Recently, I was in a conversation that left me a bit…how can I say it nicely?
Distressed. Annoyed. Frustrated.
Okay, maybe there’s not a nice way to put it.
I was working through a challenging situation with a professional, fully expecting them to tell me, “You’re right! Your concerns are valid, your boundaries are needed, your expectations aren’t beyond what Jesus could meet.”
But instead, the professional asked me to pause and look at myself.
Or, more accurately, look deeper into the Advocate, or Protector, trait of my INFJ personality.
“Excuse me?” I thought. “This issue isn’t about me; it’s about the other party.”
I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been forced into self-examination—AGAIN—when I didn’t feel like I was the one who needed to be inwardly examining.
But, I found this “force” to be like a loose thread on my favorite cardigan—so, naturally, I followed it to see where it would lead in order to fix it. (Thanks, INFJ curiosity!)
My personality type always seeks to be better, do better, and I’m never done trying to improve myself.
Or, apparently, others, as well.
As an INFJ, the Protector trait runs deep. Looking back over my life, I see myself defending loved ones, advocating for a cause, or creating safe spaces for the people I care about. I’ve come to realize that in my attempt to shield those close to me, I’ve placed each of them in these invisible boxes, safe and protected from the outside world.
According to 16 Personalities, for INFJs, “...these compassionate personalities, success doesn’t come from money or status but from seeking fulfillment, helping others, and being a force for good in the world.”
But, in my pursuit of helping others, it’s quite possible that I’ve hindered them.
I may have purchased too many boxes from Lowe’s and set my people inside each one, leaving little room for them to face challenges on their own terms.
I’ve seen this “boxing” in how I raised my daughters—shielding them from certain parts of the world so that the childhood trauma I experienced couldn’t find its way to them.
I’ve seen the same kind of “boxing” with my elderly parents, stepping in to guard them from situations I feared would bring them harm, even when they willingly chose to continue in those situations.
And just tonight, I saw it again with The Husband. He has spoken openly about the trauma he experienced during another season of his life, so I feel comfortable sharing this.
I was watching a show, and a scene started that reflected this same type of trauma. Instinctively, my empathetic self kicked in, and I turned it off. He looked at me, curious, and asked why, especially since there were only five minutes left in the show.
“I didn’t want it to bother you,” I told him.
He assured me it wouldn’t have, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had no choice but to do the right thing by shielding him from it. In my mind, I was guarding him, holding him safe in one of those “boxes” where he’d be untouched by things he didn’t even realize could cause him pain.
But the truth is, my INFJ brain doesn’t always give me the luxury of choice—I act from a place of deep compassion and intuition, most of the time following my heart rather than my brain. So, when I perceive something will hurt someone I care about—possibly because it would hurt me—I feel the need to shield them. Keep them in their safe little box. This is not always a good thing, no matter what my compassionate heart says.
And then there’s my mom. Protecting her carries a different weight and is a good thing. In her advanced stage of dementia, it’s not about protecting her by placing her in a “box” to keep out the world, but rather creating a space where she can still feel connected, valued, and safe as she lives in the reality of her new world.
For my mom, the “boxes” don’t keep her isolated but serve as gentle boundaries that protect her from things that might confuse or overwhelm her.
It’s little things—the memory care team keeping her to a routine, surrounding her with familiar comforts, and treasuring those glimmers of recognition when she remembers my name or laughs at a shared joke.
The protectiveness I have for her now is softer. She’s not in a hard, closed-off box but more so in a kind of cushion to buffer her experience in a world that seems to slip further away from her with each day.
Interestingly, I’ve found the same “boxing” instinct in my journey as a small business owner. When you’re self-employed, building a business from the ground up, it’s easy to want to keep a firm grip—controlling each aspect—projects, clients, and even creativity.
I’ve created my own “boxes” here, too, thinking that by keeping everything in its proper place, I could protect my work from outside pressures or disruptions. However, owning a business has been more like picking up a box cutter and slicing through the layers of packing tape on my tightly secured box, pushing me to adapt and rethink my approach constantly.
As I’ve learned over time, protecting my work sometimes means letting go of, instead of holding onto, rigid expectations.
Taking on unexpected projects, trying out ideas I would never have considered before, and letting go of a little control have all helped me unpack my career boxes, opened up paths I hadn’t anticipated, and discover skills I didn’t think I had in me.
So maybe the next time I feel that urge to protect, I’ll pause and think—am I truly shielding this person, or am I sealing them up in another one of my boxes? Perhaps real protection isn’t about opening up boxes and putting people in them but about creating a space where they feel safe enough to face the world on their terms and not mine.
(If you’re not familiar with the Myers-Briggs framework of personalities, click to learn more.)
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