Discovering New Boundaries & Voting With My Feet

It is incredible what I am capable of manifesting when I am not paying attention. …and then, it is even more incredible what I realize about myself when I DO pay attention!

You see, I am writing this post from the beautiful land of my home country, Albania. I came here at this bizarre time in an effort to reclaim something unknown inside myself. I came here to visit the land, uncertain if I’ll ever be able to again in my lifetime (because, maybe you’re paying enough attention to notice our external reality is becoming increasingly more constricting and unpredictable). So I chose to come here with my family and visit the graves of my ancestors and grieve the perceived (intergenerational) losses that hurt me deeply.

While on this month long trip, I have begun to write about a lot of things: the feelings I get being in my homeland; the beauty of the land as metaphor for potential; the waves of the warm sea as metaphor for the illusion of impermenance; the interfere of others in my parenting (my favone being the number of times people have asked me to lie to my kid as an effective strategy for parenting).

Setting boundaries is a process

But the most pressing topic that comes up for me right now that must be expressed is about boundaries. While this is an infinitely huge conversation, I will share my own experience as an example of the revelations that become evident when we are open to receiving.

Somehow, I have attracted some disturbingly disgusting aggressors into my awareness. Predatory men with no integrity or sense of giving a shit (other than to put their hands on an unconsenting body). Men who made me feel pressured and incredibly uncomfortable, to the point of feeling threatened. Men who, through their unquenchable temper tantrums, made me feel like I am in danger DESPITE MY HUSBAND BEING HERE WITH ME. You know those kinds? Yeah, well, #metoo.

I could write about these types of men and how fucking gross they are. I could write about the culture that produced them. I could write about the role of the mothers who raised them. I could write about the mindset of toxic patriarchy that has penetrated every nook and cranny of every mindset. I could write about the role of power. I could write about the internalized illusion of the “alpha” wannabes. I could write about how lonely and miserable these desperate losers are. I could write about consent and lack of.

I could write about any of these things as a way to explain my experience, but I won’t because i would rather not rehash the story. Instead, I will write about my own discovery as I navigate this reality I have manifested.

My favorite question when I am not rehashing the story is how’s any of this about ME?!

There was a fire in my belly for two days (which, interestingly, also manifested as a rash on my son’s belly). A reminder of the perceived powerlessness I feel when I engage naively playfully with others. A maiden expression of sensuality through a goddess body. But, where was the crone?!

The crone was missing. This always gets me in trouble because I stay in uncomfortable (and often dangerous situations) because I stay trapped in the smallness of the situation rather than pulling back and in to myself to see the bigger picture, and from there, choose mindfully.

I know how clear my NO is in it’s expression (it has always been), and yet so many of these disturbingly persistent and invasive men WON’T hear it (someday I may get to writing about the parenting of boys that leads them to be unable to hear a no, but today isn’t it).

For me, this presence of men unable and unwilling to hear anything but what they want is a very familiar sensation. After all, the Balkans is where I have experienced the most sexual assault of anywhere on the planet (and it’s been A LOT everywhere). But it’s more pervasive here…more blatant…more disgusting. Clear NOs spoken out loud seem to get totally lost in their persistence to get anything out of you, despite how unwilling a participant you are.

I spent two days crying (all part of the process of discovery, for me), only to realize this situation is about my own internal BOUNDARIES.

Actions speak louder than words

You see, before this, I used to believe that speaking and saying what I’m saying clearly was enough. It turns out, it isn’t. Because some people simply don’t want to hear what you are saying, never mind what you mean, so they don’t…

Somehow, in the midst of writing about my experience in my journal (after my dear husband suggested I exhale it out of me through writing), I had this visceral realization: actions speak louder than words. I was saying no, but I stayed in the conversation. I was saying no, but I continued to entertain them. I was saying no, but I didn’t leave… Until I did.

Voting with my feet

And that’s when I realized voting with my feet is far more powerful than trying to explain or rationalize or make clear through words. Voting with my feet, with no explanation given, is far more potent in communicating: I am done. Voting with my feet empowers me out of my habituated freeze or fight response. Voting with my feet feels immesely powerful.

To feel viscerally the liberation from the realization that I owe none of these people any explanations. I need not stay. I need not engame. I need not play nice. Truly, I do not care what they think. Their presence does not impact my life. I simply choose to vote with my feet by leaving and continuing to live my life MY WAY…

Vote with my feet! Not just my words…I had come to this realization before about choosing to vote with my feet (so to speak) by choosing to abstain from casting a ballot in an inherently broken political system. I found that immensely empowering. Letting go of the old stories of why I should and simply choosing what felt right for me.

This newfound realization, to vote with my feet by no longer engaging, to me means that I am noticing and actively engaging unapologetically in my life. I am choosing to give zero fucks so that I may continue to become increasingly unfuckwithable. Let me tell you: it feels fucking good to be the heroine of my own life’s journey! To choose by myself, for myself. No one, no one, gets to steal my joy. No one gets to make me feel less than. No one has any say over the quality of my life but me.

Setting boundaries is a perpetual process

First it requires we notice our own internal states and then it requires we act by respecting the truth of our experience. This is an open-loop process because it is neverending. When we live open to receiving, we will always discover more about ourselves. Integration is layered….we can never get to the next layer until we integrate exactly where we are.

I live life differently, increasingly less and kess concerned with other peoples stories and strategies. THAT’S WHY my life WORKS. Period.

Interested in exploring your own internal boundaries?

Let’s talk about boundaries, baby!

For those of you interested in a different and powerful conversation about the role of internal referencing when it comes to noticing then setting boundaries, join me and a small group of women September 28th from 5:ooPM to 8:00PM EST, over Zoom for a WEL-Systems? based conversation that is sure to shake up how you hold your reality. Cost is $25. Email me to sign up.

Yearlong Exploration: The Art of Giving Zero Fucks

For those of you seeking a much deeper dive into becoming increasingly more unfuckwithable (through inviting spirituality / the crone / the wise woman / the matriarch / to lead in your life), check out this fast approaching yearlong experience called The Art of Giving Zero Fucks. This is for women who are looking to empower themselves by learning and practicing how to live differently, in the good company of other women, empowering themselves and each other.

I look forward to hearing from those of you who want to be in conversation with me and a small group of women devoted to their evolution!

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