A friend recently joked that I should write a blog on boundaries following their experience setting limits with a family member. "Boundaries" covers a lot of ground, internally and externally. My insides often know when mine are being pushed before my intellect does.

Initially, boundaries meant setting limits - who, and what behavior did I need to distance myself from in order to protect my fledgling sobriety? For me, it was the meth-cook boyfriend, my semi-significant other. I'll never forget the day that I dropped off his things on my way to a noon meeting. Big Kelly was in the car with me, and when the boyfriend started to give me crap on the front porch of his latest crash pad, Kelly simply got out of the car - all 6 feet 5 inches of him, and nearly that broad at the shoulders and said, "Do you need a hand, Jeanine?"

I did need a hand, or more accurately, another sane voice. Living with two friends from treatment was invaluable in those early months when I was still trying to save the boyfriend who wanted nothing to do with recovery. I learned the skill of "book-ending" - checking in with someone before I saw him (or went to the party, or whatever the situation was) and committing to check in after. Accountability.

In new sobriety, my mother's drinking bothered me. Actually, everyone's drinking bothered me, but mom especially. My boundary setting with her was more internal - I didn't call after 5pm, when I could hear the drink on her voice, and timed my attendance at family functions. Her drinking bothered me more than it bothered anyone else, so I made my peace with it, realizing that it was my issue. One day, many years later, she announced that she hadn't had a drink in a couple of years, though of course, by then, I'd stopped noticing.

In more recent years, I've had to set boundaries around self-care, mainly with myself. I used to say "yes!" to nearly everything - there's a great big world out there, and I want to experience ALL of it! And, as I've written before, nothing is special if everything is.

I have self-imposed limits around work - I don't donate time to my employer, as much as I like my job. I've learned to set limits around my sleep schedule - I really, really need every minute of my 8 hours, and I now take responsibility, rather than blame, when I choose to let the clock inch past bedtime. And I've learned, over time, to say, "Let me get back to you," instead of the automatic "Sure!"

On a "check-in" note: Last week I mentioned that I'm rarely held hostage by my emotions anymore. Well, apparently, that doesn't apply to grief. I'd felt a little off for a few days, an unidentified heaviness, and then found myself weeping out of proportion to the event while watching the Royal Wedding on Saturday, and then again on Sunday. Hello Mom. I bought flowers and went up to the cemetery for a good cry and a visit with Mom and Aunty Jeanne, and Grandpa George, and Grandma Millie, who I didn't know. Coming home, I read, about the surprise"of being plunged back into the freshness of new grief" after thinking oneself "healed," and that the process of moving forward "won't happen smoothly... in some sort of gradual uphill climb out of the valley of despair." It is helpful to know that I'm not alone with this, any more than I'm alone with my alcoholism. (from Healing After Loss, Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman)

Whether it is setting limits with myself or with others, or acknowledging and allowing the sadness of loss to flow through me, this journey is simply one day at a time, one situation at a time. What I breeze through this week might have me flustered next time. I used to think that meant that I was doing something wrong, but now I realize I'm just human. What is on your  mind and heart today? Is there a boundary that needs to be explored, or a wall that needs to be torn down?