Better boundaries. Closer Connections. A peace that holds.
Folks often ask about the name of the clinic, so we decided to post this to explain.
Many of us know what it's like to struggle with our emotions, especially when the people closest to us don't seem to see us or understand how we feel. In those moments we tell ourselves "It doesn't matter" or "It is what it is," hoping that minimizing the pain will make it hurt less. But the hurt lingers. Nothing improves. Over time the relationship grows more frustrating, as the people we love keep doing the very things that leave us feeling unheard, angry, or alone.
The poem below helped our founder see that boundaries, our "fences," are a healthy and necessary part of any relationship. Set clearly and communicated well, a boundary can turn an unhealthy dynamic into a closer, more supportive one. By setting, keeping, and respecting our boundaries, we show the people we care about how to love us well, and we show them that we love them, too.
After all, if someone doesn't know a boundary is there, how can they honor it? And once they do, what greater act of care exists than respecting it?
I hope you enjoy this poem as much as we do.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’