A Letter on Reciprocity, Boundaries, and Repair - August 14, 2024

EAGLE WOMAN,

I’ve been having a difficult time over the last few weeks learning how to honor my boundaries while still showing up in service. I know that much of what I did to support you came from love, but I also recognize that I entered the experience without fully understanding what would be expected of me, and I kept saying yes long after parts of me were asking for rest, clarity, and reciprocity.

At the beginning, I enjoyed the roles we fell into. I felt capable of showing up in a masculine, protective, logistical way. What became difficult was feeling that the nurturing side of that dynamic was not being reciprocated.

Food became one of the clearest examples.

When nourishment became an issue again, I felt hurt when I was sent to get food and then realized nothing had been considered for me. The burger was not really the point.

The point was consideration. I wanted to feel that while I was thinking about everyone else, somebody was also thinking about me.

Then, while we were packing at my house, you told me not to bring feminine clothing because I would be “in my masculine” for you.

I went along with it, but something inside me began to resist.

My feminine expression is deeply personal to me. In that moment, I started to wonder whether all of me was actually welcome with you or whether I was being valued primarily for the version of myself that could carry, manage, protect, organize, and provide.

That feeling became stronger when plans involving Luna were added late at night without much consideration for me or my parents’ home.

I adapted again, and suddenly I was not only supporting you but becoming responsible for another child’s needs as well.

I kept moving.

I kept telling myself we would eventually reconnect.

But instead, I increasingly felt like a caretaker, driver, manager, organizer, and problem-solver before I felt like a friend.

When Sunshine was picked up and we finally had what I thought might be a moment to reconnect, we shaved our heads together. That was meaningful to me, but it also coincided with me physically becoming unwell. I developed poison ivy and found myself trying to manage intense itching, medication, cold plunges, salves, cleaning, travel, and the increasing demands of the road.

My body was asking me to stop.

Instead, I kept going.

That is part of what I need to take responsibility for.

I kept expecting other people to recognize my limit when I had not yet fully honored it myself.

Where I Lost My Center

The day things erupted between us, I had already spent the morning handling errands, cleaning, replacing a toilet seat, resetting the car, trying to eat, coordinating timing, printing flyers, and trying to get where other people expected me to be.

When I returned, I was exhausted and hungry.

I asked you to get your things out of my car because I needed to leave.

When I came inside and saw you sitting down for hapé instead, something in me snapped.

What I needed in that moment was not really control.

I needed reciprocity.

I wanted help.

I wanted food.

I wanted somebody to see that I had reached capacity.

Instead of communicating that cleanly, I yelled.

I told you to shut up.

You yelled back.

And the conversation ended before either of us could actually hear what was underneath it.

I am responsible for that.

Being overwhelmed does not give me permission to speak disrespectfully.

I can acknowledge that without pretending the overwhelm itself was imaginary.

Both things are true.

I was at capacity.

And I handled some moments poorly.

Then Everything Compounded

When I arrived at Snaggy, I was already behind and carrying the emotional charge from our fight.

I had people asking me where vehicles belonged, tents needing to go up before weather arrived, additional guests arriving, and ex wife communicating her own expectations about the property.

I felt like everyone needed something from me at once.

Then there was the tapestry situation with Psyl and Psymon.

Again, something relatively small became enormous because I was already overloaded.

I felt misunderstood.

Psymon felt misunderstood.

I became reactive.

I told her to shut up too.

And then ex wife came outside and confronted me about how I was speaking to people in her home.

Suddenly, I felt that a story was forming around me:

Arizona is the problem.

And once I felt that story taking shape, I became defensive instead of reflective.

The next morning, I wanted space to regulate before beginning the day.

Instead, a circle was called.

I shared that I felt stressed, overextended, and underappreciated.

What I heard back was that nobody needed me, that everything could happen without me, and that I did not need to manage everyone’s lives.

That hit something very deep inside me because, from my perspective, I had spent enormous amounts of time doing exactly the labor everyone was now telling me had never been needed.

That is when I became cruel.

I called ex wife names.

I stormed away.

I can understand why that damaged trust.

I also understand now that I was reacting to a much older wound: the fear that I will pour everything I have into people and then be told that my contribution never mattered.

That wound belongs to me.

Other people can activate it, but they did not create all of it.

Service Without Boundaries Becomes Resentment

What complicates this for me is that I stayed.

I helped set up.

I directed people.

I cooked.

I served.

I cleaned.

I helped musicians pack.

I coordinated volunteers.

I kept trying to make the production successful even while telling myself I was finished with everyone involved.

That contradiction taught me something important.

I cannot keep calling something “service” when I am internally keeping score.

If I am saying yes while secretly feeling abandoned, overused, or furious, then my yes is no longer clean.

That is not fair to me.

And eventually it is not fair to the people receiving from me either.

I need to become better at saying:

I cannot do this.

I need help.

I need food.

I need an hour alone.

I did not agree to manage this.

If you need me to take responsibility for this, I need that role clearly defined.

Those sentences would have protected a lot of relationships.

Trust Was Damaged Too

There is another part I cannot ignore.

Later, I learned that things I had shared privately with you had been discussed with other people.

I felt exposed.

When I heard from Tree about things that had been repeated from conversations I believed were private, my trust in you dropped significantly.

That hurt me differently than the logistical conflicts.

Because gossip and disclosure are major boundaries for me.

When I tell somebody something vulnerable, I need to know whether I am speaking privately or whether I am speaking into a community conversation.

If the expectation is that what I share may be repeated, I need to know that before I share it.

I also became deeply uncomfortable hearing that people were talking about being worried about me to my friends and family rather than speaking directly to me.

Regardless of anyone’s intentions, I experienced that as being discussed rather than being cared for.

It made me ashamed.

It made me feel unsafe.

And it made me question whether the relationships I thought I had were actually reciprocal.

What I Want Now

I do not need you in my life.

I say that without cruelty.

I mean that I do not want either of us relating from dependency.

At the same time, I know we may continue sharing communities, stages, festivals, and creative spaces.

And I do not want to walk into those spaces carrying resentment toward you.

I remember good moments from our journey.

I remember laughing.

I remember Source.

Creating.

Serving.

Traveling.

Helping.

Being proud of what we were making.

Those memories matter too.

I do not want the hardest moments to rewrite the entire story.

For a while, I started telling myself that you were unsafe.

When I am quiet enough, I do not actually believe that is the complete truth.

I think I felt unsafe in parts of our dynamic.

That is different.

I want to be able to distinguish between a person and a behavior.

Between hurt and character.

Between incompatibility and danger.

Between conflict and condemnation.

My Responsibility

I need to own where I was out of line.

I yelled.

I told people to shut up.

I became insulting.

I allowed stress to become aggression.

I sometimes operated as though my role and authority were understood when they had not been clearly agreed upon.

I interpreted my labor as evidence that I should have influence over how things were handled.

And when people resisted that influence, I felt rejected.

I can see that more clearly now.

At the same time, I need you to understand what I was trying to communicate beneath all of it:

I wanted consideration.

I wanted reciprocity.

I wanted communication.

I wanted my time respected.

I wanted private conversations kept private.

I wanted my labor acknowledged.

I wanted to feel that the person I was supporting was also capable of turning toward me and saying:

What do you need?

That is not too much to desire.

What I need to learn is how to ask for it before I become furious that nobody offered it automatically.

Where I Stand With You

I have found it difficult to reach out because I have been hurt and embarrassed by how everything unfolded.

But I also don't want to punish you forever for one chapter.

I want peace.

I want us to be able to occupy the same spaces without constructing stories about one another.

If we are going to have any kind of friendship again, I need direct communication.

I need privacy to be respected.

I need you to tell me your own opinion rather than repeating what somebody else thinks I am.

And I need both of us to be willing to admit when we did not show up well.

I have no interest in being worshipped for what I contributed.

I do want to be recognized.

There is a difference.

I know what I bring as a producer.

I know how hard I work.

I know that I care enormously about giving artists opportunities to shine.

And I also know now that being capable of doing everything does not mean I should.

My gentle roar needs boundaries too.

So I am sorry for the ways I hurt you.

I am sorry for the things I said when I was overwhelmed.

I am sorry for the moments when my desire to help turned into control.

And I forgive myself for the moments when I kept saying yes while desperately wanting someone to notice that I needed help.

I hope you can take responsibility for your part too.

Not because I need you to agree with my version of everything.

Because repair requires two people capable of acknowledging that the same journey can create very different experiences.

I loved serving beside you.

There were parts of it that were beautiful.

There were parts of it that hurt.

Both are true.

And I would rather leave this chapter with truth than resentment.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

Please forgive me.

Thank you.

The Beautiful Story Never Told, Jo He and Mai Taeo

"I didn't know my bounday until you crossed it. The jounrey hone takes us all, we must see one another and treat eachother true. You got my fire because you gave no water. Service is sacred... Respect it."