Where do I end? Where does the “outside of me” begin? These questions seem simple at first and evoke answers involving epidermis, but I am discovering that my boundary has little to do with molecular structures. Rather, I perceive my boundary in the social context, in relation to others around me. Such boundaries tend to be rather ill-defined and ambiguous. As a result, I often experience the boundary crises: the mismatches in my understanding of where the boundary actually lies. To help me make sense of these crises, I have a fun metaphor.
In this metaphor, I am a puzzle. There are many pieces of feelings, needs, identities, fears and aspirations in me-as-puzzle. This puzzle is quite unusual in that it’s near-infinitely complex and–ever so slightly–constantly changing. No matter how much I work on assembling the puzzle, it always seems like I barely started. But this puzzle is how I define my Self, so am steadily compelled to keep working on it, consciously or not. Some pieces fit just right. Some I still haven’t figured out where they belong. Some look curiously out of place.
Other people are puzzles, too. They have their own bits and pieces that they are fitting together. It’s a lot of puzzles.
Sometimes, I get confused and decide that pieces of other people’s puzzles are mine. In such cases, my imagined design of a puzzle creates a boundary crisis of insufficiency. Because I view these foreign puzzle bits as requirements for completing my Self, I am doomed to suffer: these pieces will never be fully mine, and I will never feel sufficient. I will never feel like I am good enough or at peace with who I am.
My impostor syndrome is a good example here. It’s that underlying belief that my accomplishments define my worthiness. That is, I define my self-worth by how others value what I’d done. I crave that missing puzzle piece of others’ approval. I can’t fathom how my puzzle could be complete without it, and yet I can never own it.
The opposite also happens. I may decide that my puzzle pieces are necessary for completing other people’s puzzles. This creates the boundary crisis of overwhelment. Seeing bits of my Self as critical in others’ lives, I am also doomed to suffer: I will always feel overwhelmed trying to co-assemble multiple puzzles, rather than just focusing on mine.
For example, when I avoid giving a colleague unpleasant feedback because I am overcome with anxiety that they will take it poorly, I assuming responsibility for how they would receive that news. All of the workarounds and clever techniques that follow are me trying to complete their puzzle with my pieces.
Now, I have plenty of cases of both. I have been putting this puzzle together all my life, and doing so mostly unconsciously. I grabbed others’ pieces and tried jamming them in, and I took plenty of responsibility for others’ puzzles. My puzzle is a mess, with tons of opportunities for suffering.
To reduce this suffering, I systematically examine me-as-puzzle, remove foreign pieces, and take back the pieces that are mine. It sounds easy, but given the decades of lodged pieces in this massive, unique collage that is me, it is quite challenging. Remove a piece, and whole swaths of the puzzle suddenly become unmoored, world temporarily seizing to making sense. It’s a high-risk proposition. If I am not that puzzle that I was before, then who am I? Where do others end? Where do I begin?
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