To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.

– Criss Jami

Jo has written about boundaries before, and I think it’s so cool that since there are two of us writing posts for this blog, you often get two different perspectives (though not necessarily different opinions) on a variety of subjects. We share similar moral values and our opinions are generally the same, but aside from the obvious differences (age, upbringing, hometown, etc) we also have each had our own myriad of life experiences that have given us our views on things now. Boundaries are something we’ve spoken about at lengths, even before we started this blog because, well, frankly — I didn’t have any. Boundaries are generally described as brick walls or barbed wire fences, almost impenetrable save for a certain special someone / something, if they have the will, curiosity and charm behind them to climb the wall, or cut a hole in the fence. My boundaries fall more into the “badly made sandcastle moat” category; you dig for a while and try to carve out a line (or body of water) to separate you from the rest of the world, with the aim of allowing a very select few into your castle, only when you feel like lowering the bridge.

But then something happens; the tide rolls in. You get excited because your moat is full of water! Nobody can get through to you unless you let them in! You’ve created this boundary and the idea seems solid and it feels so good; you’re determined to share yourself and your castle (think of your castle however you please — your body, your time, your heart) only with the people you selectively pick, the people who are worthy. 

Your boundary holds for a while. You have to fill up the moat occasionally as the water sinks into the sand, but a bucket at a time isn’t a big deal. You can refill that bucket every 15 minutes or so, no problem. 

But the sand underneath starts to soften. The water seeps in so deep that it turns that solid sand moat wall into a wet, soft, muddy pile. You don’t notice at first, you can’t see it happening, but eventually, the sides of your moat start to droop, and chunks of sand begin to fall off the walls and into the water and before you know it your moat is dry, and you see there’s a path leading straight to your castle’s front door. Do you start digging and refill your moat? Do you come up with a different plan? Do you give up?

My moat was never full. It didn’t matter how often I went and refilled my bucket, the minute I came back, the water was already soaking into the sand. This is how my boundaries worked. I would (shakily) develop one and tell myself that no one was going to cross it unless they were worthy of my time, effort, space, heart. The problem was, few of the people I had to instate these boundaries with, were worth it, and, regardless, my determination to following through on those boundaries was non-existent. These boundaries were flexible, unsupported and, worst of all, up for discussion. I have been trying to change that. 

I had a lot of my boundaries challenged this weekend, my buttons pushed. It was Broseidon’s 8th birthday party on Sunday and I’d been anxious about it for about a week. His party was priced a little high, but it was exactly what he wanted to do and had been trying to plan it on his own (to the best of his ability) for about a month. We invited his group of 10 friends (have I mentioned I have a really hard time being around children?), my mother and his grandparents from my ex’s side. His dad was away this week, so wasn’t around, and we thought it would be nice to have J-dog’s grandparents there, even if only to represent that side. I have had my fair share of quarrels with this family (as have most separated parents, I imagine) but for the most part, we get along pretty well. Things are amicable as long as I don’t rock the boat, which I don’t like to do anyway, and they are relatively decent towards Jo. 

Where do you draw the line on boundaries with your ex-family (if you have one)? My mother and step-father often had my dad over for dinner when I was younger — an unusual occurrence, I know — so I had a bit of a unique view of what blended families could look like. It was baffling to me that people had separated parents who didn’t get along. I found out as I got older that it turns out my mom and dad were just much better friends than partners, but being able to have the three of them under one roof was both awesome and confusing. 

I don’t necessarily want this for Duder. His father and I made an effort for a little while to try and take him out, the three of us, to do something fun on occasion after his dad and I split up. I wanted to teach him that adults could be amicable regardless of the situation, and that his dad and I both loved him endlessly and even if we weren’t in love with each other any more, we could still be civil enough to do things with him that he enjoyed. Granted, I think his dad and I were both also incredibly lonely and bored at the time, but our intentions in the end were nothing but good. These were organized, civilized outings that were planned in advance; and if I got the slightest impression things may go south, I cancelled.

So how do you feel when people insist on taking more than you’re offering? Duder’s birthday party was our day to celebrate him and give him a couple of hours outside of school to really hang out with his pals; he also had a birthday dinner planned on the day with some family (and friends that had been like family) that kind of decided, very quickly, that they had no interest in me — so, for his sake, we gave up keeping him home for his birthday Monday night, sent him off to a “family” dinner that didn’t include his mother or step parent; so the Sunday party was all we got. He ended up having a lot of fun, but the day and the decisions made by the adults in his life turned it into a very stressful endeavour, for him especially.

I am generally the “stop by any time!” type of friend. If I have a space in my heart for you (which I almost always do), my door is open to you 24/7. Need a couch to sleep on? We’ve got two pull outs. Need to vent about something? Call or come over, I’ll be here. If it’s something as simple as you not having had a home-cooked meal in two weeks — I’ve got you covered. I love taking care of the people I care about, but there is a very fine line you have to cross to get into the “stop by any time” group of folks. 

When people invade my space, I don’t know what to do. Don’t get me wrong — anybody who aggressively and violently invades my space gets a few choice words and a swift smackaroo, if that doesn’t work, but with people I have to deal with regularly, people I love, people I respect; I’m an absolute disaster when it comes to standing up for myself and saying no. Physical boundaries (people helping themselves into my house when I haven’t asked them to come in, for example) are the worst for me to enforce. Emotional and mental ones (dropping news on me, or asking me to have major conversations without any time to plan), are a close second. I’m getting better at saying “no, I can’t talk about this right now”, while “no, you can’t be here, you need to leave” still feels alien to me. When I invite you somewhere, I expect you to show up — unless you’ve asked, like a considerate human being, if I would be comfortable with extra guests. Especially on special days. 

So, when my son spends his birthday party worrying about his infant family member getting hurt by his growth-spurting friends, there’s a problem. Especially when it happens. When it didn’t have to. Because this young child (that I have absolutely 0 problem with, believe me, he’s an adorable little guy and Duder adores him) was brought to an event by parents who invited themselves (this is an exaggeration — they were told they were invited and didn’t question it, or confirm) there was no preparation, and it put a lot of people in super uncomfortable positions. Including the little guy! He got (mildly) hurt!

I have had to consider my boundaries a lot more now. When it was just Broski and I, things were different — people still didn’t respect me or my decisions as his mother, but didn’t exactly question things either. I almost felt like I didn’t need to have them because the second anything  or anyone threatened to do harm to him, I knew I could turn into a mama bear in a heartbeat. Little did I know, the boundaries weren’t so much for him as they were for me, and I accepted a shit ton of bad behaviour as a result of not having them. As I’m discovering how to create them for myself, I am trying, with tons of help and guidance from Jo, to encourage him to create his own, while he’s young and has the bold attitude to do so with conviction — he has had great conversations with his school-age friends about being uncomfortable with them touching his bum, for example, and now they don’t. It’s incredible to watch. 

So for me, being someone in a pretty openly queer relationship (I don’t mean we have an open relationship, but we are both openly gay / queer) as well as the only one in our partnership that conforms to society’s standards of what female-bodied people “should” look like, I have to throw a lot of dark glances at people who sometimes aren’t kind in the way they look at / mumble about Jo. I sometimes play bodyguard in the women’s washroom (see The Bathroom Mirror). I corrected 7 and 8 year old kids on their pronouns. I was also willing to witness the start of WW3, and battle to the death (not really) if anything even slightly derogatory or offensive was directed at them, and I can say that with confidence now. 

Do you have a harder time maintaining your boundaries or holding your ground with those close to you, or total strangers? I have been conditioned and trained to be overly assertive in my boundaries with strangers, especially, unfortunately, cisgender, heterosexual men. You know the ones — 

I did a self-defence course in high school specifically geared towards young women. We did a variety of exercises, from mixed martial arts to simple holds, and got a lot of really awesome knowledge and experience from a man whose only goal was to teach us to protect ourselves. At the beginning of the course, he stood at the front of the room and told us the main reason most women who get hurt, get abducted, get mugged, etc. don’t make it — we’re scared as HELL to hurt people!! It’s literally wired into us. We have to specifically train our brains to use force and do damage when we’re in danger (specifically at the hands of another person) because if we don’t, our natural instinct is to nurture and prevent pain. I remember thinking to myself, “If this guy thinks I’m gonna sit there like a dead fish when somebody’s trying to haul me off into the back of their van, he’s got a whole other thing coming.” But when we did our final exercise — they staged an “abduction” where you would get pulled into a cube van and had 3 minutes (I believe, this was a long time ago) to do whatever it took to get out; biting, scratching, kicking, punching, you name it — only 3 of us made it out “alive”, because we were the only ones willing to actually hurt our “attacker” (instructor) in order to survive. 

Note: This program was obviously all carried out with our consent / the consent of our parents, and really an AMAZING experience that I learned a lot from. It’s designed to teach us to be more assertive in our self defence as women in order to protect us in any potentially dangerous situations — and something that way more teen girls need to see. 

I wasn’t friends with my instructor. We spent some time together, he taught our little group of 8 things that I will carry for a long time and that may save my life someday if I ever need it (hopefully not!). But I wasn’t worried about my boundaries with him. Yes, he helped develop some specific ones: don’t ever let somebody you don’t know get close enough to grab you, don’t let someone keep you quiet if you’re in danger, don’t ever be afraid to hurt someone if their sole intention is to hurt you, if someone tries to grab your purse, throw it to them and run as fast and as far as you can in the opposite direction. Well — I’d like to let me partner touch me, or grab me, so when is too much… is there too much? What about if I’m not in danger, but somebody is trying to keep me quiet, even if that just means not allowing me to speak my truth when I’m with them? What if someone’s sole intention is to hurt me, but it won’t damage me physically? What if what they’re taking from me isn’t in my purse — what if it’s my love, patience, generosity, time? I’m not going to bite and kick and scream at my ex’s family when they cross the line, or when Jo maybe says something that hits me in a sensitive spot; so what do you do when it’s your friend, sibling, parent, partner? 

Like I said, I, admittedly, am terrible at standing up for myself to the people I hold close to my heart. I attribute this to low self-worth (emotional view of self), which is something that’s slowly improving now that I don’t struggle as much with low self-esteem (physical view of self). I’ve let a lot of people, who were not ever supposed to, treat me badly. I’ve been in abusive friendships, relationships, partnerships and have let those continue for far longer than they should have. People who said they loved me. People who let me continue loving them in the way that I do; wholly, endlessly and without expectations, while having expectations of how that should feel, how I should express it, or how deeply I should immerse myself into it — with no consideration of how it feels to simply be tossed aside when someone has gotten all the benefit they can from you. I’m still trying to figure out how to do it, day-by-day; how to heal from the people who have hurt me, how to stand my ground so it doesn’t happen again — and I’ve been practicing by taking a stronger position for the people that I love, regardless of whether or not they return the favour. Jo and I are each others’ biggest and loudest cheerleaders, and even we have had moments where each of us felt like they could have been more present for the other. 

So I’ll end this with a vulnerable story, because sharing my mistakes may help someone else avoid a similar situation and this particular occurrence had a huge effect on Jo and I as a couple, as well as on my views of who my “friends” were and whether or not they were people I wanted to be calling my friends to begin with. 

I had a super close friend, we’ll call them K. K and I had a pretty complex history — I was kind of crazy about them for 2 years — but for the most part we were beer drinking, cigarette smoking, stayin’ up late kind of buddies; we got together a few times each week, even after I left the job we both worked at, and I thought the world of them for a long time. They are an incredibly, incredibly intelligent person with a world of experience, wisdom and a shit ton to offer, but it would be like speaking with the Dalai Lama and finding out that, even with all of his wisdom, knowledge and experience, he’s a member of the KKK, or supports a Nazi agenda. How? How can you be an intelligent and thoughtful individual, but still have such close-minded, misogynistic, racist, supremacist views? This was a thought that came to mind more and more often with K as we neared the end of our friendship and, one evening, they finally showed their true colours. This is going to be extremely hard for me to write about, so please be gentle with me.

I invited K over to the apartment soon after we moved in. They and Jo had met once already, I had been super excited for them to get to know each other because, of course, I loved them both dearly and would have loved to have had another pal we both enjoyed spending time with (K being an alcoholic and Jo being pretty much sober by then, seriously I don’t know what I was thinking). K brought a few cans of beer to share, forgetting that both Jo and I are sensitive to wheat, so then proceeded to polish them off of their own. Not a big deal, maybe a little inconsiderate, but fine, right?

Now, remember the boundaries we’ve been chatting about. Because K and I were very close, spent a lot of time together, and discussed some pretty heavy shit, we would inevitably disagree. Usually, we’d cheers to our difference of opinion, and move on. The only thing we could not talk about, though, no matter how many times it came up in discussion, was politics. K is a Rob Ford boosting, Stephen Harper worshipping, Conservative. Where I generally vote for the candidate I think will do the most effective job over the party they lead, based on principle alone I lean more towards the ideals of the Liberal party. I boast an all-for-one, one-for-all attitude most of the time, and believe things should be equal and that we just need to be decent f-ing human beings. I support the forward thinkers in their legalization of cannabis, our attempts to end the stigma around mental illness and our acceptance of LGBTQ+ communities, gender neutral washrooms and the like (for obvious reasons).

K sat up and wanted to tell us all about the “great” things Rob Ford was going to do for Ontario when I got the feeling that things were about to go downhill, really fast. Reversing the plan of allowing “do not wish to disclose” and “unknown” options for Trans and GNC people on medical and official documents was one of said great things. Eliminating any possibility of public gender neutral washrooms was another. We didn’t even touch on his plan for schools, healthcare, sex-ed — K wanted to get right to the stuff that would hit a nerve, because that’s just who they are. Before I even really had a minute to figure out what was going on, K had moved into pronouns and how pointless and idiotic they thought picking your pronouns was, and…

I said nothing. 

This is where I feel vulnerable, though. I just told you that I would’ve gone to war for Jo this past weekend, but that wasn’t always the case. I didn’t always feel like I could, like I was strong / brave / big / bold enough. So I let them down, hard — and they let me know, in front of K. Embarrassing, sure, but nothing compared to the dissociation that comes with being an agender person, being constantly misgendered, or having their gender choices / preferences / identifications ridiculed by someone that I had spoken so highly of. They trusted me and my judgement of K and thus, welcomed them into our home without much question — and was, essentially, shit on. I asked K to leave, noting that things had started to feel a little tense and awkward (still such a pushover, eh?) and let them leave without really saying what I thought I should have, but couldn’t find words for until later on.

Jo and I had a long, very difficult discussion about where I fell flat and what I could have said, and I obsessed about my mistakes and what I should have done differently for days. In the spirit of being vulnerable, I will be honest and tell you that I kept in touch with K for a while after that. I think we went for coffee once and I tried to explain to them what had happened, that they’d obviously hit a soft spot and probably shouldn’t speak about gender or sexual identification / orientation if they were going to continue to be in my life, and even then, my dear readers; I look back on it now and see that even that hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t about soft spots, or opinions, or language — their morals and perspectives are so. completely. different. from mine and I was discovering that that difference, unfortunately, wasn’t something I could ignore. I could dive deeper into it and talk about the fundamentals of human rights and how that includes people of all races, denominations, genders, identities, ages, abilities etc etc etc, but I trust that you, dear readers, are good people, and we agree on these things — I still think K is a good person, but their good is exclusive and I needed friends that were inclusive; not only of my partner but of my child, my lifestyle and the fact that we are a queer as f*ck family. 

I deleted K’s number the last time we were in Stratford. Actually, I went through a deleted a lot of people’s numbers. If I hadn’t talked to them in 3 months, they were gone (with a few exceptions). It didn’t feel “good”, perse, because they were a reliable friend and I’d hoped we’d be able to stay that way, but boundaries are something I’m trying to work on, and one of them is treating my family and I with respect. If you can’t manage that — you don’t get to see my castle. 

Perhaps, the problem is not the intensity of your love, but the quality of the people you are loving.” 

– Warsan Shire

This was a long one, guys — thanks for sticking through it with me.

— Aisha

The older I grow, the more I distrust the familiar doctrine that age brings wisdom.

– H.L. Mencken

Morning folks!

We were chatting with a reader last week, who also happens to be a close friend, and they were kind enough to tell us that our blog is making them consider… more. Forgetting how it came up, in particular, we came to the question of age, and that we (A and I) should talk about it. Age is a very prevalent topic for us right now – neither of us have ever suited “our age” (although I have more than Aisha I think), Aisha has just gone through a month of being told that “for her age…” in relation to her injuries/physical reality, and well, there are ten years between us – which means that even when we try and reminisce together about things as simple as our childhoods, we usually have more differences than similarities (80’s baby vs. 90’s baby, if you can imagine). 

Socially, age is fair game for being questioned or policed at any given moment. The elderly are infantilized and not as readily given their independence, children are expected to grow up way too fast and experience stimuli that we as adults find overwhelming. In many of these instances, we accept or understand this policing because it is usually done in a “top down” way: your clothes as an adolescent are policed by adults, your body choices aren’t yours to make until you reach an age society deems appropriate (tattoos, piercings, hair dye and sex), and there is stigma in obtaining education when you are ‘older’ (25+, which is not old) because you should have already done it. 

Dove and RoC are using their powers as marketing gurus by using age discourse to redefine us as shoppers (RoC video), taking the phrase “you look great — for your age” and turning it on its head. Culturally, we seem to be moving away from rigorous policing because socially we are slowly distinguishing (or embodying?) a difference between age and maturity. Age, as I’m sure we can all agree, is the numerical amount of time you have existed. Maturity, on the other hand, apparently refers to your state of ripeness. Not sure what ripeness has to do with life experience, but we’ll go with it.

In comparison, a simple definition of emotional maturity is:

Emotional maturity is the ability to handle situations without unnecessarily escalating them. Instead of seeking to blame someone else for their problems or behaviour, emotionally mature people seek to fix the problem or behaviour.

This is what I believe most people mean when they say someone is mature. How has your age influenced people’s beliefs of your maturity? Are you in a generation that has a good rep? I accept the Xennial definition of my generation when I have to think about it (basically that I grew up in a time before computers and was nearly an adult when technology really hit its’ peak). Aisha is absolutely a Millennial (she was born when technology was peaking and has been on a steady ride with it since). I think Baby Boomers were the last generation to have any respect given to them as a demographic, but how does this come down to age and maturity?

Are you an age conscious person? Have you ever ended a friendship, or defined boundaries of a friendship based on age? What about a romantic/sexual interest? Have you misinterpreted someone’s age and had that change your interest in them? Do you find that you tend to get along better with people who are older/younger than you? Less obvious examples range from whether you are someone that gives your public seat up for an elderly person (good manners) or holds your purse closer if a teen with facial piercings comes close (bad bad bad). Do you look to hang out with children or studiously avoid them – not all of this is overarching. I wasn’t a “kid” person, per se, until Duderroo, because I didn’t know any. Had you asked me to spend a day surrounded by them pre-Duder I would have laughed at you. Now that I know how amazing they are, I want to be with them all the time. Aisha, on the other hand, finds most kids other than duder exhausting and sometimes hard to handle, but is more of an ‘old dog’ with ‘young puppies’ than a miserable, grouchy Scrooge. If we happen to run into an ‘older’ (read: more mature) young child that Aisha can teach something to, she has the utmost patience for them regardless of age, mess, attention span, etc. 

What about your friends? Aisha has always gravitated towards people older than herself (though not necessarily mature) and has few friends close in age, but those who are, are very mature or have had a lot of life experience. This also means that she has had a lot of friends who, by logic of age, would be more mature but display more childish behaviour than some children (namely, duderroo). I, on the other hand, seem to gravitate to whatever age group I “need” at the time, and I have equally as much respect for people younger and older than me. I have had a very fluid friend base, age wise, and find I am drawn more to someone’s depth of connection so long as the other person is an equal contributor. Why are people different, drawn or repulsed by age-specific groups and is this determined by maturity? Is maturity only determined by experience? 

So… What’s your sign, baby? *wink*

Have you investigated what your sign says about you? Not necessarily the sun and moon birth charts, etc. but just any innocent meandering into whether there are factors outside of your age, experience and culture that determine your traits. I have always enjoyed referencing what Taurus means. I feel very attached to my sign, but only for fun. For instance, my traits are usually said to be stubborn, loyal, hard to change, tied to orderliness, love ‘the good life’ and nice things, can be lazy but ultimately can be a focused, forward moving individual who is good to have around. I absolutely accept that! When going deeper though, I find out that Taurus is the third sign and so I am essentially an infant!! That, well that is hard for me to wrap my head around. I have always felt a little older, wiser, maybe more challenged than my peers and my peers have often come to me for direction! So how am I “young”?? 

Aisha, being the more spiritually inclined and a ‘mystic’ type has helped me figure this astrological ‘age’ thing out. She is a Pisces, which is the twelfth, and final, sign. This means that because she has taken on characteristics of the eleven previous signs, she is technically referenced as ‘older’ than me. Pisces tend to be regarded as the wisest, though most ‘unpredictable’, because they have successfully passed through the previous signs and adopt whatever traits appeal to them. When looking at it like this (combined with her awesome explanation) we get to see what may be different between us. Keep in mind, she is 26 and I am 35:

  1. I forgive, and forget, almost instantly – I do not enjoy holding on to negative things because it weighs me down. Aisha, while incredibly forgiving, does not forget, holds onto her lessons, and does not repeat ‘emotional’ mistakes. 
  2. I am awed by simple or what others may see as mundane, things. Everything moves me, awes me, and a lot still surprises me. Aisha, while she loves nature and the world, rarely seems childlike in our explorations, and is rarely genuinely surprised by the actions of people or trains of events.
  3. I have an intense motivation for almost everything: figuring out issues, making plans, finding the right path. Aisha is the most chill person ever, she embodies “go with the flow” and trusts the universe to come through. I help her get / stay motivated, she helps me find solid ground without having to dig my roots in.
  4. Finally, my curiosity towards all people and interest in ‘bringing’ them in is in sharp contrast to Aisha’s ability to be with whomever is here, she does not actively search for ‘more’. I strive to make my relationships and interactions as pleasant, or at least as productive, as possible, whereas Aisha just accepts whoever is around, whatever state they may be in. 

But really, does this have so much weight? I am sure you know people who share your sign and you are like, “whoa, astrology does NOT have any merit”. But have you ever said someone is an old soul? Been told you are ‘wiser than your years’? Do you feel world weary? Age and maturity, as I’ve said, are wrapped up in a complicated web of experience, self-confidence, intelligence, access to opportunity, etc. This is merely fun banter about what other determinants may be present, and so, we’ll go ever further…

Reincarnation! I am on the fence with this philosophy and not because I don’t think it is possible, but because it seems so friggin’ amazing I can’t wrap my head around it. 

So, what did I learn? Well, I’ll point you to the Five Stages of Reincarnation that we looked at. I am, decidedly, a baby soul:

“the focus of human life is no longer on day-to-day physical survival but on participating in a social structure that provides ordersecurity and a sense of belonging.”

This is so true and if you have been following along with our posts, or you know us personally, you are probably chuckling as we did. With Aisha dispelling the idea that ‘young’ (baby soul, Taurus as a toddler, etc.) means incompetent or not worth considering (think of how children are left out of ‘adult’ conversations), I was able to really look at this with an open mind. While I feel a disjunct between thinking I am older or assuming an ‘old soul’ description fits me, I am actually feeling a sense of relief that I have time! I feel relieved that my weariness is because I am learning, not because I am finished. It also helps me try and foster the traits I felt were ‘immature’ before; my sense of play and imagination, my trusting side, and I no longer try and hide my awe or my feelings.  

Aisha has always been told she is an old soul, that she is older and wiser than her years (Aisha: Yeah, I had a psychic tell me when I was 9 that I had had at least 100 lives before this one – imagine trying to figure that one out as a young kid). Her mother was very spiritually and ‘mystically’ inclined, so fostered astrological interests early and, coupled with Aisha’s other abilities (clairsentience and clairvoyance), she never really struggled with this assumption. In reading through the five stages, though, she has found a different possibility, she may be a mature soul:

“the mature soul focuses on being sensitive, cooperative and authentic
the mature soul recognizes that other perspectives are equally valid
the mature soul is more concerned with the self-other relationship

Aisha and I both like to investigate socio-psychological tests/quizzes just to do self check-in’s: the 16 Personality types, horoscopes, tarot, stuff like that. Honestly, it is a fun way to try and navigate things – is Mercury on my side this month, OR NO?!?!! What does retrograde even MEAN?! We adopt these explanations as just another interesting layer of ourselves to help understand why we are so different sometimes.

Therefore, we will end with this thought. It is not just your age, sign, possible reincarnation that defines you. We are ultimately all individuals who experience a myriad of determining moments that shape us. I like to use these ‘fluffy’ concepts. I like to look at the Soul Types because not every Taurus I know is hell-bent on service and providing like I am (I am the server soul, Aisha doesn’t seem to suit any of the types listed). This way, when I get a little lost and can’t find ‘someone like me’ I can look at this compilation: my impulsiveness and sense of confusion is valid and I have the strengths to work past it; my need to provide and ensure others happiness isn’t bad, but yeah, I absolutely need to know how to balance it if I want to be in charge of it. 

At the end of the day, I would say that my younger soul that is focused on others, but also achieving the best for me, is kind of awesome. I don’t get weary, per se, I get overwhelmed because I try and do it alone but am too ‘young’, so I stumble. I had a friend ask me yesterday, after their first real update of Aisha, when do I get time to breathe. My only honest response was, I don’t stop. I think I don’t stop breathing because I am in a stage of strength – vulnerable strength because I am learning and hopefully following the right path – but I can keep going, just like kids with their faces burning red, sweat dripping down their bodies as they play in the summer sun. 

Aisha needs breaks – she goes into silent retreats in her head to organize the amount she is sorting through. She needs time to process, to think, to compartmentalize… and then she reacts. Big decisions can’t be made without ample time to weigh out every reasonable option (and sometimes unreasonable ones too). She has a depth of natural resources that when tapped into, are absolutely staggering — that she, at this age, can be that aware. But, remember, just because you may be a mature or old soul, does not mean that your numerical age has any advantages. She is a weary 26 whose inner child has to emerge to play with us. The confusion of feeling like you “should” know or be able to tackle a certain task – while literally not having the life experience to have found the resources to do so – can be draining and lead into thoughts of not being good, smart, or just simply, enough. But she tries to approach things in a “slow and steady” way; not to win the race, but to reach the finish line in one piece – if feeling out of sorts or overwhelmed, her numerical age rears it’s head and usually has her skidding in at high speed with a bloody knee or elbow to show for it. It is hard to completely balance age and maturity.  

Age defines a lot: how we view ourselves, how others view us, what knowledge we have, and our confidence. Maturity comes, in part from age, but you can’t discredit mature young people, or immature older people. Read Maura Vananzo’s piece about maturity and you will see what I mean. 

So, the question comes back to you, friends. What are your thoughts on age? Could you use a refresher on what expectations are laid out for you, because of your age? Can you take a step back from things because maybe you are trying to bite off more than you can chew? Stepping back in order to accept the load you are literally able to handle is not weakness. Taking a step back from your perceived responsibilities at work, is not weakness. If we honestly come at our situations with a true understanding of what we are working with – we only get better. 

That, is a promise.

— Jo & Aisha

“My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She’s ninety seven now, and we don’t know where the heck she is.”

Ellen DeGeneres