Why Spider-Man should go to therapy

How boundaries are a gift, not a curse.

Happy Friday everyone! Two quick updates:

1. I’m coming to Washington DC in July! I have two events that are currently in formation, but can share at this time there will be a workshop on Saturday, 7/15, and I’ll be preaching at a local church on Sunday, 7/16! If you’re in the area, mark your calendar for one or both!

2. I am well-stocked on books and I love to send signed and personalized directly to you! And if you do, they come with an awesome sticker. If you want a copy or several, you can reply to this, comment below, or find me on any social media and we can get it going for you!

Today’s new writing combines a few of my favorite things. I hope you enjoy it!

THWIP!

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“With great power, there must also come great responsibility.”

The world’s most popular (and bankable) superhero also happens to be my favorite. When I was a kid, I loved comic books and action figures fiercely. In middle school, I allowed peer pressure to shame me out of this love, and only in the last few years did I rekindle it. I’m now back to being a certified comic book nerd, primarily focused on that first love: the wall-crawler, the MENACE (according to one biased newspaper editor.)

As I’ve reacquainted myself with the 60-year history of the web-slinger, I’ve noticed a tendency that gives me pause, specifically as someone who works in a helping, social-work field. It’s a core part of who the character is, fundamental to his motivation—yet it’s also the cause of a lot of his pain and suffering. I also think it stems from an unhealed, primary wound.

Spider-Man has terrible boundaries.

You all know the story—you’ve seen it happen to Tobey and Andrew and every cartoon version ever. Peter gets bit by a radioactive spider and becomes Spider-Man, but at first he doesn’t take it too seriously. He wants fame, money, popularity. In pursuing these things, he lets a robber go free—a robber who goes on later that day to kill his Uncle Ben. From then on, Peter vows to use his great power to save everyone he can, and never shirk the responsibility it brings.

It’s one of the most compelling and relatable origin stories in all of comics. Rather than being born an alien or mutant or billionaire and deciding to be heroic, an average kid gets bit by an arachnid and learns a hard lesson.

However, when you look at the long history of Peter Parker and how he handles this responsibility, it starts to get kind of sad. While Spidey is recognized by the world and his fellow heroes as “the best of us,” Peter Parker’s reputation amongst his friends and family is poor. He doesn’t keep plans, he lets his loved ones down, and he loses relationships (even his marriage) to being Spider-Man.

For many fans, this is what is extra special about Spider-Man. It’s seen as a sacrifice, a higher calling. But as someone who has heard similar messages about my line of work (from people inside and outside of it, and even from the voice in my head that wants to be “heroic”,) I have to point out a false binary at work here:

It’s possible—in fact, it’s vital—to do important work without losing yourself in the process.

This is the hard but crucial work of building boundaries. It’s the core of any social/helping work where the need surpasses any one person’s ability to meet it.

Everything about our world pushes up against us drawing boundaries. Capitalism insists we dictate our worth as humans by our capital, leaving us constantly wondering whether an hour spent resting or enjoying ourselves could be somehow monetized. And for those drawn to helping fields, that’s coupled with a feeling of responsibility: every hour not spent working is an hour lost for the cause™.

When I train new staff on boundaries, I insist that boundaries are a gift, not a curse. Boundaries don’t impose limitations; they acknowledge that limitations already exist, and always will. Knowing that, boundaries make it possible for great work, great rest, and great play to exist simultaneously.

A fellow author K.J. Ramsey wrote perhaps the most beautiful encapsulation on the matter:

“Boundaries are the range in which I can honor [your] belovedness without minimizing mine."

What’s the point of creating a better world if, once we get there, we’re all miserable? What world are we building if, when we arrive there together, we’ve all forgotten how to love each other and ourselves well?

This is what I think Spider-Man misses. He can’t possibly stop every crime, save every person. His unwillingness to acknowledge his limitations and capacity make his happiness impossible. In a comic-world that is now full of superheroes—heck, there’s enough Spider-people alone to do shifts and cover most of the city—his unresolved guilt is the only thing keeping him from managing a better life and to still be Spider-Man.

And I think that’s what goes unnamed: Peter experienced a trauma that causes him unresolved guilt, and he acts primarily out of that. I’ve seen it a ton in my work too: people who join the cause™ as an act of penance rather than an act of hope. It never ends well.

Because what if Uncle Ben had survived the gun shot? What if Peter still “learned the lesson” and became Spider-Man, resolved to save everyone he can no matter the cost… while Uncle Ben sat at home wondering why his nephew never came around anymore? Peter spends his life atoning for the loss of Ben at the expense of the people that are still here.

But we don’t have to choose. That’s the gift of boundaries. For Christians, that’s the gift of sabbath. We acknowledge our limitations, and remember that the fair and equitable world we’re fighting for is also one that’s supposed to be filled with love. Great power, great responsibility, and great joy.