The Sensitive Plant & Setting Boundaries
Perhaps the plant that reminds me the most of our human fragility is the Mimosa Pudica, also known as the “sensitive plant” or “humble plant”. This wonder of nature belongs to the pea/legume family. It has many oval leaves lining each branch, and can give off purple flowers that remind me of puffy dandelions. It’s colloquial name comes from the fact that when a Mimosa is touched, it closes up. One by one, each tiny leaf folds in, retreating from the stimulation and therefore protecting itself from harm. After some time passes, the plant deems itself safe to open again.
The plant’s sensorial nature has given it the reputation of being a “sensitive plant”. Being described as a “sensitive” person by people who - I assure you - did not mean this to be a compliment for the majority of my life, perhaps triggers a response that makes me question the plant’s nickname. I instinctively dislike the negative connotation, though perhaps that is my own bias sneaking through. Does calling the Mimosa a “sensitive plant” suggest that it’s overreacting in some way? As if unsolicited touching and disturbing is something that is owed to us, making this plant... “sensitive”. What if it’s actually in the right. And it’s name should be “keep your hands to yourself” plant. Or something shorter and catchier. (Mindy Kaling if you’re reading this, this is your cue).
I admit, the first time I came across a Mimosa Pudica plant, I was thoroughly amused--touching its leaves and watching the plant send a clear message as it folded inward. I related so much to this plant’s sensitivity that in my true millennial nature, I made an Instagram story of the plant reacting to my touch and put my face on the label above “sensitive plant”.
Days ays later I bought Mimosa Pudica seeds and planted them into two pots. One was going to a dear friend who I knew would also appreciate the Mimosa’s human-like behaviour. I watered the soil and covered the pot with cellophane wrap top to bottom, placing it in the sunniest spot I could find on my balcony. The cellophane and the watered soil create a greenhouse effect, keeping the plant warm, encouraging the seeds to take and undergo the germination process. Within the week, I saw baby leaves peek out of the soil; in another couple of weeks, the baby leaves grew into a delicate, fully-formed plant. My two Mimosa Pudica plants looked exactly how they were supposed to. I had nurtured them into adulthood, but did their wisdom also come to life?
I reached my index finger out and lightly brushed the plant's leaves. They closed.
I was baffled. How did the tiniest seed hold so much knowing that even in the clumsiest of care (mine), it would sprout and honour its instincts. I waited for ten minutes and touched it again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. The plant shut me out, like clockwork. But this time, instead of wonder, I felt discomfort.
When I allow myself to touch the plant, for my own pleasure, the plant’s dorsal motor cells send a signal for them to close. The act of contracting, withdrawing, and collapsing is something that is familiar to the language of human bodies too. We do it - sometimes as an involuntary reaction - when we are not comfortable or when we are in pain. Closing ourselves off, even emotionally or mentally, is a clear signal of “I don’t want this”.
Drawing a line between oneself and another is how we set boundaries.
“Boundaries” recently became a popular term along with “self-care”. When I heard of “boundaries” seven or so years ago, I judged it for its rigidity. I’m a go-with-a-flow kinda gal. (A partial self-lie). People who love each other want to get closer, not create distance. Meanwhile, all through my twenties, when I would spend (too much) time with a boyfriend there would come an hour where I would begin to feel ill. Sticky in my head. It became a bit harder to breathe. It was as if my body’s contours smudged a bit and I wasn’t sure where I started and they began. I instinctively wanted to create my space again and reclaim it as my own, but I didn’t know how to ask for it. Or, that I had the right to ask in the first place.
A boundary helps to set up a clear distinction between yourself and another; by creating boundaries we create a safe space for our identity and wellbeing. Boundaries can exist in several areas of one’s life: professional connections, friendship, familial and romantic relationships, as well as in many environments such as work, wellness, creativity, etc. Drawing a boundary does not mean that you are turning away from said person completely, it actually often has little to do with the person/people/situation at hand, but rather it’s about you turning inward. When we draw a boundary we turn inward to honour our needs and therefore our self.
It took me a while to understand the power in boundaries. Because in order to draw a boundary you need to know yourself but also to exercise your voice. Learning to voice your boundaries can be really scary--will this person still like me/understand me? What if it costs me that promotion? Will this turn into a fight? And the truth of the matter is--some people might not understand your boundary, but all they have to do is respect it. And when people don’t respect your boundary, please consider this advice: run, don’t walk, away.
Recently I went off of a seasonal antidepressant (a personal choice that involved many factors) and I noticed how I began to have many instances of confrontation with people. In therapy, I voiced this concern. I was scared that somehow in my transition I had become more irritable, moodier, and less nice (ha!). But then, I was tipped off: if I was really experiencing irrational irritability then I would’ve taken it out on my mother. I love her dearly, but we all have that one person we are close to that just gets it for no reason sometimes. (I’m so sorry mom!) And, as it still stands, my mom and I have been great—nothing but compassion, support and sweetness. So that told me that it’s not my general state or my brain playing tricks on me. I dug a little deeper and wrote down several instances that triggered a confrontation and I realized that it had all to do with boundaries. As in, I was voicing them left, right and center--throwing boundaries like confetti to protect my peace. My boundaries looked like telling people when I was done talking about a certain personal subject; telling a friend their comments are inappropriate and feel like cut-downs (and eventually ending this friendship) and, most recently, telling someone I briefly dated that they cannot make decisions that involve me and my home without asking me first, that my alone time is important, and, ultimately, that they cannot speak to me that way. The most important thing about setting boundaries is to do it calmly and explain its benefit to you, as opposed to making it a blame-game.
If you are able to identify your boundaries right away, I applaud you. But often we find out what our boundaries are by having them crossed. When someone crosses my boundaries, a few things happen internally; I feel them first in my body before I can articulate or rationalize them in my brain. In absolutely no order: it feels like someone punched me in the solar plexus and is sitting on my chest, I feel anger (usually heat in my eyes or my head), I become afraid (a shortness of breath or lack of breath), something in my body - usually around my heart or solar plexus again - is trying to push out but it can’t leave, I get a clump in my throat.
In the Chakra system, basically like a digestive system for energy, your solar plexus area belongs to the Manipura Chakra, it governs your inner power and sense of self. Your throat, mouth, ears area is the Vishuddha Chakra, it governs your self-expression and clarity--the power to speak your truth. It makes sense then, that when my boundary is crossed my sense of self and my truth are affected.
The first time I remember my boundary being crossed, I was six years old. I didn’t understand what was happening but I distinctly remember feeling like something in my body around my chest wanting to scream and get out, but I couldn’t find any words. Fast forward to being 31 years old and recognizing how every time my boundary has been crossed, I experience a degree of the same bodily sensation.
This knowing that sits in my body, is also shared with some plants. Believe it or not, plants remember trauma. According to a Czech botanist, Rudolf Dostal, some plants have “morphogenic memory”*, the type of memory that after experiencing a rip/shake, a break will trigger a response at a later time to avoid further harm or will influence how it grows in the future.
This feeling of “no” or a disagreement of what is being done to us without our consent, is also stored in the body. It is experienced by people in various ways, and you can discover yours by sinking in when you are experiencing a hard “no”. Is it in your belly? In your throat? In your seat? Does it feel like a fever? Is it a sway backwards?
I believe that our boundaries belong to our intuition. The more attune we are to feeling and honouring our intuition, the clearer our boundaries become. Some of us - although I would bet a small number of us - are born with the boundary-setting gene. But most of us have to exercise this muscle. Just like a bicep, the muscle grows by continuous exercise. We have to grow the boundary gene by vocalizing our needs; and by honouring the boundaries of others.
I have since stopped showcasing the sensitive plant at home, it elicited a lot of excitement from others and I would have to continuously ask people to stop touching the plant. We are, after all, still just children wanting to poke and prod for curiosity’s sake. I’d like to think that the Mimosa is honoured by being left alone, so it can be itself without worry or confusion. And that is a boundary I have set for myself.
Ultimately, we are all just as “sensitive” as the Mimosa, and so creating a boundary when necessary is a practice of self-empowerment and self-nourishment. When someone honours your boundary it sends a message of: “I see you and I accept you”. And that brings us closer together.
May we all have the courage. May we all feel loved.
Reflection Prompts
Ponder these in your head, write it out, or use these questions to deepen your conversation with a friend:
Stand-up. Close your eyes. Turn your palms to face forward. Now, think of something that you know will elicit a hard “no”. Pay attention to what you feel in your body. Did it sway? Did your stomach tie in a knot? Do this a couple more times. Open your eyes and write down everything you experienced. Now, do the same for “Yes”. Write out how this feels. Note the difference.
Make a list of the three boundaries you need to implement now. Recite them out-loud. I suggest this because your body needs to get comfortable in delivering the message.
Words of Kindness
Pick whichever kindness phrase speaks to you, or all three, or use them to write your own.
I nurture myself daily.
I respect myself.
I trust myself.