It is probably up there with one of the hardest things I have ever done. The words, ‘I can’t do it’, stuck in my throat, grating raspingly, like a fish-bone lodged in my esophagus. (Apologies for the graphic analogy and to anyone having fish for their Christmas dinner.) I was sat with my pastor at the time, meeting with another member of the church, to discuss how we could rally around a hospitalized single mum in our community.
As dramatic as it sounds to say the words, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t’, felt like existential suicide. I had just had our third child and was struggling myself, more than I had the courage to accept. I was on the brink of depression, perhaps even a breakdown. But to admit to myself, even then, that I had needs and limitations felt almost impossible.
The reality was that I did not know who I was if I was not ‘doing’ things. Serving at church, bringing meals to those who were sick, always saying ‘yes’ to the friend or neighbour who needed a chat. In between changing nappies, I was advocating for the marginalised, raising awareness for global slavery, volunteering, trying to be there for everyone, without pay or job-title.
I had no boundaries. Boundaries either felt selfish or would expose me as weak.
There is of course nothing wrong with doing and pursuing all these things. I want to be challenged to give more where I can, to share my resources, my privilege, my home and my table with others. But in that moment, those few years ago, God took me on a journey. A journey that would involve stripping me of the reputation I had grown as a person all could count on, full of energy and constantly giving out and inviting. I was being shown that this form of generosity was not sustainable.
It was a moment of surrender. I was being asked to be ok with ‘not doing’. I was being asked to be content with looking after myself and my young family. From there on, I was challenged to figure out who I was when I was not serving the needs of others
The ultimate question was: could I rest in the knowledge that 'I' was enough? Could I stop the striving and find myself?
Suddenly, something Jesus claimed to have said and that had always eluded me, made sense. In response to complaints about expensive perfume being wasted on his feet, he says “the poor you will always have with you, but not me". Mary Magdalene who had lavished Jesus with oil and tears, did her giving from the heart. She was in touch with who she was, and with her emotions, and she gave from that place. It was a generosity of spirit born of 'enoughness' and gratitude that led to connection, rather than being driven by compulsion.
There will always be more to do, more crisis to respond to, more mouths to feed, more rubbish to clean up. The work never stops. Doing cannot come at the expense of relationship. It must be born from it, and to be sustainable, there have to be boundaries, primarily with ourselves. It is very difficult to ‘be in’ relationship with another, if you cannot love yourself, recognise your own needs and be honest about your own limitations.
Interestingly, when I think back to those years of indiscriminate service, I distinctly also remember feeling more resentful and frustrated than I had ever been. I felt frequently overlooked and annoyed that others weren’t giving in the same way. I was regularly judgmental and irritable. What was left of myself to give was frankly, not the best.
Years down the line, and a lot of emotional work later, the intersection between boundaries & generosity still gets blurred at times. When times are stressful, as the end of 2022 was, it’s all too easy to default to old patterns. I found myself automatically saying ‘yes’ and wanting to do and give more to others when I really had no capacity. To say yes in this way without being truly mindful, struck me as not generous at all. Not to myself or to others.
In this holiday season, the most generous gift we can offer is that of ourselves. Like Jesus who gave himself, how might we give the most generous gift we have to offer this Christmas – our best self. How might we be more respectful of our own limits, and as a result more generous to ourselves and those around us. Boundaries are not selfish. They are necessary.
p.s. how many ‘elfs’ or ‘elves’ did you spot in that last paragraph?