Things I Don't Owe People

Unlearning is messy and hard and I hate it.

(I just read two books back to back that have shaken me to my core, so bear with me. If you're wondering, they were The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins, and Self-Compassion by Kristen Neff. Both amazing.)

I think our culture, be it our family, our broader society, what have you, have historically taught people (especially those socialized female) that boundaries are rude. Having them, asserting them, all of it. And if you have a boundary and you say no to something, you better be prepared to explain yourself, or at the very, very least, internalize that you're a flaming asshole for it.

You know what I was never able to internalize until a few years ago (and I still struggle with it now and will always, I think) because I didn't even start to learn this idea until then?

I don't owe people a reason for my boundaries. I don't even owe people -telling them- about my boundaries. (That feels particularly yucky still, but just because it feels yucky to me doesn't make it any less true.) I don't owe people a reason for my limits around what I will allow and what I will not. I don't have to be mad to set a boundary - in fact, they work better if I set them from a place other than anger or frustration.

I've been called mean. I've been called rude. I've been called aggressive. I've been called bossy. I've been called rigid. I've been called a bully. I've been called every single sexist gross thing that a woman can be called when someone bumps up against my limit. I could be as nice as I want about it, but if I uphold the boundary and don't allow for the crossing, THAT is when people get angry.

People get even angrier when I choose not to take the time to explain myself, because I have learned (the hard way, over and over and over again) that the more I explain myself, the easier it is to find loopholes and make me doubt my limits and gaslight myself. The more I gaslight myself, the less worthy I feel of setting boundaries in the first place. It's a really, really fucking vicious cycle that I have been perpetually stuck in.

The Universe has really, really crammed this idea home in the past few weeks. It is officially stuck in my brain. Thanks, Universe. Lesson absorbed. You can literally stop it anytime.

The way the Universe sends me messages is that it sends them, I don't listen until it's time, and then I get message after message after message.

The employee who wants to know why I answer a question a certain way even after I've given them all I'm going to give them for an answer and what the situation is, is that they actually don't want to or can't do the work of sitting with the answer because it's uncomfortable. They try to foist that work on to me. No thanks!

That person that I have a business arrangement with who keeps violating the terms of it and then is shocked when I assert my rights, and is continually shocked when I don't let them cross the boundaries of a written agreement, and instead of staying in said written agreement after continual boundary violations, I get out of said written agreement. They've taught me all I need to know about how they're going to treat me and it's unacceptable to me, so I get out.

That doctor that looks shocked when I ask for a second opinion on my test results because I think the doctor is not correct in their diagnosis. (They were, in fact, incorrect, and I have the shocking level of energy and the pack of cheese bagels that I intend to devour daily over the next week to prove it.)

That insurance company that keeps pushing my clinicians' credentialing back, I'm guessing hoping that I'll just give up and then gets angry and acts immediately when I make a complaint to the insurance department.

Keeping my door closed when I'm doing admin work.

Keeping limits around my schedule and what I will permit for shenanigans.

Being able to say "THAT'S ENOUGH FUCKERY FOR TODAY" and ending my day and not allowing literally anything else inside my brain for the day.

Saying out loud to Rob a few months ago, "It takes me more time to process things than it takes you." and asking for more time. Did he show up for that idea? Continuously. He still does.

I've also begun to internalize the idea that I don't owe people flexibility to the point where it messes with my life and my well-being. My old therapist pointed out once that if she makes a mistake (and she made a couple - we all do!), my response would always be "No worries!"

"Ryan. You got out of work early to come here. This is important to you and XYZ conflict came up. You get to be mad about that, even a little."

She was the literal first person that ever taught me that I don't owe anyone flexibility. It's not that I want to be rigid all the time, I'm a reasonable person (or at least I like to play one on TV), but people do take advantage of that, and I never learned how to protect myself from that until like last year. Literally. Not hyperbole. Literally in early 2024.

I've been on this journey of unlearning this idea that I owe people these REALLY important things since I started therapy at 30. I've really had to learn to step into my own power and it's been difficult, but I wouldn't trade it for -anything-. This is the first time in my life that I've actually felt that I have control over my life, and let me tell you, now that I feel like I have it, anyone that tries to convince me that I don't have power over my own life can either get the fuck out of it, or they can pry that control from my cold, dead hands.

Protecting my peace is important. Probably the most important thing I do. If doing a particular thing makes my peace more vulnerable, I do not do that thing. Full stop.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Getting Answers and Getting Tired

I'm pretty tired of my medical care being my version of top-tier self-care. It's a literal second full-time job, and I'm just...tired.

That being said, I had a PCP appointment a few weeks ago and she noticed that I hadn't had lactulose breath testing yet. This particular brand of digestive testing tests for a condition called SIBO, which stands for Small Intestine Bacterial Overgrowth. People who have had C.Diff are especially prone to it (both because of having had it in the first place and also because the treatment for it absolutely decimates your gut, and it takes literal years to recover from), and it can cause all kinds of terrible symptoms. I ticked every box on the symptom list, so when I was meeting with my first MGH gastro, she ordered it because I asked her to.

Then I went on Prilosec to get rid of the ulcers, and so I couldn't do the test because you have to be off of those for four weeks. February 5, ding ding ding! That was my day.

For this test, you have to drink lactulose. They give you about 6 ounces of it to drink, and it took me ten minutes just to drink it. That is how disgusting it is. Then every 20 minutes for three hours, they have you breathe into a tube to test two different gases: Hydrogen and Methane. If the gases come out a certain way, you have SIBO.

As a side note, there were two of us taking that particular test that day. The person next to me had no reaction. What a douche. (Not really. Her name was Elizabeth and she was lovely.)

At the 90-minute mark, I got such major rumbles in my stomach that she legitimately looked at me and was like "Um. You ok?"

Friends, I was not ok.

It happened a couple more times, then I snarfed (for those wondering, it's sneeze-barfing, which I've been doing more of than I'm comfortable with lately) three times during the test, and the nurse gave me a tiny bit of water to rinse my mouth out and that was literally all I was able to have.

You know what that nurse had the literal audacity to say to me? "If it brings you any comfort, if you're having this kind of reaction, it means that you probably have what we're testing for."

Anyway. Testing continued, then I left, half a sock knitted, and then ate an oatmeal cream pie and went home. Or more accurately, to work. I almost barfed in my car, but I made it to work and through the rest of my day without incident. This is good because I've had the car for a month and a half now and if I had barfed in the car after already having been in an accident, I clearly would have considered the car possessed and just set it on fire.

Then the test results came in.

I am a chronic googler. Whenever I get results for testing, I look them up to see what they mean.

If, at the 2-hour mark, the methane level is above 20, you have SIBO.

Mine was 44.

Then it's supposed to take another big spike and then start to reduce.

Mine spiked up to 58 (the biggest jump of the entire test) and then reduced a bit and then plateaued.

Yup!

SO I emailed my gastro and was like "Hey, can we talk about these results?" and she was all, "Whoa. Let's get you in and make a plan." So I called yesterday asking if we could just wait until March when my next appointment is, and they were all, "Hold please, I'll check." They came back on shortly after and said, "Nope! We'll see you Friday at 4:30."

The good news is that treatment is easy - targeted antibiotics for three to four months and then another test after that time. I have a hunch that this is going to get rid of the whole problem. This is great news because low-FODMAPS is bullshit. I will have to eat an anti-SIBO diet for a good long time, if not forever, but it's flexible and SUPER manageable AND I CAN EAT VEGETABLES AGAIN. I had a salad the other day and LAWD did I pay for it, but it was worth every goddamn bite. (The company was pretty great too, BUT ALSO THE SALAD.)

This afternoon's appointment is going to be a dabba doo time, most particularly because I'm having a filler injection in my vocal cord this morning first. I'll be squeaky today and probably tomorrow, but then it's BELT IT OUT TIME FOR ME. Am I pretty nervous because I'll be awake for this one? Yes. Is it awesome that I'll get to drive home from it? Also yes.

I can't WAIT.