The Gate Is Not a Wall
The Gate Is Not a Wall
There was a time when I believed that if I loved people, I had to carry them.
I was the glue.
I was the one who checked in, reached out, organized, connected, mediated, remembered, helped, and tried to keep everyone together. Somewhere along the way, I learned that love and responsibility were not the same thing—but I didn't always know how to separate them.
Then life changed.
There were betrayals. There were relationships that became unhealthy. There were moments when I realized I could not keep being responsible for everyone else's emotions, choices, relationships, or healing.
So I built a gate.
Not a wall.
A gate.
A way of saying: I still have a heart. I am simply more intentional about who I allow close to it.
Recently, something happened that touched that old part of me.
Someone in my husband's family was suddenly in critical condition. A very good man. Someone who had always been kind to me and to Vela. His wife had already been through something incredibly difficult herself, and now this.
And suddenly, all the old instincts came rushing back.
Should I reach out?
Should I help?
Should I become involved?
Should I be the person who connects everyone again?
For a moment, I could feel the old version of me standing at the gate.
The difference was that this time, I didn't automatically open it and run inside carrying everyone.
I simply felt compassion.
I prayed.
I cried.
I cared.
And I respected the boundary that was given to me when I was told not to call.
That was a profound realization.
Compassion does not require access.
I can care about someone without inserting myself into their situation.
I can pray for someone without becoming responsible for the outcome.
I can love someone without becoming the glue that holds the entire family together.
I can have a soft heart without abandoning myself.
Maybe this is another level of my Project 180.
For a long time, I thought boundaries meant becoming harder.
Now I understand that boundaries can actually make room for a more genuine kind of love.
Because when I am no longer trying to rescue, manage, fix, or carry everyone, I can simply be human.
I can say:
Jesus, please carry what I cannot.
And then I can release it.
I don't need to know what happens next.
I don't need to control the story.
I don't need to reopen every door just because someone is hurting.
The gate is still there.
But it isn't a wall.
And perhaps that is the woman I am becoming:
A woman with a gate, not a wall.
A woman who knows how to protect her peace without losing her compassion.
A woman who can love without becoming the glue again.
A woman who can care without carrying.
A woman who can pray without controlling.
A woman who can remain soft without becoming available to everything.
And maybe that is what Bloom looks like now.
Not closing my heart.
Not giving my heart away.
But learning how to stand at the gate—with discernment, compassion, and peace.
The gate is not a wall.
My heart is still open.
I simply choose what enters.
Comments