Heavy Feelings: Boundaries and Connection's Weight

Room 214 doesn’t always feel like a classroom, you know? Sometimes it feels… heavy. Like trying to hold onto something slippery – not a physical thing, exactly, but an idea. An expectation. I was thinking about Mateo today, and how he just *knew* when Mrs. Davies was going to ask him a tough question before she even finished the sentence. It’s like he could sense her needing him to be right, to get it perfect. And Chloe? She was just… building towers, completely lost in it, not worrying about whether she'd answered correctly or not.

It made me think about this whole “duty” thing I keep running into with my mom. It’s subtle, of course. Not like she tells me, "You *need* to call me every evening just to let me know you're okay." But the way she asks if I’m eating enough, or if I’m feeling lonely, always with this little urgency in her voice – it feels like she expects me to be a buffer for her. Like my life is somehow inherently less… full, unless I’m constantly sharing details about it with her.

I remember when I was younger, and she’d tell me she was sad just because *I* wasn't around, even if I was at school, miles away. It wasn’t that she didn't care; she did. But the sadness felt… directed at me. Like my very existence was a problem for her, instead of something to be celebrated. It’s funny how easily we can get caught up in these things – assuming someone else feels our emotions, expecting them to validate our choices.

The thing is, I keep thinking about this word—enmeshment—and it makes a strange kind of sense. It's like when you build something really complicated, and you keep adding pieces on top of each other without a clear plan. Eventually, the whole structure gets so heavy that it’s hard to move, hard to change. And I wonder if my relationship with her is like that – built on this foundation of needing me to be *for* her, rather than just… being me.

It's weird, because I know she loves me. Truly does. But love doesn't always mean letting go, does it? Sometimes, love gets tangled up in all sorts of complicated stuff—expectations, needs, fears. And sometimes, that tangle makes it hard for both of us to breathe.

I’ve started trying this thing – just… not answering immediately when she calls. Just a little pause. Like I'm testing the waters, seeing if she'll push, see if she’ll try to pull me back into whatever conversation we were having. It feels vulnerable, honestly. Like admitting there's something wrong that needs fixing. But maybe fixing things isn’t always about immediately jumping in.

I read this article—it doesn’t matter where it came from—and it talked about building a muscle. It said you have to keep repeating the same action over and over, pushing yourself, until eventually it becomes easier, more natural. Maybe that’s what it takes with these kinds of relationships – repeatedly setting boundaries, gently reminding ourselves that our own happiness matters too.

I realized today that building those boundaries isn't about *abandoning* her, but acknowledging that my life has its own rhythm, its own needs. It feels almost rebellious sometimes—this little act of saying “no,” of taking a moment to just… be. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe a little bit of rebellion is exactly what we need sometimes.