Contemplations: When the Gate Breaks

On Healing, Boundaries, and the Quiet Return to Self

Hey friends,

Photo by Lukas Zischke on Unsplash

Sometimes the deepest grief doesn’t come from death.

It comes from being misunderstood, from misunderstanding yourself, not recongizing your own needs, or giving yourself permission to be human.

It comes from the mishandling of your own heart, or others, and that is something I appear to be an amatuer at.

Sometimes it comes from granting others access to your soul, and mistook it as theirs to fix, manage, or remold.

In recovery, we call that codependency. And, if it were an Olympic sport, I’d have a gold medal by now.

Here’s what I think I’ve learned about myself: when soul wounds go unhealed, trust doesn’t just fade — it rusts. You stop seeing clearly. Everything feels like a threat. Not because it is, but because your trauma tells you it might be. And in that fog, you’re left wondering if you ever truly saw others — or were ever seen yourself.

This metaphysical and digital grafitti is for the ones who’ve been there. Who didn’t get bitter — but got real. The ones who built boundaries, not out of spite, but survival. Especially those of us raised in codependency and trauma response — taught to smile, nod, and shrink to keep the peace.

You feel me?

Honestly, some people can’t hold space for you because they haven’t made space for themselves. Unfortunately, they take your truth personally. Mistakenly, they twist your honesty into an insult. Maybe they treat your pain like a project. Maybe that’s who I’ve been at times, or maybe you?

I hope that we’re not doing that anymore.

Here is a poem I wrote, please don’t laugh:

Once,

I laid my soul out like bread on the table.

Warm.

Broken open.

Shared without fear.

They said,

“This is beautiful.”

But beauty, in the wrong hands,

becomes something to consume.

With nothing but crumbs

left behind.

Now,

touch startles.

Words flinch.

Laughter sounds like dungeon doors creaking open.

But I’ve learned:

not every hand reaching out

is meant to harm.

Some hands bring healing.

Some presence, peace.

I speak with care now —

not because I fear being misunderstood,

But because I finally know

The value of inner quiet.

The kind that listens.

The kind that mends.

There is no revenge in distance.

Only refuge.

A soft return to myself.

A relearning of what safety feels like

from the inside out.

Call it a wall,

but it breathes like a boundary.

And behind it,

the desert blooms again.

Hope is there too.

Waiting.

Small and faithful.

I think codependency tells you that love means saving people. Your value is measured in how much pain you can carry. But real healing doesn’t ask you to bleed for belonging — it asks you to stand in truth, even if it costs you closeness.

Carl Jung once said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

That’s why boundaries matter

to me, and should matter to you.

Not to shut people out, but to stay connected to the version of you that doesn’t disappear just to keep the peace.

In the rooms of recovery, we say:

“You don’t set boundaries to keep others out. You set them so you can stay in the room — without losing your soul.”

Some people will see your boundaries as rejection. But that’s not your burden to carry.

Your work is to stay grounded.

To stay honest.

To stay kind, even when kindness means choosing peace over people-pleasing.

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” — Maya Angelou

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” — Proverbs 4:23

“People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own soul.” — Carl Jung

To those walking a spiritual path — whether through recovery, contemplative Christianity, or the wisdom traditions — it isn’t about fixing others. It’s about living from your own grounded center.

And sometimes, that means letting go of people who only loved the broken version of you they could manage. The ones who love you, show up for you, and believe you deserve the authentic you.

You are not broken.

You are rebuilding.

And every brick matters.

Keep going. Give yourself the time you need to heal and grow.

Don’t give up before the miracle happens.

For what it’s worth.

Shalom,

Jeremy E.

Dedicated to Matthew Schloesser

August 20, 1971 ~ July 4, 2025