Remember Sherrie from chapter one? She stumbled through the day in a haphazard, out-of-control fashion. Imagine, now, that Sherrie has read this book. She’s decided to restructure her life within the clear boundaries we’ve outlined. Her day is now characterized by freedom, self-control, and intimacy. Let’s take a peek in on her life with boundaries:
The alarm sounded. Sherrie reached over and turned it off. I’ll bet I can do without this alarm, she thought to herself. I’ve been awake for five minutes already. Getting seven or eight hours of sleep had long been a fantasy of Sherrie’s—one which she’d always felt was unrealistic with a family.
Yet, it had begun to happen. The kids went to bed earlier now that she and Walt had begun setting better time limits with them. She and Walt even got a few minutes to relax together before bed.
The sleep goal didn’t come without its price, however. Like the other night when Sherrie’s mother had once again made her unexpected surprise visit. This time, she showed up at a time when Sherrie had to work on a science fair project with her son, Todd.
It had been one of the hardest things Sherrie ever had to say. “Mom, I want to visit with you. But this is a really bad time. I’m helping Todd finish up his solar system project, and he needs my full attention. You could come in and watch if you’d like, or I could call you tomorrow and plan a time for us to get together.”
Sherrie’s mother hadn’t reacted well. The martyr syndrome had kicked in full force: “It’s just as I’ve always known, Dear. Who’d want to spend time with a lonely old lady? Well, I’ll just go home and be by myself. Like every other night.”
At one time Sherrie would have folded under such a masterful onslaught of the “guilties.” But Sherrie had, after lots of practice with her support group, decided how to handle her mom’s unexpected visits. And she didn’t feel so guilty anymore. Mom would be fine the next morning—and Sherrie would have had a good evening.
Sherrie slipped into her new dress. It fit perfectly—two sizes smaller than she had worn a few months ago. Thanks, God for my new self-boundaries, she prayed. Her diet and exercise program had finally worked, not because she learned any new secrets about food and working out, but because she saw taking care of herself not as selfishness, but stewardship. She’d stopped feeling guilty about taking the time away from other things to work on her body. Getting in shape made her a better wife, mom, and friend. And she liked herself better.
Amy and Todd were finished with breakfast and were taking their plates to the sink to rinse them and place them into the dishwasher. Sharing household tasks had become a comfortable habit for all members of the family. Sure, the kids and Walt had resisted, but then Sherrie stopped preparing breakfast until she got help with cleaning up. A miracle had happened with the kids and Walt. A light had gone on inside, saying, “If I don’t work, I don’t eat.”
Even more satisfying was watching the kids get to their school rides on time, with a couple of minutes to spare. Beds made. Homework done. Lunches packed. Incredible.
Of course, the path to that place had been rocky. In the beginning, Sherrie had called the carpool parents and told them to wait a maximum of sixty seconds for her kids, then leave for school. And they did. When Amy and Todd missed their ride, they had accused Sherrie of betraying and humiliating them. “You just don’t care about our feelings!” Tough words for a loving mother trying to learn boundaries.
Yet, with a fervent prayer life and a good support group, Sherrie held to her boundaries. After a few days of having to walk and being several hours late to school, the kids had begun setting their own alarms.
Sherrie put her makeup on in front of her dresser. She was still not used to this after all those years of applying eyeliner in the car’s rearview mirror. But she enjoyed the peacefulness—and left for work with a few minutes to spare.
Walking into the conference room of McAllister Enterprises where she worked as a fashion consultant supervisor (the promotion had been for “leadership effectiveness”), Sherrie glanced at her watch. The meeting was about to start—with herself as chairperson.
Glancing around the room she noted that three key people weren’t here yet. She made a note to chat with those colleagues. Maybe they were having boundary problems she could assist them with.
Sherrie smiled. She remembered the days—not too long ago—when she would have been grateful for someone at work to help her with the same problems. Thank you, God, for a church that teaches a biblical view of boundaries, she prayed. And began the meeting. On time.
Sherrie’s extension rang. She picked it up: “Sherrie Phillips,” she said, waiting for the answer.
“Sherrie, thank goodness you’re there! I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d been at lunch!”
There was no mistaking that voice. It belonged to Lois Thompson. It was unusual for Lois to call these days. She didn’t call much at all since Sherrie had begun addressing the imbalances in the relationship. She had confronted Lois over coffee:
“Lois, it seems as though you always want to talk to me when you’re hurting. And that’s fine. But when I’m struggling, you’re either unavailable, distracted, or uninterested.”
Lois had protested that this wasn’t at all true. “I’m a true friend, Sherrie,” she said.
“I guess we’ll find out. I need to know if our friendship is based on what I do for you—or on true friendship. And I want you to be aware of some boundaries I’m setting with us. First, I won’t always be able to drop everything for you, Lois. I love you, but I simply can’t take that kind of responsibility for your pain. And second, there will be times when I’m really hurting—and I’m going to call you and ask for support. I actually don’t know if you know me and my pain at all. So we both need to find out.”
Over the next few months, Sherrie had found out a great deal about this friendship. She found out that when she couldn’t console Lois during her chronic emergencies, Lois would withdraw, hurt. She found out that when Lois was doing all right, she would ignore Sherrie. Lois never called just to see how Sherrie was doing. And she found out that when Sherrie herself called Lois with problems, Lois could only talk about herself.
It was sad to find out that a childhood connection had never really flourished into a mutual attachment. Lois simply couldn’t come out of her self-centeredness enough to want to understand Sherrie’s world.
But back to the phone call. Sherrie answered, “Lois. I’m glad you called. But I’m out the door. Can I call you back later?”
“But I need to talk to you now,” came the sullen response.
“Lois, call back if you want to. Here are some better times.”
They said their good-bys and hung up. Maybe Lois would call back, maybe not. More likely Lois’s other friends were all busy, and Sherrie’s name had come up next on the call list. Well, I’m sad that Lois isn’t happy with me, Sherrie thought to herself. But people probably weren’t too happy with Jesus when he withdrew from them to be with his Father. Trying to take responsibility for Lois’s feelings was trying to own something God never gave me. With that thought, she went to lunch.
Sherrie’s afternoon passed fairly uneventfully. She was on the way out of the office when her assistant, Jeff Moreland, flagged her down.
Without stopping her pace, Sherrie said to him, “Hi, Jeff—can you leave me a message? I need to be on the road in thirty seconds.” Frustrated, Jeff left to write the message.
What a shift in the last few months. For Sherrie’s boss to be her assistant wasn’t something she had expected. Yet, when she had begun setting limits in her job and not covering Jeff’s bases for him, Jeff’s productivity had dropped dramatically. Jeff’s irresponsibility and lack of follow-through emerged. His own superiors had, for the first time, become aware that he was the problem.
They had discovered that Sherrie was the driving force behind the design department. She was the one who made things happen. While Jeff took credit for all the work, he let her do it while he talked to friends on the phone all day.
Sherrie’s boundaries had done their job: they had exposed his irresponsibility. They had clarified where the actual hole in the wall was. And Jeff had begun changing.
At first, he had been angry and hurt. He’d threatened to leave. But finally things had settled down a bit. And Jeff had actually begun being more punctual. He’d buckled down. The demotion had woken him up—let him see that he’d been riding on the coattails of others.
Sherrie and Jeff still had their problems. He had a hard time hearing no from her. And it was difficult for Sherrie to tolerate the resentment. But there was no way she’d trade problems with the Sherrie who’d had no boundaries.
The session with Todd’s fourth-grade teacher went well. For one thing, Walt had attended with Sherrie. Knowing he was supportive made a lot of difference. But more important, the hard boundary work that Sherrie and Walt were doing at home with Todd was beginning to pay off.
“Mrs. Phillips,” said the teacher, “I’ll admit, I took Todd with some reservations after consulting with Mrs. Russell, his third-grade teacher. But there is a significant improvement in your son’s ability to respond to limits.”
Walt and Sherrie smiled at each other. “Believe me,” Walt said, “there was no magic formula. Todd hated doing homework, minding us, and taking responsibility for household chores. But consistent praise and consequences seem to have helped.”
The teacher agreed. “They really have. Not that Todd’s a compliant angel—he’ll always speak his mind—and I think that’s good in a child. But there’s no major struggle in getting him to behave. It’s been a good year so far. Thank you for your support as parents.”
As Sherrie fought the afternoon rush-hour traffic, she felt strangely grateful for it. I can use this time to thank God for my family and friends—and plan a fun weekend for us.
Amy walked into the family room right on time. “Mother-daughter time, Mom,” she said. “C’mon outside.”
Leaving the house, they started on their pre-dinner walk around the block. It mainly consisted of Sherrie’s listening to Amy chatter about school, books, and friends. All the things she’d yearned to be able to discuss with her daughter. The walk was always too short.
It hadn’t always been like that. After a Christian therapist had seen Amy and the family about her withdrawal, he’d noticed that Todd’s misbehavior monopolized the family’s attention. Amy wasn’t a squeaky wheel, so she received less time with Sherrie and Walt.
Gradually, she’d withdrawn into herself. There just wasn’t anyone in the house to give her anything. Her world had become her bedroom.
Noting the problem, Sherrie and Walt had made special attempts to make sure Amy was encouraged to talk about her issues—even if they weren’t the crises Todd was in.
Over time, like a flower opening up to the light, Amy began interacting with her parents once again. She was beginning to connect like a normal little girl would. The boundary work that Sherrie and Walt did with Todd was part of Amy’s healing process, too.
Halfway through dinner, the phone rang. After the third ring, the answering machine screened the caller. “Sherrie, this is Phyllis, from church. Can you pitch in for the retreat next month?”
The answering machine was the answer to dinner’s disruptions. The family’s boundary was “no phone conversations until dinner is through.” And the family time at the table was richer for it.
Sherrie made a mental note to call Phyllis later that evening and regretfully decline. She and Walt were having a couple’s weekend during those days. It helped keep them honeymooning.
Interestingly enough, when Sherrie’s boundary work had first begun, she’d started backing off from church commitments to sort out her chaotic life. Now, however, she was sensing more of a desire to be involved in a couple of ministries to which she felt called. It’s like comforting as I’ve been comforted, she thought to herself. But she realized that she’d probably never be as available to Phyllis as Phyllis wanted. But that was between Phyllis and God. Sherrie was out of that particular loop.
The kids and Walt cleared the table. They didn’t want to miss the next night’s dinner any more than they had breakfast!
The kids were in bed with their homework assignments done. They had even had some play time before bed. Walt and Sherrie sat down together with a cup of coffee. They talked quietly about each other’s day. They laughed over the goofups, commiserated over the failures, planned the weekend, and talked about the kids. They looked into each others’ eyes—glad the other one was there.
A miracle of miracles. And a hard-won one. Sherrie had had to go to therapy herself, along with joining a church support group. It had taken a long time to move out of her “Loving Walt Out of His Anger” modality. Her boundaries had needed much practice with safe people before she was ready to confront her husband.
And it had been a scary time. Walt hadn’t known what to do with a wife who could set limits, who would say to him, “Just so you’ll know in advance. It hurts me and distances me from you when you cruelly criticize me in public. If you continue, I’ll confront you on it immediately. And I’ll take a cab home. I won’t live a lie anymore. And I will protect myself from now on.”
Here was a wife who would no longer take responsibility for Walt’s tantrums and withdrawal, who would say, “If you won’t talk to me about your unhappiness, I’ll back off. I’ll be with a couple of my friends if you want to talk.” This was a difficult adjustment, for Walt was used to Sherrie’s drawing him out, soothing his ruffled feathers, and apologizing for being imperfect.
Here was a wife who confronted his emotional distance with, “You’re my first choice for intimacy. I love you, and want to make you first in my heart. But if you won’t spend time being close, I’ll spend that time in support groups, at church, and with the kids. But I won’t be in the den, watching you watching TV anymore. You’ll have to microwave your own popcorn from now on.”
He’d threatened. He’d sulked. He’d withdrawn.
But Sherrie stuck to her guns. With help from God, her friends, her therapist, and her church support group, she’d withstood Walt’s blusterings. He began to experience what it was like not to have her around and underfoot all the time.
And he missed her.
For the first time, Walt actually experienced his dependency on Sherrie. How much he needed her. How much fun she was when she was around. He began to slowly, gradually, fall in love with his wife again—this time a wife with boundaries.
She changed, too. Sherrie stopped playing the victim with Walt. She found herself blaming him less. She was less resentful. Her boundaries helped her develop a full life that didn’t need Walt to be as perfect as she’d wished.
No, it wasn’t an ideal marriage. But it felt more solid now, like an anchor in the storms. They were more like a team, with mutual love and mutual responsibility. They were not afraid of conflict, they forgave each other’s mistakes, and respected each other’s boundaries.
Lying in bed, snuggled next to Walt, Sherrie reflected over the past months of boundary work. She felt warm and grateful for the second chance God had given her.
A passage of Scripture came to her mind, one which she had read many times and knew well. It was the words of Christ from the Sermon on the Mount:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” (Matt. 5:3–5)
I’ll always be poor in spirit, she thought. But my boundaries help me find the time to receive the kingdom of heaven. I’ll always mourn the losses I suffer in this lifetime. But setting limits helps me find the comfort I need from God and others. I’ll always be meek and gentle. But being a separate person helps me take the initiative to inherit the earth. Thanks, God. Thank you for the hope you gave me. And for taking me—and those I love—along your path.
It’s our prayer that your biblical boundaries will lead you to a life of love, freedom, responsibility, and service.
Henry Cloud, Ph.D.
John Townsend, Ph.D.
Newport Beach, California 1992