that having a child is part of that — there’s no biological clock ticking. Before pregnancy, whenever I met someone new, consciously or not, there was always a calendar in my head. Let’s see…if this is the one…we’d date for at least this long before getting engaged…be engaged for a bit…get married…be married, no kids for a while. The youngest I’ll be when I have kids is (age). After the dust settled from discovering that I was pregnant (and making the decision to become a mother), I remember this occurring to me — I know how old I’ll be when I become a mother. I’ll be 33. Silly, isn’t that?

I’d love to have another child someday, not because I liked being pregnant (I *hated* it) and not to go through the miracle of birth again (although that was better than pregnancy), but just to actually give Maya that sibling relationship. When I watch others’ kids, the dynamics between siblings just fascinates me, and there’s a connection that I’d love Maya to experience. That said, that desire isn’t important enough to me for me to pick “just anyone” to be my partner and that child’s father — so it may happen, it may not.

Guess now I’m having more thoughts on age.

34. As a child, then a teenager, then a 20-something adult, I never conceived of my being in my 30s. Really, it’s almost as if I never thought I’d get here — like I’d die before reaching this age? I certainly would have never fathomed that I’d be a single mom in my 30s. How horrific! What’s amazing is that I like my life now probably more than I’ve liked my life…ever. That’s not to say that I expect things to stay just as they are; certainly not. Before pregnancy, I’d decided that graduate school made sense to me. That’s still true. Even better, Maya’s entrance into my life has provided a little more focus for the areas I’d like to research. Watching her personality develop…watching her become her own person…completely fascinates me. It’s awesome to watch, especially when I realize the role I hold in helping her find/become herself.

So again, 34. It’s such a non-age. It’s not one that people get all angsty about. I’m no longer in my “early” 30s, and I’m okay with that. Guess that’s about it.

Today I learned something. If you enter an email address along with your comments for a blog that uses Haloscan, your email address is displayed. Most comment systems I’ve seen ask you to enter your email, but it’s only visible to the site owner. I’d neglected to notice that Haloscan differs.

I learned this because I got quite the interesting email — directly to my account — today from someone who visited here from another site where I’d commented. Considering that this email’s remarks directly addressed a specific post, who knows why this person didn’t just leave a comment…

Stripping out any identifying info, here it is:

From: (woman’s name)
Date: Jul 17, 2005 6:43 PM
Subject: Curious
To: (me)

I found your blog from the (site) comments. I wonder if there were reasons besides his small penis that you decided not to try to establish a relationship with your daughter’s father. Do you reckon the penis size was a deal breaker? What will you tell your daughter about her father? (God, please! don’t tell her the real reason.)

I wonder because I was a bit shocked the first time I saw my husband’s penis which is kind of small–at least by what I’d seen before and magazine pictures. But it turned out he was a great lover, the best sex I ever had is with my husband despite his size.

I wonder too what difficulty your daughter might have with only you as a parent. Girls especially need men around for establishing good relationship with other men.

Maybe when she grows up she will try to find her biological father like some adopted children do. Would you help her do that if she showed interest and desire to do so?

Maybe this guy was a creep and it was not just his penis size. I was just wondering.

Best Wishes
(first name)

Note that of the LONG post about my daughter’s bio dad, the comment about his, um…size…was one sentence. And written with humor. Running with the assumption that this woman really is who she says, I’m pleased for her that she enjoys her husband. Really, I am. But…

A few possibilities:

1. This really is a woman who really is married to a talented, but underendowed man. She really is genuinely concerned about my daughter’s well-being.
2. This really is a woman who’s married to the underendowed man, but she subconsciously hates it, so is hyper-sensitive to any penis-size comment.
3. This is a troll. Then again, if it were, I’d almost expect a troll to WANT to post a comment here, just to stir up some excitement. To this thought, the yahoo profile shows as “updated 7/16/2005, but contains no information whatsoever — it’s clearly a newly created email address.
4. This is an underendowed man, and he’s standing up for his brothers.

I could go on. Maybe I will later, but for now, I’m too busy snickering at the mental image of my sitting with a six-year-old daughter on my knee, gently explaining to her any of the following:

“Darling, you must understand. I was so relieved when the ultrasound showed that you were a girl, so you wouldn’t inherit your father’s…affliction.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry that you don’t know your father, but he has a small penis, so is an evil person. I couldn’t expose you to that.”

My reply to her question:

Not that it’s really any of your concern — but my issue with the biological donor to my daughter’s DNA had more to do with his inability/unwillingness to listen to the word “no.” By the time I learned I was pregnant, I had no way to contact him; he was someone I *met* on NYE, not a date. Surely, in that context, you can understand why I was upset about the not-listening-to-no part.

For the record? He was a great kisser. I mean, it got as far as it did for a reason. Even though I didn’t want/plan to sleep with the guy, I didn’t shut him down as harshly or clearly as I should have because…well…I wanted to keep *kissing* him.

Rereading her letter and my response, I realize that I neglected to answer one question. Of course, I’d help my daughter to find her biological father. Over the past several months, I’ve entertained the idea of doing some detective work myself, simply so I’ll have something for her to start with when/if that day arrives.

I fully realize that by posting personal details on a blog, that I open myself up to others’ opinions. Can’t they just form opinions based on what’s written, though, instead of on their own assumptions? I honestly don’t mind being judged — if that judgement is based on fact. All too often, though, it’s not.

The author’s comments about my daughter’s emotional well-being are a whole other topic for some other day.

You, too, can now have a shot at being the Bride of Christ.

ROTFLMFAO. Really.

Today must be depression day (clarification: the subject, not my mood) …here’s a great post on Follow Me Here about antidepressants, and their use. I left a (ridiculously) long comment, which follows:

In 1997, I first experienced a major depression — but didn’t recognize what had happened until I got out of it by the extreme method of uprooting myself and moving out of state. I was so afraid that I’d lost my mind that I didn’t want to talk to anyone about how I was feeling.

After reading literature that described depression, I realized where I’d been, and swore that if I were ever there again, I’d see a doctor. That happened in 2001, and I notified one of my closest confidants of what was up, and that I’d made an appointment to see a doctor. Other than that, I didn’t tell anyone; I was too embarassed. I saw the doctor (P.A., actually), and he was so understanding and compassionate that I cried through the entire appointment…not that it took much for me to cry.

After starting a trial on Effexor, I was stunned at the effects. While the conventional wisdom is “six weeks for drugs to work,” I felt relief within an *hour*. Placebo effect? Possibly. I didn’t care; the change in my brain was stunning — I no longer felt invaded by a sensation of tightness. Feelings of hopelessness were replaced with relief of finding myself again. I became the poster child for a/d meds, and told anyone who’d listen how much they’d helped me.

In time (perhaps a year later), the Effexor seemed to not do the trick anymore — or at least not as effectively. This terrified me, because I’d been so convinced that my “chemical imbalance” had been relieved by medication. If I were relapsing, did that mean there was something permanently wrong with me? In my case, I was very lucky/blessed/whatever you care to call it to have a skilled counselor appear in my life. Over the course of a several months of work, we found many of the underlying emotional issues.

These days, it’s been about 1-1/2 years since I was last on Effexor. I still feel the symptoms of depression and anxiety (GAD was a big part of my depression), but I’ve learned to manage my life to help alleviate those.

Does this mean that it was wrong for me to take antidepressants? Absolutely not.

While my depression/anxiety episodes had emotional roots, there were genuine *physical* results that came from those emotions. In time, the physical symptoms took on a life of their own. In order to eventually treat the emotional issues, I needed the medication — which stabilized me enough to do the hard work of therapy.

All of this is to present my opinion on antidepressants — an opinion that conveniently happens to agree with yours:

• Yes, depression is a physical/biological illness.
• That said, doctors do their patients a disservice if they attempt to treat depression with medication alone.
• Real transformation is only possible with some hard mental work on the part of the patient.
• Sometimes, a/d meds are necessary to help the patient do this work!

Been reading you for a while, but I believe I’ve never commented. Thanks for continuing to present great info.

Interesting research going on out there. While I’ve experienced depression (severe, even), it’s never quite been to the point that anything this extreme would be merited as a treatment. For all the bad rep that ECT gets, I’ve read reports of lives it’s saved.

The pacemaker-like implant has been sold since 1997 to control intractable epilepsy, a much smaller market.

A generator the size of a pocket watch is implanted into the chest. Wires snake up the neck to the vagus nerve, delivering tiny electric shocks through that nerve and into a region of the brain thought to play a role in mood.

Read more here.

It’s just past midnight, and I just got off the phone from the *oddest* phone call.

Let me set the stage. After this post, I did finally write back to the “match” in question. He’d provided his direct email address, so I sent my reply there. Then I waited for a response. After two days of nothing, I shot a short note directly to the match account:

I shot you a note to (email address) the other night, but haven’t heard back from you. Either AOL threw me into the spam folder, or you’ve changed your mind and are no longer interested (or secret option C, beats me). I hope that the first possibility is what’s up; you sound interesting.

Whatever the case, please do let me know.

Allison

He replied to that note, saying he’d never received a message and to please resend it. I did, but to the match address instead. After that, his reply suggested a phone conversation rather than meeting up in person. Well, yeah…of course. Just as I’ll never meet up with someone without having seen a photo first (I made that mistake in…oh…1998, I think?), I won’t meet up with someone without a phone call first either.

Around 11:30, I got an email suggesting a phone call, and I happened to be awake, baby asleep, so sure…why not?

So I get on the phone with this man, this man who’s never been married and never had any kids, and he proceded to explain TO ME what I will face dating as a single mother. He told me what it is that I’m looking for (which in his estimation was a husband — not dating) and continued to say that it’s really too much pressure. All during this, he barely let me get a word in edgewise (me! the extraverted, talkative ENFP!), as he took any snippet of what I said and made great leaps of deductive reasoning about who I am and what I want.

At some point, I (with my keen sense of the obvious) noted that this wasn’t going very well. I told him that I didn’t seem to be faring too well in this “assessment phone call” (his term). After another excruciating 3-5 minutes in which he wished me well, “especially where you live — I feel sorry for you living in Colorado Springs,” After questioning his choice of feeling sorry for me — I mean, if I really hate it here, I CAN move (and might), I bid him good luck, and he hung up before even giving a polite good night.

Good riddance. Pity.

The fun part of this is that I hadn’t reviewed his profile again since the day I replied. I pulled it up (quick! pop-quiz!) before the phone call, and looked at the photos and thought…no. It’s not that he’s not attractive. There’s just something missing. A smile — a hint at someone who enjoys life and has a good heart. OMG…now that I think about it, he reminded me of my ex-fiance’ in photos — taking himself a little too serious for my taste. Honestly, the photos that draw me are the ones with warmth. That’s lacking. Enough wound-licking for now — or is it wound-licking when I don’t feel like I lost anything? I lost an idea, and that’s about it.

The “what I’m looking for” part

Whether intentionally or not, I probably helped him to leap to the conclusion that I’m husband-shopping. What he asked was this — are you shopping or buying? Without seeing *his* connotation to this question, I said that no, I wasn’t necessarily looking to just date. While I’m perfectly fine with staying single, I’d love to add a partner to the mix in the long run. This clearly meant something very different to him than it does to me. To me, it means this: I’m not going to waste my time meeting up with morons. I’m not going to bother to date people with whom I wouldn’t want to become good friends. So, no…I’m not shopping, and by that, I mean that I’m not looking for some “anyone” to be a mealticket on date-night. Feh.

After I sleep on this, I’ll have more thoughts on what I can learn from it, I’m sure — and how I can be a little more clear about what I want. What I really want, to start, is friendship. Not “dating games.” Not even sex — it’s been long enough, I can damned well live without that. Simple friendship. I would adore a friendship that could turn into something else — yes, even the “cliche” best friend that practically every person on match claims they’re seeking.

My initial impression is that match.com is and will be a waste of my time. Getting into grad school and continuing to broaden my circle of friends — with no eye to dating — will enrich my life much more than match.com ever could. Don’t quote me on that yet — my subscription doesn’t expire until next month. :-D

That said, I’m making sure that they don’t auto-renew me.

is not hate, according to this post at The Gates Are Open. Click through; what initially appears to be a post about current events has a much more profound message.

Some time ago, the maintenance crew dug out the area between my building and the carport so that they could install new sod. While the sod’s been in for perhaps a couple months now, they never finished cleaning up under my stairwell. A clump of dirt remained sitting on the rocks, and a snapdragon plant grew out of that clump. Since I’ve lived here, there have never been snapdragons in that garden.

Lesson 1: When turmoil enters your life, it might seem ugly at the time, but you never know what’s going to blossom in place of what’s lost.

That clump of dirt isn’t in the ground. It sits on top of smallish landscaping rocks, and a concrete drain rests on top of it. The clump isn’t even large. Yet, still, a flowering plant more beautiful than any I planted on purpose in my garden has emerged.

Lesson 2: Thrive where you’re planted.