My very favorite series of coloring books was called “The
Ginghams” featuring four beautiful sisters who always dressed in (you guessed
it!) GINGHAM dresses. For anyone who has
led a life way too interesting to know what this means, “gingham” is a fabric
featuring tiny checks of white and some other color. Tiny, tiny checks on all of those dresses that
needed to be filled in, one by one, in a white/pastel pattern over and over and
over again.
Look, I know “OCD” is a real diagnosis with serious
consequences, but for the sake of "painting" the most accurate picture of the
anal child that I was, let’s call my obsession with coloring these books an
OCD-like fixation. In keeping with the
template provided by the technicolor covers, one sister always dressed in
green, one in pink, one in blue and one in red; I was fastidious in maintaining this suggestion and reveled in my perfect “creations”. Not one stroke of color outside the line, of
course; everything was in its place.
Now, let’s flashforward:
I am a teenager, past the coloring years, but my sister, who is ten years
older than I, has married and started a family.
Of course it was a top priority for me to introduce her first child to
the joys of coloring! I remember vividly sitting on the floor with him at my
sister’s house when he was just a toddler, demonstrating my perfect coloring
form.
He would watch with polite interest; then, grabbing some
bold primary color in his fist, he would scribble all over his half of the
page. Oh, the HORROR! But I was determined to be a patient mentor,
so I demonstrated, with my hand over his fist, how to choose an “appropriate”
color and then yes, how to “color inside the lines”.
Again, he politely complied.
But when left to his own devices, he once more joyfully scribbled all
over the picture with abandon. My
teenage self lost patience very quickly and said sneeringly, in a catchphrase
of my own youth, “How would you like a nice Hawaiian Punch??”
My little nephew did not bat an eyelash. He looked me dead in the face and responded, “How
would YOU like a nice Karate Chop?”
(Kids DO say the darndest things!)
Of course I laughed and that was the end of my career as a
coloring tutor. Whereas my joy had been
derived by meticulously staying within the lines, his was enhanced by the bold
ignoring of such perimeters. In
retrospect, a normal, healthy toddler exploring his boundaries.
“Boundaries”! This is
something we talk about a lot these days; but I recently had a conversation
with my son explaining to him why so many adults totally stink at holding
them. My generation, and those that came
before me, were taught that children were not allowed such a thing. Children did as they were told, went where
they were asked and had NO RIGHT whatsoever to state preferences.
We were expected to eat what was put in front of us, even if
it made us gag; we were subjected to bullying experiences within our own family
and extended family interactions that were normalized; we were to be seen and
not heard. Consequences for attempts to
enforce a boundary ranged from ridicule (do you think you’re special?) to
punishment. When it came to family
culture, you had to toe the party line or be branded an outcast or a black
sheep.
This was the entirely “normal” experience of most of my peers
and virtually every single person I know who is older than me; children were
expressly forbidden to “draw a line”.
Perhaps this is why staying within those lines felt so
comforting to me. I could not exert this
control in my day-to-day life; but on those pages, I was in total control. I was choosing my experience and it felt
absolutely amazing to tiny me.
So now that I am a not-so-tiny me, I have come to realize
the wisdom of that child; “drawing a line” is one of the most critical
components to personal happiness. We
all, but women in particular, were taught that having preferences was somehow “selfish”;
our every interaction was supposed to conform to the path that was least likely
to “rock the boat” in any way. Most of
us were raised to believe that having “boundaries” was strictly a prima donna
move.
Back when I was still in my 20’s, I developed a coping
strategy that I referred to at the time as “the screen door”. It was
something I implemented when a person who entered my life for any reason—whether
through work or socially or family marriage, etc—did not feel entirely “safe”
to me. I could still interact with this
person, obviously, but I maintained the equivalent of a screen door between us—a
latched screen door at that.
Some people you just throw the door open and welcome them
inside almost immediately, but for the most part, the screen door is a decent
bridge that gives you some breathing room.
It’s not fool-proof, of course; sociopaths and narcissists can entangle
even the most self-aware of us; but it’s a good starting point. And the older I get, the more able I am not
only to hold healthy boundaries but also to pretty quickly recognize those who
won’t respect them under any circumstances.
And really? Who can
blame the many generations who were taught it was not okay to say “I don’t
like that” or “I don’t want that” or “That makes me uncomfortable” for NOT
KNOWING how to draw a line? It’s kind of
a miracle any of us figured it out! And
oh, BTW?
MOST of us who are capable and willing to draw a line
(especially women, sorry) will to some degree or the other be vilified for
it. Because it is not yet “the norm”. We have not yet reached “the tipping point”.
So here is my manifesto for 2019, and I welcome all of you
to share it with me: I AM DRAWING A
LINE. Call it a line in the sand, call
it a “limit”, call it “life is too short for B.S.”, but above all call it
HEALTHY. It is healthy to have
preferences and act on them; it is healthy to make a decision not to tolerate
abuse or disrespect.
Yes, I am drawing a line and going forward, like the little
girl with the coloring book, I will decide which hues and nuances and boundaries
animate my world; I will express my sovereignty and joy in technicolor. “Art, like morality, consists in drawing the
line somewhere,” suggested G. K. Chesterton nearly 100 years ago. Let us go forth and express ourselves artfully
and with common morality by drawing a line.
