01 My Journey – Step 2
I stay centred
It’s Tuesday evening. I come home. Put down my bag.
“You forgot about the shopping again.”
“I’ve been working all day.”
“So have I.”
No. Everything in me resists. I don’t want to argue now. I grab my jacket. “I’m just popping out.”
The door clicks shut. I walk through the streets. Aimlessly. And in my head the argument escalates.
“I’m always the bad guy.”
“I run this whole household practically on my own.”
“You couldn’t care less how I’m doing.”
The merry-go-round in my head spins faster and faster. No chance of getting off. An hour later I come back. I go straight to the bathroom. Then to bed. I pretend to be asleep. We don’t talk about it again.
“Son! Will you finally tidy your room!” Nothing happens.
“That’s the third time I’ve told you now.” Nothing again. I lose it.
“If that room isn’t tidy by midday, I’m throwing everything out. Everything. Understood?”
He looks at me. I see the shock, the fear in his eyes. I walk out anyway. Slam the door behind me. I stand in the hallway. I have frightened my son. Hands trembling slightly. Heart pounding. Over an untidy room.
Monday morning. Team meeting. I present my idea. I worked on it for three evenings.
My boss interrupts me after two sentences. “Yes, we’ve already tried something like that. It didn’t work.” He’s already looking at his phone. “Who else has something?”
I sit there. Say nothing. I even smile. For the rest of the day I function. Emails. Meetings. Lunch alone. In the evening my partner asks:
“How was your day?”
“Fine.”
She looks at me. I look at my phone.
Three scenes. Three different men. Or the same man. On three different days. One runs away. One explodes. One freezes.
The first believes he is avoiding the argument. But in his head it rages on. He convinces her. He explains it to her. He wants to be right, once and for all. Wants to be seen. Wants her to understand how much he gives.
The second believes he is setting a boundary. But he lost himself long ago – in an anger that has nothing to do with the room any more.
The third believes he is keeping control. But he is simply gone. Behind a smile. Behind a “Fine.”
None of them is centred.
These are not mistakes. These are old friends. When I was little, these strategies protected me. Running away. Blowing up. Freezing. They worked – back then, when I had no other choice.
But I’m the grown-up now. And I’m allowed to learn something. Something new.
Staying centred. Not to shut myself off. But to be truly there – for me. And through that for the others too.
It’s like on a plane. Loss of cabin pressure. The oxygen masks drop down. I put my own on first.
Not because I’m selfish. Because otherwise I can’t help anyone. If I can’t get any air myself – neither of us can survive.
Real connection doesn’t happen when I explode, flee or turn to stone. It happens when I stay. Centred.
The fastest way back to myself? My breath.
That sounds trivial. It isn’t.
An attack. My alarm system takes over. That happens within seconds. Automatically. Without my permission. Thinking switches off. The impulse takes over. Hit back – run away – play dead.
In that moment my breathing is the only thing I can still control consciously.
I breathe in deeply. I feel my belly rise. I breathe out long. Longer than in. As I breathe out a nerve is activated – the vagus nerve – which switches on my calming system. Pulse down. Muscles loose. Head cooler.
This is not a relaxation exercise. This is biology. One more breath. Let my shoulders drop. Release the neck. Relax the face.
Where am I right now?
What do I feel?
What do I think?
Am I really in danger?
I come back. To myself.
Now I can respond.
I have switched off the alarm.
I am safe.
The next morning I take my DoD. I write the scene down. The jacket. The streets. The merry-go-round in my head. The bed I crept into. And then I ask myself a question: what would have happened if I had stayed?
“You forgot about the shopping again.” I feel it rising up inside me.
… breathe in …
I don’t reach for my jacket.
… breathe out …
I look at her. Really look at her. Not as an attacker. As a person. As the woman I love. Who had a long day. Who wanted something – and didn’t get it.
… breathe in …
She is disappointed. I can feel it.
… breathe out …
I’m disappointed too. I’m tired. I wanted to arrive. I wanted to be welcome. No blame.
Both are real. Both are justified.
… breathe in …
“I’m sorry. I forgot about it. What do we need – shall I go out again?”
She looks at me. The tension eases.
“No. We’ve still got something in. It was a long day.”
“For me too.”
We sit down. Together.
This is not a fairy tale. This is an evening that ends well. Because I stayed. Because I really meant it.
Not to buy myself some peace. Not to please her. Not because I was afraid of the argument.
That wouldn’t be staying centred. That would be another way of running away.
If I have the feeling that my boundaries are being crossed constantly – that I’m always the one who gives in, who understands, who de-escalates – then something is wrong. A breathing exercise isn’t what’s needed. What’s needed is a conversation. Honesty. Clarity. Courage. Standing my ground. Self-care.
Staying centred also means: knowing where my boundary is. And holding it.
Boundaries
The word sounds hard. Like walls. Like distance. Like coldness.
The opposite is true.
Boundaries are not walls. They are the foundation of real closeness.
This subject is so important that it should be a core subject at school. The world would be a far nicer place if we could all handle boundaries better.
Without boundaries I bend myself out of shape. I do things I don’t want to do. I say yes when I mean no. I keep quiet when I should speak. At some point I no longer know where I end and the other person begins. That gets called harmonious. It isn’t.
Knowing my boundaries doesn’t mean defending them rigidly. It means feeling them. And communicating them clearly – without apology, without drama.
There are three ways of dealing with boundaries.
Too loose. I always say yes.
Too rigid. I let nobody near me.
Flexible. I stay centred – and can adapt to the situation.
That is the goal. Staying flexible.
Punctuality is important to me. My partner – let’s say – handles it more flexibly. When we set off together, I’m standing at the door – ready. She’s still whirling through the flat. Looking for her keys. Quickly sending one more message.
I get nervous. She gets annoyed. Eventually we’re both sitting in the car. Tense. Before the day has even begun.
Who is right?
Neither. And both.
I need structure. Time buffers. That gives me security. She uses every free minute – efficiently, flexibly, with no idle time. Both are legitimate. Both are an equally valid reality.
In a relationship there is no truth. Only two people who tick differently. The first step: I stop believing that she is doing it wrong. She is doing it differently. Not against me. For herself.
It has nothing to do with me.
But if we have to set off together – it takes words. Clear ones. Without secret expectations.
“It’s really important to me today that we’re sitting in the car at 8:00.”
No blame. No sighing. One sentence.
And I trust that she hears it. That she respects it. Because she has learned: when something is important to her, I do the same for her.
We set off at 8:00. On time. She heard it. She respected it. On the way it occurs to her – the dry cleaner’s is practically on our route. Her coat has been ready for two weeks. “Can we stop by quickly?”
Five minutes. We still arrive on time.
This is not a compromise in which one person loses. These are two people who know their boundaries – and adapt them for each other when they can.
That is how togetherness happens. Not despite the boundaries. Because of them.
Now I take an honest look at how I deal with boundaries. Not as homework. As a mirror. I put a tick next to every sentence that feels familiar.
Loose boundaries
Rigid boundaries
Flexible boundaries
The more ticks under loose and rigid boundaries – the more room I have to grow.
The more under flexible – the more I’m already centred.
I write the result in my DoD. Today. With the date. After a while I take the test again. And again.
The test shows me where I stand. But boundaries are not abstract. They are concrete. Physical. Emotional. And they concern my time and energy. Now I look at three areas in which I make decisions every day – often without noticing.
When I sleep. What I eat. Whose feelings I carry. Who I spend my time on. These decisions shape how I feel. Whether I have energy or I’m burnt out. Whether I can be there for others – or lose myself.
Body
I sleep well.
I eat well.
I move my body.
I live my sexuality.
I create my own space.
None of this is automatic. These are decisions. New every day. If I go beyond my boundaries here – too little sleep, too much stress, no balance – I pay the price. Not straight away. But at some point. With body and mind.
Feelings
Your anger is not my anger.
Your fear is not my fear.
Your grief is not my grief.
I can feel with you. I don’t have to suffer with you.
I can’t make everyone happy. I don’t have to either. I’m allowed to have my own opinion. And I’m allowed to question it too. I consider it possible that I’m wrong. Anyone without boundaries here burns out. Quietly. Bit by bit. Without noticing it.
Time and energy
I decide consciously who and what I spend my time on. Not everything is equally important. Not everyone can get the same amount of me. That is not coldness. That is clarity.
A no to you is a yes to me. And when both are ready – two yeses become a we.
Three areas. Three promises to myself.
Would I like the people around me to change? To move – in their heads?
Of course. My partner. My boss. My father.
But I can’t change anyone. I can only do one thing.
Move myself.
I am connected to the people in my life as if by an invisible rubber band. When I move – they move with me. Without noticing it. Without my having to explain it. This is not theory. I experience it. Again and again. It amazes me every time.
My partner becomes more punctual – because I stopped punishing her for it.
My boss listens – because I started saying clearly what I need.
My father lets me finish – because I no longer run away when things get difficult.
I stay centred. I breathe. I know my boundaries. I communicate them. I adapt them – when it makes sense. I write in my DoD what didn’t work. And what could be different next time.
I practise. I stumble. I get back up.
And I get better.
A little more every day.
In Step 3 I go deeper. I look at where my patterns come from. Why I react the way I react. And how I begin to change that – from the inside.
It was me I was waiting for.