Recently, the Jesuit Media Lab sponsored a conversation between John Dougherty and fellow creative Alli Bobzien about the importance of setting boundaries in writing. John wanted to share some of the insights he offered during that event, in hopes that they will be helpful to other artists navigating the line between personal and private in their work.
Why are boundaries important?
Nora Ephron famously said that “Everything is copy.” Today, we might reframe that as “Everything is content.” Your entire life story can be mined for material for your work, and that in turn can be used to generate engagement and get clicks. As a working writer, I know the temptation to dredge up the most personal details of my life and render them into essays — knowing that every headline is another paycheck.
But it’s important to remember that our lives are more than just “content.” Your story, your life, has worth beyond how it can be monetized. When you choose to keep aspects of your life private, you’re honoring your inherent dignity as a child of God.
My first published piece was a personal essay at America magazine about a difficult period in my faith life: my daughter’s treatment for infant brain cancer. While I think (I hope!) I’ve grown as a writer since then, I’m still proud of that piece: It was honest, and I hoped would help others wrestling with prayer in dark times.
But afterwards, I found myself considering that dreaded question: What next? It was tempting to find another angle of the cancer story to write about, or to dig up another trauma. But after some reflection I realized that I would have been exploiting my life story, not drawing inspiration from it — strip mining it for material. I could generate content (and get paid) that way, but I wouldn’t write something authentic, something I could be proud of.
Setting boundaries also helps me to remember that my story isn’t just my story: It’s shaped by my relationships with others. Consequently, I’m very careful about how I feature others in my writing, up to and including getting their permission when sharing particular stories. When it comes to my kids, I try not to use them at all, aside from the occasional reference or quote. By establishing that boundary, I honor the importance and holiness of our relationship.
Discernment in Setting Boundaries
Ignatian discernment is an extremely valuable tool for setting boundaries in my creative life. If my only question is “How can I sell this piece?” then everything in my life becomes an economic proposition, and nothing is off limits. But Ignatian discernment provides me with better questions, oriented towards a greater good and God’s desires for me.
St. Ignatius counsels us to pay attention to the “stirrings of your heart” — our desires and emotions. Some of those desires come from God and others do not; the trick is telling the difference. So, when I begin planning a personal essay, I ask myself: “Why am I writing this?” Am I driven by something true and honest within me, a story that I feel I must tell? Is it to help others? Or am I driven by the desire for money, for attention, to stay relevant?
Prayer and reflection help me to clarify my motivations. I wrote the cancer piece, as I said, because I believed it would help others feel less alone. But there were also times when I realized my main motivation was anxiety: the urgent need to have a “take” on a hot topic and worrying that I was leaving money on the table if I didn’t write one. In those cases, I realized I needed to do more discernment in order to find a more authentic angle … or, sometimes, abandon the pitch entirely.
A second question: “Who does this help?” As a high school campus minister, I ask my student retreat leaders to consider this when writing their talks. You could share the saddest, most traumatic thing that has ever happened to you, and retreatants might cry or give you a standing ovation. But that’s not the goal of a retreat talk: The goal is to help others grow closer to God and to feel encouraged in their own struggles. I ask myself the same question in my personal writing: Am I telling this story because I think it will help my readers or because I want the attention that comes from deeply confessional writing? In other words: Does this serve others or just me?
Finally, I ask: “Who is impacted by sharing this story?” I mentioned before that our stories are not ours alone: Do I risk making someone else look bad or betraying their trust? It’s also important to consider the impact on yourself: Are you comfortable with a mass audience getting an intimate look into your personal life? We can all think of examples of people who shared something very personal online and later regretted it. (Laura Bennett’s now-decade-old piece “The First-Person Industrial Complex” at Slate is my go-to cautionary tale.)
In short, using the tools of Ignatian spirituality helps me to ensure that I’m creating art from an authentic place while remaining in right relationship with others and my own life story. These reflections define my boundaries and help me to continue honoring them.
The Sacred Act
In a culture where every talent is valued only according to its ability to generate income — and where, increasingly, every aspect of human experience is for sale — boundaries allow us to hold onto our humanity. They help us to create with greater authenticity and compassion and tell stories that will have a positive impact on others. Maybe everything is copy, but there is dignity in discerning what we will, and won’t, use in our work. Our art isn’t just about money, but an expression of something true, and divine, within each of us. Creativity is a sacred act; boundaries help us keep it that way.