Vulnerabilities and Boundaries Article by Thista

Vulnerability & Boundaries by thista

This is a story about a time I messed up.

Some years ago I was invited to create a ritual for a specific group of people who were struggling with inclusivity and belonging. During the design process, the organizers of this group laid out to me the problem, as they saw it: Their group was firmly founded on welcoming all people, yet some people just wouldn’t let themselves belong. Alright, I thought to myself, I can do this. After all, craving an elusive sense of belonging is more relatable than many people realize. I used to think that I was alone in always feeling on the edge of every group I touched, never quite qualifying as “one of us”. Over time, as I gained enough confidence to open up to more people, I discovered that this feeling of liminality is astoundingly common. Somehow we all feel ourselves to be on the edges. Even people I’ve thought of as the core members of a group have revealed to me that they too wonder if they truly belong with everybody else.

Our ritual challenged seekers to face what is most often at the root of a sense of not belonging: our own sense of self-worth. We created a structure that ensured support from everyone present, reinforcing the welcoming and inclusive space the organizers wanted their group to be. Within that space, each person would be given an opportunity to ask themselves whether or not they truly felt like they belonged, and we facilitators were ready to help them work through whatever answer they discovered in that challenge. Now, I knew from the outset that this ritual wouldn’t become an ordeal for every seeker. That’s the nature of group rituals – you’re just not going to strike the same chord in everyone, because we’re all so different. I tried to plan ahead for what variations we could put into play for people who were already superbly confident in their self-worth. I felt pretty certain that, given a few adjustments when necessary, the ritual would be at least meaningful for each person present, even if it didn’t become an ordeal for everyone. My error wasn’t in the design itself, but in a flawed assumption I’d made from the start. When I arrived at the venue where this ritual would be happening, something felt... off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, but there was an unmistakable tension in the social dynamics of the group. At the time I figured this must be part of the problem the organizers had described to me, and hoped our ritual could at least help loosen things up a bit. After all, no ritual can be a singular solution, but it can catalyze a greater process of change, growth, or healing. So the day of the ritual came, and it seemed to go fairly well. The vast majority of participants derived benefit from facing down their internal sense of not being worthy of belonging, and a few others chose to lean

So when I was offered this chance to design a group ritual aimed at confronting barriers to belonging, I thought I had it in the bag.

into using their self-confidence as a support for others. But one person... just... didn’t fit. They left the ritual feeling just as isolated as before. After the ritual was over I sat with them privately and tried to contextualize the ritual experience, hoping that maybe if I just talked to them a bit I could help them find some kind of personal breakthrough... but I couldn’t. They did not feel welcome in that group, and nothing I could do or say would change that. I left that gathering feeling that I’d failed – because, unfortunately, that is how my brain works: succeeding for so many others means nothing if I fail for even one. (*sigh*) Anyway, it would take me years to figure out what really went wrong there. I thought I’d somehow messed things up with that individual, but that was not true. It was the group ritual I’d messed up. The ritual worked for the people it worked for because that struggle to feel like you belong is such a common sensation... but it failed for the group because I assumed I knew what the group’s problem was to begin with... and I was wrong. What each participant needed as an individual, and what the group needed as a whole, were two very different things. Back when we were first designing the ritual, what the group organizers described to me as the problem was... incorrect.

You see, the organizers of this group believed that they were plenty inclusive because they would not turn anyone away who was brave enough to approach them and ask to be welcomed. Their philosophy was derived from how vulnerability fosters connection in kink scenes: in order to forge deep, meaningful connections we must allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

This is, however, a half truth. Vulnerability by itself, offered up blindly and without question, is foolish. In a kink scene we offer our vulnerability within carefully negotiated boundaries. We mark out those boundaries based on our rapport with the other person or people, and the level of trust shared between us informs the level of vulnerability we offer. When someone asks us to offer them vulnerability without first establishing any trust or boundaries, our hackles raise, our alarm bells ring, and we wonder – is this person just new to kink, still needing to learn the social language of consent and respect? or are they a predator looking for someone without a healthy sense of self-preservation? This foolishly unconditional vulnerability is exactly what the organizers of that group were asking of its new members. They wanted people to come in and reveal themselves completely, blindly trusting that the group would welcome them and treat them well without the group having to do any actual work to earn that trust.

From the organizers’ point of view, there was plenty the group already did to keep their space inclusive... ...but a new member wouldn’t know anything about that. Sure, they could see the rules posted on the group’s website, but words alone go only so far. Just as we want to vet a new play partner, or at least watch how they play with others, before venturing with them towards our personal edges, people new to a social group will want to watch how that group treats its members before deciding how much of themselves to reveal in that space. It’s not just understandable for someone to be cautious when they’re getting to know new people... it’s smart... ...and asking someone to simply “be vulnerable” in blind trust when you first meet them is like asking someone to play without any prior negotiation. That sort of request is myopic at best, and predatory at worst.

Now, the organizers of that group certainly were not predatory. They just couldn’t quite see how their attempts at inclusivity and welcoming were missing the mark.

What I realized in retrospect was that this group of people didn’t do much to make themselves approachable to new people. Every social group has its own microcosm of language and customs, from in-jokes and favorite hangouts to the subtleties of slang and body language. This group did not pause to translate their social language, made no extra effort to include people in the in-jokes, did not explain to new people when hangouts would happen, or how they could join in. They just expected that people would find out on their own. In their mind, they were doing everything they needed to do simply by accepting people who decided to show up... ...and for many people, that still leaves a great rift between where they stand and a feeling of being welcome, never mind belonging....

Oh sure there are people who don’t need any encouragement to join a new group, who can just walk up to new people and strike up a conversation, who have an otherworldly confidence I can only admire from a distance with awe... but for the rest of us.... we

...and being inclusive means creating an environment that is accessible to everyone, not just the naturally outgoing and extroverted.

need to read the room before we can really open up... That group’s approach to “inclusivity” was “Accept us and you can be one of us.” They completely forgot that accepting other people isn’t just a passive state, it’s an action. They did not think to reach out, to ask, to include. They figured being inclusive was nothing more than saying “you are welcome here” and then not being overtly hostile. They forgot to be welcoming... Sometimes people need time to get to know you. Welcoming people who need that time means giving them the space they need, and respecting their boundaries.

When people say you must “let down your walls and be vulnerable otherwise you’ll be alone and isolated forever” without any thought to developing trust or establishing boundaries along the way... that’s gaslighting nonsense akin to spiritual bypassing.

Many of us wear armor when we first meet people, and for various equally valid reasons: sometimes trauma, sometimes mental health, sometimes shyness or introversion. Any reason is a good enough reason. If a person needs time, give them time. That is how you make them feel welcome – not by asking them to strip away their armor before they are ready, but by telling them that it’s ok if they aren’t ready yet, and that you’ll still welcome them while they set their own pace. Sometimes people in a position of power have a hard time recognizing how their power affects those around them. I don’t think those organizers wanted new people to come to them as subservient in any way, but by asking for such radical vulnerability from newcomers while they themselves sat on comfortable ground and in positions of social power, that’s exactly what they were doing – they were taking a power imbalance, and making it even more imbalanced. The organizers of that group failed to recognize their own role in the problem their group was struggling with. They were good kind folk who genuinely wanted the inclusivity they were striving for. They just couldn’t quite see the forest for the trees. This yet another reason why we all must strive to be aware of our own privilege, and be conscientious of how that privilege affects our social interactions. We must not act in ignorance. If I could go back and change that ritual, I would have had the ordeal challenge the organizers rather than the group members. I would have had the organizers confront the power imbalance between themselves and their group’s new members, and then I would have coached them through designing a ritual of welcoming for their group, in which they as the organizers were made vulnerable, and had to rely on the strength of their group. Would that have fixed the group’s problems? Certainly not. But it might have helped the organizers get a little insight as to why some people had such a hard time feeling welcome in their group... and that’s what ordeal is all about: insight. Whenever we are next able to gather together in groups, we will all be a bit more... emotionally frayed... than we once were. This is the perfect time for us to reflect on our past, and consider how we can move forward with a little extra patience and compassion for one another.

If you’re being asked to be vulnerable, know that it’s ok for you to have your armor, and you get to decide where and when to take it off.

Next time you are encouraging someone to open up to you or to bond with you or to feel comfortable in your group, ask yourself what you’ve done to be welcoming. Invite people in, and let them enter at their own pace. Help them learn your social language, and show them how they can join in when they are ready. And above all, whether you’re a single person making a new friend, a group of people organizing an event, or anything in between, remember: We earn vulnerability by establishing trust, and we develop trust through asserting and respecting boundaries.

Vulnerability and trust go hand in hand... ...and trust is established over time as we assert our boundaries and watch how others respond to them.