What is mine

I wrote before about the importance, freedom and benevolence I’ve found in understanding what isn’t mine—to take on, carry, understand, process, etc. (A therapist would probably call these boundaries from codependence or enmeshment? I’m currently reading Set Boundaries, Find Peace: A Guide to Reclaiming Yourself by Nedra Glover Tawwab.) At the same time, that clarity also makes it more obvious to me what is mine, and, as a result, makes it ever more important that I take responsibility for that. And something we’re always responsible for, I continue to remind myself, is how we react, or, more ideally, *respond* to any situation. (A “response” factors in an extra bit of time for conscious choice, and I’ve found meditation so very helpful in moving me from reactions to responses.)

I think we’re each given a little packet of things in this world that are our LEGOs of life to build with, play with, work through, create with and understand; challenges and inclinations and interests and such. Sometimes we may build with others using our own set, but we still need to take responsibility for our pieces. And even if we don’t particularly like all of our pieces, well, that’s our set, that’s set, and maybe what we can do is use them to make something we love.

This isn’t mine

I do this thing to help myself set an energetic or emotional boundary, particularly when it feels challenging to do. I say, “This isn’t mine.” This is not mine to carry, react to, spiral around, or emotionally labor over when no one has asked me to. (And it’s no help to anyone, anyway; in fact, it’s usually detrimental to all, as well as the cause of self-imposed suffering.) Sometimes when I really need to really emphasize it to myself, I’ll do a whole hand motion thing and even look myself in the mirror and say it. (This is not mine.)

I also heard something recently about how learning to take things less personally is an indicator of personal growth. This feels like part of that.

Everyone else's is theirs

Everyone else’s—advice, experience, energy, emotions—is theirs. And it’s just that. Theirs. And it doesn’t have to be yours. It doesn’t have to be yours to take on, to do, to become. Everybody is different. Every body is different. Reflect on your boundary; set your boundary; be in your boundary. Exhale, gaze outside, meditate, take your space, put down your phone. Boundaries are a concentration of power.

And! Everyone else’s—beauty, intelligence, success, magnetism and magnificence is also theirs. And it shouldn’t be yours. Because you have yours. And them having theirs doesn’t diminish or detract from yours, doesn’t make it any less. In fact, it makes it more special. It guides you to lean more into yourself; the ways you, specifically, as yourself, are blessed.

This doesn’t have to be yours, either. You can read it; you can be with it; you can leave it. You don’t have to take anything with you except what’s yours. And even that, you can leave, too.

Written on the day of the Leo New Moon from 34-year-old me to 14 -year-old me, and for all the years in between, and probably for moments to come, too. Because it’s taken time with myself and with wonderful, strong, supportive and celebratory friends, and reading things like Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World for Men* that have helped me to open my eyes and arms to all that is mine.

(*So many years of following food, fitness, medical advice just for and by men, like all of “biohacking,” for example, that did not serve me at all and actually hurt me at points and that’s OK, because we’re here now and stronger, more self-assured and understood now.)