Boundaries

“I still become easily confused when a man tells me who I am… even after all this time.”

“I would counter that that’s normal after suffering years of abuse and perhaps you are being too hard on yourself.”

I felt my eyes roll. Why did therapists have to be so fucking reasonable about everything? She had seen my reaction. I was certain because she was always watching my nonverbals, but she sat regarding me silently… Waiting for the admission she knew would come…

I gave in easily, “Fine. Ok. But I don’t want to still be affected.”

“Oh. Well in that case, I’ll write you a prescription.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” I waited a beat, “I can be sarcastic too, you know.”

“Noted. Let’s get back on track, though. Do you need to take stock so you can remember who you are?”

“No.”

“Ok. What then? What are you feeling about being gaslighted by some man.”

“I’m fucking angry.”

“Good. And did you tell him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Habit, I guess?”

“Do you want to change that habit?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I’m going to tell him he doesn’t define me and if he tries to again he can’t be in my life.”

“Good! That’s called making a boundary!”

“Yeah. It is. I’m allowed to make boundaries and do what’s best for me. For a smartass you’re pretty helpful.”

She smiled, “Well, I did spend all that time in college…”