Boundary Issues – the Hot New Malady Du Jour

Posted on April 1, 2012 by Karen

A Dangerous Method..... "Sometimes you have to do something unforgiveable, just to be able to go on living..."

You know that sappy-eyed look you get when someone is falling head-over-heels for you? You know the look. The soft, runny, weak, and worshipful, I’m-crazy-in-love-with-you-and-will-put-up-with-anything-because-I’m-a-doormat look, that annoys the shit out of you? Yeah, that’s the one.

You hate the look, because despite your being all consumed with attraction and lust over this guy, not to mention your wired, over-excited and neurotic behavior over whether or not he liked you, ( ie: trying-too-hard, laughing-too-much-at-his-jokes), it means you’ve found yet another sap who will put up with all your bullshit. So you back off, hoping things get better but they only get more intense. You get the questions and the phone calls in the wee hours…
“I love you. I don’t understand. Why are you pulling away?” he asks.
“It’s not you. It’s me,” you spew, and off you ride on your horse like the runaway bride.

Then you’re wondering “What’s wrong with me? Why am I so fucked up? Why do I keep attracting these spineless saps?

You’re plagued with boundary issues, and the thought of letting people get near you sends you into a tailspin. You know that look that makes you cringe? That look you so criticize? It’s not a look of weakness or sappiness. On the contrary, it’s a look of someone who has let down their defenses and made themselves vulnerable to you. It’s a look of someone who is embracing another person getting close to them.

The boundary-challenged
A person with boundary issues can’t tell where they stop and the other person begins—which makes it pretty hard to differentiate between appropriate interactive behavior and a pontificating control freak sadistically putting you down. Instead of “using your words” when someone hurts you or offends you, you’ll more than likely question what you did wrong and apologize to them.

When you don’t set boundaries, you have no sense of yourself apart from other people, and you don’t know how to keep others out. Or, you don’t know how to make sure your needs are met because you’re always putting everyone else first. Case in point:

“I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume for you all your debts (in every definition of the word), I will protect you from your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and…I will give you the sun and the rain…I will give you all this and more, until I get so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can recover my energy is by becoming infatuated with someone else”

— Elizabeth Gilbert – Eat, Pray, Love

"My stepfather had boundary issues..."

Are you a “permeable membrane?” Think you have boundary issues?
Does the mere thought of confrontation give you agita?

Do you think that if you confront anyone about the slightest thing, they’ll fly off the handle and beat you to a bloody pulp?

When asking for something you need, does your voice become softer, more tentative and apologetic?

Do you think it’s normal for a strange man to knock on your window at 3am with bizarre requests?

Do you jeopardize your own safety to help creepy window-knocking guy because of his puppy dog eyes and a plausible story?

Do you have magical freak attracting powers?

Do unstable people sense that you won’t be mean to them and manipulate you into listening to their bizarre stories?

Do you give sketchy people more leeway than you should and then find yourself caught up in their strange alternate realities and can’t shake yourself free?

Have you ever been stuck in a room with someone mentally off, and soon become convinced you, yourself are mentally whacked?

Do you still hang on to the damaged narcissist, even though he’s beaten your soul out of recognition and you don’t know who you are anymore?

If you answered yes to any of the above, then congratulations. You’ve crossed into the world of the boundary-challenged.

So where do these boundary issues come from?
What we know, we learn from our families…or fail to learn from our families.  In a healthy family, members respect each others’ needs. Unfortunately most families fall way short of this ideal and cross that line into emotional trespassing.

Did you have an overbearing, overly controlling parent who never allowed you the room to blossom into your own identity—the parent who never respected your boundaries, and turned you into a fearful and distrustful human being? Maybe you had a parent who was more an overgrown child than a parent, or more interested in being your BFF and under-concerned about your welfare (Dina Lohan comes to mind)  Were your parents overly rigid and untrusting as a means of hiding their own family dysfunction from the rest of the world? Did your father blame you for his miserable life? Did your mother force you to live out her dreams? Did your parents search your room for drugs when you weren’t around? Read your personal diary? Your private letters?

It wasn’t that long ago that parents thought of their children as mere reflections of themselves. Not as individuals with their own uniqueness but as blank slates that they can control—shape in the image of their own ideals. The idea that children have the right to their own feelings, opinions, wants, needs, bodies and souls is extremely modern.

If you’re ridden with boundary issues, you’ll have a difficult time having any kind of healthy relationship, because you won’t know how to choose your friends. Chances are, you’ll migrate to people with nastiness issues—the callous, rude, narcissistic and nasty. The kind of person who will ask what could have possessed you to buy that outfit…or worse, berate the outfit you wear out with friends on the eve of your birthday. Yeah, nice.

And God forbid you say “Bite me” or “Shove it up your ass,” which is really what you’re thinking. No. You’ll probe the depths of your memory, analyzing, cataloguing, and cross-indexing anything you ever said to this person that may have provoked them to insult your outfit. And even then, you’ll decide it’s better to just not say anything so as not to aggravate the situation. Then you’ll get down on yourself, get really depressed, feel like shit, and bury yourself in two king-sized bags of M&Ms.

Sadly, there are many people in this world who prowl around on a quest for those amazing, wonderful and preferably care-taker types who are gullible to their charms. They are masters at catching you off guard with their grandiose display of charisma, cheerfulness and perceived intelligence and adept in stripping you down to a sickened sense of worthlessness. Should you ever find yourself in the company of one such narcissistic SOB, trust your instincts. Get away while you are still sane.

If you want to cure your boundary issues, learn to ask for what you want. Stop projecting, panicking and worrying that the guy won’t like you if you are vocal about your needs. Being clear about your boundaries is a sign of self-respect. It’s how we establish who we are and how we want to be treated.  If you don’t respect yourself, how do you expect someone else to?

Speak up and speak out. Loud and proud. Practice in front of the mirror if you have to.

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On Valentine’s Etiquette – So, What’s a Guy to do that Ain’t got a Clue?

Posted on February 3, 2012 by Karen

"What's a boy to do?"

Ah, Valentine’s Day―another holiday that manages to inspire warmth and contempt in the masses. Whether you’re stupid crazy in love, in a new happy fog, or unwaveringly single, there apparently is some form of Valentine’s Day etiquette to abide by so that you don’t offend or piss anyone off―or worse, single-handedly take the fall for all failed relationships out there.

Recently my 9 year old son asked me if he was my Valentine, to which I emphatically replied, “Yes, of course sweetie. You are my one and only,” which as a mom of a young boy, naturally made me beam. It also precipitated my next question (in the form of a post) as to whether I should hint at the chocolate. Now, of course I was kidding (or was I?) He is barely nine.

A few comments later, this post turned into a tangled thread, masking itself as dialogue, but resembling more of a game of telephone gone awry. The point was that my nine year old son seemed more aware of a holiday that I rolled my eyes at the mere mention of. This over-commercialized day that I didn’t buy into―a day associated with heart-shaped candy displays, chocolate, red roses, and more chocolate; not to mention all the disgustingly happy, giddy in love couples, all of a sudden appealed to my senses. The sweet innocence of my son’s question, apparently stimulated my palate, and made me wonder if this wouldn’t be the perfect time to teach him some early holiday etiquette―if for no other reason, to learn what chivalry used to mean before it bit the dust!

In my sassy attempt at humor, I seem to have struck a chord with a male friend, who is as opinionated as I am (if not more) and possibly my male equivalent when it comes to defending our gender rights. Being challenged is never a bad thing, but a never-ending pissing contest over an opinion, only makes you more opinionated, plus my aim sucks. My friend seemed concerned that I teach my son, “that men receive Valentine gifts too! It’s not a one way street” he said. “It is the teaching of Valentine etiquette that is the issue.”

Good point Confucius, and very true.

So in an effort to listen more openly, “focus, and stay on the issue at hand,” I decided to do a bit of my own research on Valentine etiquette. Here it is, straight from the experts, the Emily Post Institute, an organization that’s been teaching etiquette, civility and raising polite kids since 1946. Granted Emily Post is now dead, but nonetheless, the wisdom of Peter Post, one of her four great-grandchildren, carries on.

According to Peter, author of the Emily Post Institute, and Essential Manners for Men, whether you’ve been married to the same woman for 25 years or have just started dating, rule number one, on Valentine’s Day is: “It’s all about her, not you. The smart man plans ahead.” (ahem…ahem)

So, what’s a guy to do that ain’t got a clue?
•  Single? You are hardly alone. Love the ones you’re with. Get a group of friends together and go out for dinner & drinks. Don’t feel like being around smug couples? Host a dinner party of your own.

•  Newly dating? Something simple is better than nothing, but don’t overdo it, or you may be bordering on creepy-clingy territory. A simple floral bouquet or a long stemmed rose has the same impact. Imagine how irresistible you’d be looking like that.. (see above) The wide-eyed look would need some practice.

•  Long-term relationship? Cook a romantic dinner at home. Candles, chocolates and the right mood music in your own environment can set the tone for a romantic evening and be even more enjoyable than going out. Love notes and texts, don’t hurt either.

•  Can’t cook? Make reservations…the sooner the better.

•  Mind your table manners. You know what that means. ie: chewing with your mouth open, bodily sounds, holding your fork like a medieval weapon. Impress her with your fine self―a little finesse, hold the door, pull out her chair, order a nice wine. Get out of your comfort zone. It’s one day, for god’s sake!

•  Not into the traditional romance? Do simple things for each other around the house. They are good reminders that you still care.

•  Just because she doesn’t drop hints about flowers, it doesn’t mean she isn’t expecting them, and although she may tell you not to worry about it, c’mon now…we all know that’s not what she really means. If you’re not sure, err on the side of caution and order some flowers.

•  Valentine’s Day not your thing, but it is for your significant other who is drooling all over the chocolate and candy heart displays? “Your job is to be considerate,” according to the Emily Post Institute. “Getting her some flowers and taking her out to dinner won’t kill you.” (and if it does, at least your eulogy will be nothing short of  honorable..that’s got to be comforting.)

•  Care about someone deeply, and haven’t told them how you feel? Now’s your chance. This is as easy as stealing a kiss under the mistletoe. 

•  Love someone and can’t be with them? Tell them via phone, voice message, text, email.  

While embraced as a day for all lovers, let’s face it. Valentine’s Day has always been more about women. Many women try to reciprocate their love and respect to their men, and they mean well, but most guys could easily do without the teddy bears, roses, or anything with the word, “love” on it. Most would rather you didn’t bother at all, but for those of you men who do appreciate gifts, it wouldn’t hurt if you came back with a hint of your own…as long as it didn’t involve a big screen TV!

Bottom line, if you’re a decent guy, good manners and proper etiquette should go hand-in-hand. There are no rules to study here. If you think before you act, (constantly telling my son that), act selflessly, and you’re sincere—you will empower and enrich your relationship.

Think intimacy. Think romance. Think love. A little extra effort goes a long way, so why not make it count.

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Year of the Woman: Purging the Stigma and Flying Solo

Posted on January 28, 2012 by Karen

Let's call a ceasefire...I need water...*pant*

Too many of us broads seem to have gone astray, so at the risk of sounding like a Gloria Steinem groupie, I need to reiterate something here. “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Yeah, yeah, I know…how very seventies of me. Though the meaning now is a bit gentler than the deeper “gender bashing” of the feminist era.

Back in the throes of Women’s Liberation, we thrashed around, exclaiming, “That’s right!” “Men: Who Needs ‘em! What’s the goddamn point!” We realized in astonishment that while men are perfectly nice creatures, and good for some things (ahem), they are not the point of our existence. We didn’t need to depend on them financially or emotionally, nor did we need them to feel complete. It was a time when we called each other, “sisters” and felt a sort of kinship.

Somewhere down the line, it occurred to us, that although men weren’t necessary to our survival, life could be a lot more fulfilling with a man in your bed…or hooking up your stereo..or whatever..

The much publicized Year of the Woman, was a fabulous thing, but in all the hooplah and consciousness raising, we seemed to have forgotten the true status of men. Too many of us were feeling desperate to find someone, settle down and marry for fear we’d look ridiculous! The pressure was on again and history was repeating itself.

In my last post, Ode to Guilt and Shame: The Stigma of Solo, I emphasized that too many of us who are alone, feel absurdly bleak and covert about our loneliness―we’re all secretive and tight-lipped because of the stigma society puts on single people. If you’re alone, you’re miserable and your life is tragic…”

For one of my readers, this post was especially hard to process. Michele Loreto-Chase at Ghost Executive Group wrote: “I’m really trying to understand why anyone would feel less if not in a relationship. Why is flying solo taboo? Personally, I have always felt proud to be a single woman who is empowered and strong―comfortable enough being alone without the need for a filler. My belief is that if a person is afraid or anxious about being single and alone with themselves, it’s an indication that they’re looking for someone to distract them from a little healthy introspection or worse looking for someone else to fix their life for them…To fill a void.
I think it has to do with self- acceptance, esteem, realization, love―using my time alone to learn about me, so I could arrive at a place where I could articulate exactly who it is that would compliment me best and I compliment them in the same way. I was never willing to spend time with someone who I felt wasn’t someone I wanted to spend my life with. For me, my singleness has lasted for 13 years and for the most part, I’ve been truly happy. For me, being in a temporary or bad relationship is far worse than not being in one at all. I simply haven’t found the person who I believe is my perfect other half. Do I want it? Yes. But it has taken me years to learn to love ME enough to bring to the table the very best I have to offer.”

Frankly, I blame the fifties entirely for this behavior. Well maybe not entirely, but Jesus! Look at what they were subjected to―an era of repression, propaganda and taboos, not to mention that cruel instrument of torture, the panty girdle, which were forced onto prepubescent bodies. (and we wonder why Feminists were angry) It was a scary and controlling decade, where mantras of “a perfect little lady” were drummed irrevocably into their little heads. They were terrified of ending up in the chubby section, or never being pretty enough to ever find a husband.

It was a matter of time, before shit would hit the patriarchal fan and ball-busting militant feminists would take the country by storm (justifiably after that constricting, thigh hematoma inducing chamber!)

The other thing adding fuel to the fire, was that allegedly scientific study done in the mid-eighties about the male shortage…Yeah. Remember that “male shortage?” The one that had every post-pubescent female (lucky me) severely traumatized, and indulging in Dexatrim, TAB, and Kit Kats…not to mention thongs, baby dolls and lace teddies…Enough said.

And let us not forget the creators of the trend-setting TV shows, like “thirtysomething,” “Northern Exposure,” and the like, who couldn’t help but cast their main character as some ridiculed, forlorn singleton. Of course the creators were all men…

So as we attempt to purge all these negative role models from our bruised and shaken psyches, let us return to a more empowered time―the Year of the Woman. A time when women are much farther along than we were in Steinem’s day. A time when feminism is no longer considered passé. A time when feminism has morphed itself into something much bigger and bolder (that doesn’t involve the demise of the male gender.)

We’ve come a long way in the last few generations, overcoming decades of challenges—so if we’re a bit cocky, we’re entitled… If you never would have called yourself a feminist in the past, consider it a part of your future.

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Ode to Guilt & Shame: The Stigma of Solo

Posted on January 8, 2012 by Karen

You're alone! You'll always be alone! You suck!

For those of us who have ever experienced an unusually long dry spell in between Mr. Rights, the humming and tapping of our feet, waiting for that special someone to trip over us, can feel like an entire decade.

Millions of women each year, in a fit of post-New Year’s resolution fervor, vow to get healthy, lose weight…etc, etc., but what they really crave is to be in a fulfilling relationship―despite their insistence that they’re never lonely, they love their life, the only fulfilling relationship they need is the one with their friends, and…if romance happens to come along, well, great, but they weren’t holding their breath.

“Oh, bullshit,” I say to that! Just makes you want to slap them, doesn’t it? Surely they can’t be serious..?

We can all think back to a time in our lives, preferably in another galaxy, when we felt empty without a man. (Most of us can…and fuck you, if you were the popular pretty cheerleader that always had a guy) Add in the reptilian need to get laid, and this made our desperation for a steady boyfriend that much more agonizing. The shame of being solo would push us to our lowest.

Those damn voices in our heads, which lacked even the most elementary self esteem, would do a real number on us, convincing us that we weren’t good enough. Fucking voices…Nothing was worse than emitting a stench of shame when there was nothing to be ashamed of.

You’d have this unexplainable hatred towards someone, for no reason, other than the fact that deep down, she reminded you of an aspect of yourself that you abhor. You would harbor jealous resentment of anyone in a relationship, or that was happy for that matter…especially friends with mates, who would smugly smile at you, damn them!
And you knew what the smile meant. I’m getting’ laid and you’re not. You knew the smile because you yourself were guilty of the same smugness, on the occasions you had a boyfriend.

"Why don't I have a boyfriend...why can't I be fabulous like everyone else?"

Sadly, it’s a common trait among us. Many of us wear our men as proudly as badges. It all comes back to social acceptance.  When one girl chimes, “Oh, my boyfriend this..” the others chime back, “Oh, well my husband that…my husband, my old man, my sweetie…my honey..It’s enough to push you deeper into the shit hole of shame when you’re alone.

Now, maybe I’m being a bit harsh here, but too damn many of us who are alone, feel so absurdly bleak and covert about our loneliness. We’re all secretive and tight-lipped because the media presents singlehood as an illness that needs to be overcome. If you’re alone, you’re miserable and and your life is tragic―If you don’t have anyone, you don’t have a life. “Bah, humbug!

And then there are those annoying “Ah, the joys of singlehood”- type pieces.

These are the stories that inevitably end up with the writer having some sort of revelation that she used to feel disgustingly desperate about being alone, but hey, it actually wasn’t bad at all! Now she was all spiritual and had become one with the Earth Mother…and the sun and moon were aligned, peace was guiding the planet and love was steering the stars!

Oh! For cryin’ out loud—It’s these passive-aggressive stories that induce enough worriment and angst to force you into therapy, or at the very least, self-medicating. When they’re not torturing you with articles meant to make you feel like a lifeless bum, these magazines and their, “Lonely But Not Desperate!” or “I’d Rather Be Alone Than Be…” pieces, are overtly shaming you. It’s just another way for these huge corporations to make money off our misery―traumatize us into buying shit that promises to make us look younger, thinner, hotter, smarter…hell, even emit pheromones and become irresistible to all feasible sex partners.

Goddamn bastards!

As if it weren’t bad enough that we’re forced into panic and anxiety by reminders that our biological clocks are (stampin’ foot three times) tickin’ like this, you can count on the media to finish us off with their blatant messages that women, if they’re not attached to a big strong man (translation, have a resident penis on hand), they must off themselves immediately.

Granted, that may have been more ten years ago than now, but clearly the shame of being solo still remains.  Just look at the size of bridal magazines, with their BIGGER is BETTER advertising. Clearly, this propaganda is working overtime to keep girls half my age panting after the matrimonial state.

Maybe it’s time we threw off this stigma of solo. Any hindrances that once were, are now gone, and singlehood is a valid lifestyle choice… So it would be apropos given the New Year, for us to point the finger and poke back at those bastards who imply that we are less than if we don’t have men in our lives. Maybe it’s time we look shame squarely in the eyeball, and say:

“FUCK OFF! (or “PISS OFF” if you’re English) There is NO shame in being lonely. It is okay to want a mate. A mate is a good thing. Mating is a good thing.

I'm lonely, I'm horny and I'm proud!

It’s that overriding feeling of shame that will destroy you―make you sick and full of self-loathing. So ward off the bad mojo. Own your loneliness. Laugh in your loneliness, and share your loneliness with others.

The truth will set you free.

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When Crazy is Wrapped in Beautiful, it’s Hard to Keep on Walking

Posted on December 9, 2011 by Karen

(inspired by July post, “The Enticing Breed of the Psychopathic Woman” …partial excerpts of previous comments by Minka Fieldstone & Karen Catalan)

''You're young, you're crazy, you're in bed and you've got knives.''

Like moths to a flame, we are seduced by that which can kill us. We all want to dance with the devil…or want to fuck the devil…or whatever.

Beauty almost always attracts the beast. The good girls find the bad boys, and the bad girls inevitably win the best and smartest men. It’s fatal attraction and Russian roulette at best. We know that the relationship is self-destructive, we know we’re headed for the danger zone and carnage is expected, yet we hold on to the notion that maybe, just maybe, we can come into this messed-up person’s life and change it for the better.

It’s that need to “fix” or tame the wild beast, although I doubt men want to “fix” the batshit crazy bitch―more likely,  they want to semi-tame the wild, beautiful beast, and have the bragging rights. Men love to be heroes. They love to fix things. It makes them feel needed, important and it feeds the ole’ male ego. Who makes a better damsel in distress than a poor defenseless lunatic?  (I highly doubt the crazy wench is defenseless) But in you come, to save her, tame her, condition her…own her ass (keep dreaming) You’re thinking, “Fuck! I did this! I have control of this insanely wild, dangerous sexual dynamo and the rest of you suckers don’t!”

So sadly human, it’s simply the female equivalent of wanting the “bad boy”― a way of trying to experience some naughtiness. All they really want is a small bite of that apple, but sadly, they end up choking when the whole damn thing is shoved down their throat.

And then they get fucked―literally and figuratively, because by then they are imprisoned in a dysfunctional relationship that may have crossed into the danger zone, which more often than not, is what we crave… that element of danger.  After leading an utterly domesticated life of goodness, we’re bored to tears and need an edge, a thrill, a wild one as a partner who will be as challenging and exciting as they are fucking mental…and by then it’s too late. We have this self-destructive urge, we act on it―then figure out it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

Let’s face it. It’s the sex. Primordial-ooze sex dominates our rational minds. It makes us crave a little crazy now and then. We are all totally animals when it comes right down to it. Animals with a surface layer of consciousness that tells us all sorts of shit about what’s right and wrong, logic, and reality verses fantasy―yet despite all that we know to be true, we still don’t seem to be able to heed its wisdom and warnings. We want instant gratification, and when we feel sexually unfulfilled at home, we find our gaze straying towards the “bad boy” (all inclusive of long hair, goatee, tattoos & Harley) and the “bad girl” with her unfettered nipples, plunging neckline and long wraparound legs.

It’s the classic “madonna-whore complex,” a widespread problem plaguing our menfolk. Men want the best of both worlds, a princess on the street and a slut in the bedroom…a tomcat in heat between the sheets. Sure, they’re instantly aroused by the Pamela Andersons of the world, but they know they could never tame…much less trust a “bad girl” like this…

And it’s not all that different for women…

Women want men to rock their world—yes, of course in the bedroom! Women want a challenge, a backbone…someone who will take charge. The “bad boy,” with his rugged, rough around the edges and maybe even tattooed looks, make him appear stronger, less wimpy, and more protective of his woman, and that confidence clearly works in his favor. Showing confidence, occasional arrogance, and not being a doormat are always helpful in keeping us stimulated and on our toes. It’s less about being a “nice guy” or being a “bad boy,” and more about losing inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind, and embracing your wild thing―which by the way, doesn’t mean,”you’re young, you’re crazy, you’re in bed and you’ve got knives.” (Angelina Jolie in an interview explaining her scars)

A sensible guy would be thankful not to be involved with a woman whose toys involve knives and pointy gadgets, but then again, there aren’t a lot of sensible men out there. To most men, crazy equals sexy. Behind the wild-eyed look and uninhibited behavior, men fantasize, must lie a crazy libido. That it could lead to emotional turmoil, bankruptcy, and public spectacles is beside the point. At the time, it seems irresistible. Like a moth to a flame, this stable “nice guy” has momentarily lost his faculties and is smitten.

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