You are more than what people see, in this moment, in the moments of your past, and in the moments yet to come. 

In our relationships, people rarely encounter the whole of who we are. Most often, they meet us in moments. A conversation at work, a quick exchange at home, a disagreement with a friend, a moment when we are calm and composed, or a moment when we are overwhelmed and struggling. From the outside, these moments can look like the whole story, but they are not. Much like an iceberg, what others see above the surface is only a small portion of what exists beneath it. Beneath the visible moment are the experiences, memories, fears, hopes, strengths, and wounds that have shaped the person standing in front of them. This reflection practice invites us to slow down and remember that we are always bringing far more into a moment than what others see, and just as importantly, we are often bringing far more into the moment than we remember ourselves.

This awareness begins by recognizing the positive qualities we consistently bring into our relationships. Many women who are recovering from trauma have spent years developing strengths that others depend on. You may be the person who remembers everyone’s birthdays, the coworker who helps keep projects organized, the friend who listens patiently when someone is in crisis, or the family member who quietly checks in when others are struggling. You may be the calm voice when others panic, the dependable one who always shows up, or the one who holds emotional weight for the people around you. These strengths are real and meaningful parts of who you are, and the reality is that you're holding an impossible burden. Even if you weren't recovering from trauma, everyday people who carry great strength are still human. We become tired. We miss deadlines. We forget things. We run out of emotional energy. Many women who are known for their resilience are quietly holding far more than others realize, and this can create a painful dynamic. When life becomes difficult, people often assume that the strongest person will be able to handle it. The belief that “she is strong, she can handle this” can lead others to step back at precisely the moment when support is most needed.

This often leaves women who have supported countless others standing alone when they are facing their own challenges. That is not to say that those surrounding them do not care. More often, people simply do not realize help is needed, and many trauma survivors have learned to survive by carrying their burdens silently. Unfortunately, admitting the need for support can feel uncomfortable or even impossible because they have built credibility out of being the dependable one, the capable one, the independent one, and they fear what others will think if they were to admit that in some moments they are the ones who need support, help, and compassion. 

Yet part of healing and moving beyond our trauma involves recognizing that asking for help is not a failure of strength. It is simply another form of courage. It is equally noble to be the person who asks for help as it is to be the person who offers it. And, it's equally dignified to be the person receiving assistance as the person giving it. Society has instilled in us that "charity" is a bad thing, a shameful thing, while the Bible tells us that "charity" is the highest form of love.

When we begin acknowledging that we are carrying a great deal and that we cannot continue adding endlessly to our plates, we start creating healthier expectations within our relationships. We give others the opportunity to support us in ways they may not have realized were needed, and we understand why we're not living up to expectations - expectations that were unrealistic, implausible and inhumane. 

Once we can recognize that our weakness are with us even when we act out of our strengths, our courageous, and our capabilities, we then have the mirrored understanding of how we respond during difficult emotional moments. Trauma survivors are often deeply familiar with times when they feel triggered, flooded with memories or emotions, or overwhelmed by circumstances that exceed their capacity in the moment. During these times we may react more strongly than we intended, say things we wish we had expressed differently, disappoint someone we care about, or feel as though we have completely lost our footing. These experiences can easily lead to shame, which often tells us that our worst moment reveals who we truly are. 

However, trauma responses do not define our identity. They are simply moments when our nervous system has been pushed beyond what it can manage comfortably. The same person who reacted strongly in a difficult moment is also the person who has handled many other situations with patience, compassion, and care. When we remember this broader truth, we begin to treat ourselves with grace, mercy, and compassion instead of judgment. This also allows others to extend that same grace to us. Learning to respond to ourselves with compassion is essential for staying out of shame and continuing to grow in resilience. When we can recognize that we are not our trauma responses, and that in the moment when we are acting out of character we're still bringing all of those moments when we have responded as our true selves, we can lay shame aside, and move forward in dignity. 

One thing you'll hear us talk about a lot is how our trauma prevents us from feeling emotions. This reflection encourages us to track our emotional arcs. Trauma often leads people to shut down their emotional lives as a way to survive. While this may initially protect us from pain, it can also dull our ability to experience other emotions such as joy, excitement, serenity, or wonder. As healing progresses, emotions may begin returning in ways that feel unfamiliar. This practice helps remind us that the emotions we feel today exist within a much larger emotional story. When we feel excited about something new, we are also bringing with us the memory of times when we felt afraid or uncertain. When we experience calm or peace, we are the same person who once lived through chaos or confusion. When sadness surfaces, we are also the person who has known laughter, delight, and moments of deep connection. Recognizing this emotional range helps us reconnect with a fuller sense of ourselves and reminds us that it is safe to feel again. The person who once felt fear, joy, curiosity, grief, and hope unfettered and unfiltered before our traumatic experiences is still present within us today, and that person can help us regain the ability to feel fully again.

Another part of this reflection invites us to recognize that we carry all the stages and roles of our lives into each moment. We often define ourselves by who we are right now, but our identity is much richer than a single snapshot in time. The woman sitting at a desk feeling uninspired today may also be the bright-eyed child who once stared in fascination at the plasma ball during science class. The confident professional leading a meeting may still carry the memory of the nervous teenager who rehearsed what to say before raising her hand. The woman who runs marathons may remember the gangly adolescent who felt awkward running in front of other girls during physical education. A mother caring for her children today may also carry the memory of the frightened child who once hid from her own mother. Every stage of life contributes to the wisdom, empathy, and strength we carry forward. When we recognize this, we begin to see that each moment contains far more of our story than anyone else can perceive.

This reflection takes on special significance during Phase 16 of the Phasing Out of Trauma journey, where we begin focusing more intentionally on our relationships. During this phase, participants are invited to consider how they present themselves to individual people in their lives. One person may experience them as dependable and strong. Another may perceive them as guarded or distant. Someone else may see them as endlessly accommodating. Each perception reflects only a portion of the story. The practice encourages women to recognize that they bring far more into each relationship than what any single person can see. It also invites them to consider the equal and opposite truths that may exist within their experiences. Someone who appears strong may also carry deep vulnerability. Someone who seems independent may still long for support and connection. Someone who appears quiet may hold a rich inner life filled with thoughts, hopes, and ideas. Recognizing these truths allows women to make healthier decisions about how they wish to move forward within their relationships. In some situations they may discover that the strengths they have built in other areas of their lives can guide them here as well. In other situations they may recognize that certain dynamics are simply too complicated or overwhelming to address immediately. Healing does not demand rushing. It requires honesty and patience.

The reflection concludes by acknowledging that healing is a journey rather than a destination. It is not about becoming perfect or eliminating every difficult moment. Instead, it is about learning to see ourselves more truthfully and more compassionately. As we do this work, we recognize both the strengths we carry and the places that still need care. We learn to offer compassion to the parts of ourselves that are still growing. Throughout this process we are reminded that God remains present in every part of our story. He is present in moments of strength and in moments of struggle, in times when we feel confident and in times when we feel uncertain. The reflection practice invites each participant to create a personal statement that reminds them of these truths. It becomes a way to return to the deeper story of who they are as they continue moving forward in their healing journey.

If you're ready to acknowledge the fullness of who you are, and to remember and bring forward the parts of you that your trauma has tried to take away, we invite you to work through this reflection with us on YouTube. If you're not there yet, because you're still trying to hold space for your trauma story, we invite you to join us in a General Meeting in person or online by visiting here. 

When we begin talking about boundaries, most people do not feel empowered — they feel uneasy. For some, the word carries the weight of conflict. For others, it feels selfish, unkind, or even unspiritual. Many trauma survivors were never taught healthy limits; instead, they experienced either rigid control or total emotional chaos. So when we arrive at Phase 16 and begin exploring relationships after trauma, boundaries can feel foreign — or frightening.

And yet, boundaries are not walls.

They are doorways with hinges.

Trauma psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk teaches that trauma reshapes the nervous system. It changes how we experience safety, connection, and agency. Trauma is not simply an event that happened; it is an imprint on the body. When safety was repeatedly violated — emotionally, physically, or relationally — the body learned to adapt in order to survive. Some adapted by becoming hyper-attuned to others’ needs, scanning constantly for approval. Others adapted by disconnecting from their own emotions altogether. Some learned that “no” led to punishment. Others learned that having needs meant being too much.

Over time, survival patterns that once served to keep us safe with an individual, or in certain situations become hard wired into universal relational styles we use with everyone in every situation, and we rationalize it rather than pathologize it - because it's all we've known. People-pleasing begins to look like kindness. Over-giving masquerades as love. Silence becomes self-control. Avoidance becomes independence. But beneath these patterns is often a nervous system that never felt safe enough to differentiate where one person ends and another begins.

Boundaries restore that differentiation where we're able to recognize that we're not being kind to ourselves when we're going out of our way to make our boss's life easier at the detriment to our family. Where we can see that constantly buying our kids the newest toys, games, electronic does not fill their love tank and make up for our inability to spend time with them. We can recognize that stonewalling our beloveds isn't about giving us time to make up our minds, it's about controlling our calendar. They help us recognize that we are not called to be independent - we are called to agency and empowerment within interdependence on supportive people. 

Boundaries help us answer a fundamental question trauma disrupts: What belongs to me, and what does not?

When we've grown up with Adverse Childhood Experiences, and when we've experienced trauma in pivotal years or our adulthood, and when we've had dysfunction in our families, it's easy to understand.  Most of us can relate to someone in our families or at school or at work that doesn't seem to "pull their weight" and most of us can recognize the person who always "bails them out". We can also recognize the people in our lives who are "loners" and who don't work well in groups because they don't know how to ask for help, and those who just ride their coat tails and take credit they don't deserve.   Why are these things so common in our experiences?

Attachment theory deepens this understanding. Clinical psychologist Sue Johnson reminds us that human beings are wired for connection. We are not meant to be emotionally self-contained. We long for closeness, responsiveness, and reassurance, and as babies we do our best to achieve healthy attachment with the caregivers we have. But when attachment has been insecure or chaotic, boundaries feel risky, this could be something we experience very early in life, or it could be something that develops later in fundamental years as dysfunction grows or develops in our lives. 

This means, if someone grew up anxiously attached where they never knew if their needs would be met, and they had to perform to be affirmed and accepted, setting a boundary may feel like threatening the relationship itself. The internal message might sound like: If I say no, they will leave. If I disappoint them, I will lose them. If I create distance, I will be abandoned. This is not irrational thought - this thought comes from deeply stored, powerful memories of how people left, carried disappointment, and abandonment because they didn't live up to impossible or constantly changing standards of their caregivers or within their primary relationships.

Conversely, someone with avoidant attachment, who rather than getting needs met by caregivers was abused, or suffered further harm when they were near, may feel engulfed by closeness. For them, boundaries may not be missing — they may be rigid and defensive. The internal narrative becomes: If I let you in, I will lose myself. If I depend on you, I will be hurt. Again, this makes sense, as their definition of "love" is distorted by the unhealthy behaviors of caregivers and primary relationships from their past.

Healthy boundaries actually helps us heal our attachment styles, because they do not sever attachment. They make secure attachment possible.

When expectations are clear - meaning I know what you want from me, and I can clearly let you know what I need from you, when emotional responsibility is not blurred - meaning I am not condemned for how I feel, and I am free to feel it full, and when each person is accountable for their own behavior - meaning you're not "making me do anything" I'm choosing to do this because I respect my dignity or because I'm taking my mental and spiritual health serious, relationships become more stable. 

Clarity reduces anxiety, we don't need to wonder and stay in panic, because of misunderstandings. Predictability reduces threat, we don't need to say "If you do this again...." and then be love bombed into taking it back. Mutuality increases trust, both parties agree to the boundary, and as the boundary is upheld, true trust forms. 

Boundaries are not anti-connection; they are the conditions under which connection becomes safe. We set boundaries in order to open the door to vulnerability - boundaries tell the other person about our needs, and ask them to respect them, when we see people respect our needs, we're more likely to ask them to help meet them, and to support us in getting additional needs met down the line. 

Boundaries and the Body
Attachment styles are a neurological process, and we can see how insecure attachment styles can lead to poor boundaries based on emotional and cognitive feedback.  It's fairly easy to see that poor boundaries negatively affect our mental and emotional states, but it goes beyond that. Neuroscientist Stephen Porges, through his work on Polyvagal Theory, explains that safety is not primarily cognitive — it is physiological. The nervous system is constantly scanning for cues of danger or safety. When boundaries are unclear, the body often remains in a low-grade state of alert. We brace for intrusion - yes, our bodies literally harden. We anticipate conflict - yes, we activate stress responses before the conflict ever occurs. We over-explain and apologize for existing - yes we physically diminish ourselves . Or we shut down to avoid overwhelm - yes we turn off biological systems, and stop healthy physical functioning.

A boundary sends a signal to the nervous system: There is structure here. There is clarity. There is agency.

And agency calms the body, allows it to soften and release, allows it to rest an digest, allows it to return to proper hormonal function, metabolic function, and immune-function.

Without boundaries, relationships tend to swing between enmeshment - where we take on the emotional, phsyical and mental responsibilities of the other person, and we let them take on ours,  and isolation where we refuse to let someone in because we've already decided they're not trust worthy, and we're just using them for personal gain, as a means to an end. With boundaries, relationships develop rhythm. There is room for closeness when desired and needed and space when warranted and agreed upon. There is room for honesty, vulnerability and discovery and respect for differences without condemnation. There is room for repair when rupture occurs, and recognition that ruptures are healthy as disagreements should happen in a natural flow of every relationship. This rhythm is what allows intimacy to deepen rather than collapse.

Are Boundaries Spiritually Pleasing to God?

Many fundamentalist Christian churches will tell you that to set a boundary is non-Christian. That we are called to die to self, and to take up the crosses the world gives us.  However, we are told to love others as we love ourselves, and that God calls us to live a life of abundance, while we carry our own loads and bear the burdens of those around us.  Let's look at how boundaries truly coincide with our Christian faith. 

From a spiritual perspective, boundaries are not a modern therapeutic invention. They are embedded in creation. In Genesis, God separates light from darkness, land from sea, day from night. Separation is not rejection; it is order. It is differentiation that allows life to flourish. Even Christ modeled relational boundaries. He withdrew to pray. He did not heal every person in every town. He allowed others to misunderstand Him. He did not abandon His calling to satisfy every demand placed upon Him.

Spiritual maturity is not self-erasure.

It is stewardship.

What Exactly are Boundaries?

It is important to clarify what boundaries are — and what they are not. A boundary is not an attempt to control someone else’s behavior. It is not a silent punishment or a withdrawal meant to induce guilt. A boundary does not say, “You must change.” It says, “This is what I will do if this continues.” It centers responsibility where it belongs — with the self.

For example, instead of saying, “You need to stop yelling,” a boundary might sound like, “If the yelling continues, I will leave the room.” Instead of demanding emotional availability, it may sound like, “I need time to think before responding.” Boundaries focus on one’s own participation.

For trauma survivors, this shift can feel destabilizing. Setting a boundary may activate guilt, shame, or fear of abandonment. The body may react as though danger is imminent. This does not mean the boundary is wrong. It means the nervous system is recalibrating. It is learning that disagreement does not equal catastrophe. It is learning that love can survive clarity.

This recalibration takes practice. In Phase 16, we encourage starting small. Notice where resentment is building — resentment is often a signal that a boundary is needed. Notice where your body tightens before saying yes. Notice where you feel obligated rather than willing. Practice low-risk acts of honesty. Build tolerance for the discomfort that comes with change.

Healing is not becoming harder.

It is becoming clearer.

There is a paradox at the heart of boundary work: healthy limits increase intimacy. When boundaries are absent, hidden anger accumulates. Unspoken expectations fester. People begin keeping score. Over time, connection erodes under the weight of confusion and resentment. But when boundaries are present, relationships gain durability. There is room for difference. There is room for negotiation. There is room for repair.

Boundaries create the architecture within which love can rest.

Phase 16 invites us to examine our relationships not through the lens of obligation, but through the lens of safety and mutuality. It asks us to consider whether we are participating from fear or from freedom. It challenges us to recognize that saying no does not diminish our worth — it affirms it.

You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to protect your nervous system.
You are allowed to steward your life.

Healing does not mean becoming infinitely accommodating. It means becoming rooted enough to stand without collapsing and open enough to love without disappearing.

And rooted people love well.