23/01/2024
EXPOSED - DAY 30!
In 2019, two years after my divorce, I learned that my ex-husband was in rehab to treat alcoholism.
Once I had some time to process it, I remember thinking, “well, s**t. That makes me codependent.”
And from then on, I’ve been working through and healing the parts of me that served as an enabler for so many years.
Here’s a truth that I can expose.
I didn’t know that my husband was an alcoholic until he went to rehab.
By that point, we had already been divorced for almost two years. For years I knew that something was very, very wrong. I knew that when we stayed on the surface things could be “good,” but when we looked even a tiny bit below the surface, things got messy quickly.
The confusing part is that it’s not that I didn’t know. On some level I did. But I didn’t “know,” meaning I didn’t allow it to be in my conscious awareness. I colluded for years, going along with strange and creative explanations for behaviors that didn’t make sense and that I didn’t understand.
I also didn’t believe that lying was part of the relationship. So, when the answer to the repeated question, “but have you been drinking?” was a heartfelt “no,” I simply chose to believe it and joined in on the many far-fetched explanations for bizarre behavior. And yet, I kept asking the same question.
So, you know…on some level I knew.
In Bali I visited an energy healer and found myself in a conversation about whether people are inherently “good” or “evil.” I told him I thought most people were good, that we all have our dark and messy parts (some darker and messier than others) that stem from trauma but that, at the very core, humanity is good. In my life I have mostly come across a world filled with lovely, interesting, and complex humans. But I have lived with the belief that if I were in trouble, a stranger would help me and, so far, they always have.
I’d been in discussions with others who were deeply convinced that humanity is inherently bad. They would look at me as if I were as naïve as they come. They would say things like, “People will almost always take advantage of you. Everyone is out for themselves.”
The healer said to me (essentially),” No, Stephanie, you’re wrong. There are many people in this world who don’t have good intentions. Only a small portion of people are put on this earth with open hearts. Everyone else is here to learn how.”
I found this interesting and really, quite disheartening. I said “so I’m l supposed to walk around the world thinking that everyone is bad and out to get me? I don’t want to live in that world.”
He said “It’s not a matter of good or bad. You need to start seeing people for what they show you, not who you want them to be or what you think they can be. You see what you want to see. People will take advantage of that.”
This was really hard to hear, but I knew exactly what he was talking about. I completely understood that part of myself. It’s a part of me that I like. I see the best in people and I expect the best of people.
But here was the truth that resonated: This inclination to see the best in people, while fundamentally coming from a place of love and hope, had also been a veil over my eyes. It was a co-dependent trait that manifested in my marriage and other relationships, where I lived in denial and enabled behaviors that were not only self-detrimental but were also a disservice to those I loved. In this light, the healer's words were a stark reminder of the need to face reality as it is, not as I wished it to be.
In all cases I was loving from a place of co-dependency - that is, trying to love someone else more than I loved myself, hoping they could love me enough for the both of us.
Refusing to take concrete action to address the painful things that were right in front of me.
Looking for the best in the situation, fueling myself on the hope of the future rather than dealing with what was being shown to me in the moment.
Believing that if I could love harder, if I could somehow be different or better, the good parts of the people I was in relationship would find their way to the surface.
And then, later, in the future, I’d be able to feel happy, content, and loved. And I wouldn’t have to experience loss or grief, or the deep pain of my feelings around my own unlovability.
I told my therapist once, “it’s like I take the red flags that are waving wildly in front of front of me and, rather than letting them be the signal to GET OUT, I lay them out in the sun for a while so that they get bleached to a nice golden yellow, and then I give myself permission to proceed.”
It’s the toxic version of “love wins.”
What’s interesting about this trait is that, while it’s been my weakest point in past romantic relationships, it’s also been my greatest gift as a counselor and life coach.
The (very important) difference? Boundaries.
In clinical situations, I have a clear understanding of boundaries thanks to my thorough training. When someone sits with me, I listen to what they’re saying and to what’s underneath. I respond to the best of my ability, but I'm acutely aware that their choices and changes are their own to make, not a reflection of my worth or abilities. The separation is distinct.
What I get to do is see the best in the people I work with and reflect that back to them. I hold space for the version of them they aspire to be, reminding them of their potential when they falter. I see their awesomeness even when they can’t—this is where my professional and personal lives diverge.
This very trait has been a double-edged sword. In my romantic relationships, the dynamics have been markedly different. While I adopt a healthy detachment from clients, recognizing their autonomy, I've struggled to apply these same principles with partners. I've loved in hopes that my affection would be mirrored, inadvertently tying my self-worth to their responses. This often led to a profound sense of personal failure when my expectations were not met, a misstep where professional lessons of detachment could have served me well.
So many people function this way and don’t even realize it.
Our culture promotes codependency. I hear it in songs, I see it allll over religion. Common phrases like ‘you complete me’ or ‘my better half’ are just a few of the many, many subtle messages that perpetuate the notion that individuals are inherently incomplete without their partners. This mindset shifts the burden of personal fulfillment onto someone else, implying a responsibility for filling the perceived voids within us.
This expectation is inherently flawed. Turns out, it’s not the responsibility of others to complete us; that journey is personal and individual. This misalignment of expectations and personal responsibility is a significant factor in the high rates of relationship dissatisfaction and divorce. People are often set up for failure by these unrealistic cultural standards of what relationships should fulfill.
I’ve done some deep, deep work to unravel from this codependency thing since I faced the truth in my marriage.
Here are a few more lessons I’ve picked up along the way:
- We all have needs that can only be met within relationship to others. This is human. We are designed to be in connection with others.
- We are also responsible for ourselves. We are responsible for making sure we are meeting our own needs.
- We are allowed to ask for what we need and want - what we need and want is perfectly ok. Other people can choose whether or not, and to what extent, they are available to meet those needs.
- When someone isn’t available or interested in meeting our needs - or aren’t doing/being/acting in the ways we wish they would - it’s our responsibility to deal with whatever emotions or discomfort that brings up in us.
- We are responsible for learning how to regulate our emotions, deal with disappointments, and *show ourselves enough love on a regular basis* that we aren’t relying solely on others to do it for us.
- Healthy relationships involve radical acceptance. That means when someone isn’t doing/being/acting the way we wish they would, or that’s in alignment with the highest expression of ourselves, we can either *choose* to accept it or not. The consequence of either of those decisions belongs fully to us.
- It is not part of a healthy relationship to withdraw/wall off, self-depreciate, break boundaries, or exert overt control as ways to try to influence others to change.
- Removing ourselves from relationships that are harmful or out of alignment for us is NOT SELFISH.
- Some people will want to know us and love us the way that we want to be known and loved - for exactly who we are. It’s our responsibility to surround ourselves with those people and not surround ourselves with people who are not capable or interested in truly knowing us and/or meeting our needs.
- Not everyone will and that’s their choice.
- We have to speak to be known and share our needs if we want others to meet them.
- When we truly love and respect ourselves, we don’t stay in places or relationships that don’t align with how we want to be treated or what we’re needing in our lives.
- When we truly love and respect ourselves, we don’t need to argue, fight, or convince others to treat us the way we know we want to be treated. We just say, “That doesn’t work for me.”
- Staying in unhealthy relationships because we hope that someday, maybe, we can feel content is not rooted in love. It’s rooted in co-dependency.
This is just a glimpse of the few lessons I’ve learned in the last few years. I’ve sat in Circle with others who deal with their own variations of this pattern and it’s amazing to me how pervasive it is. How tricky. How deeply embedded it is in our cultural and religious rhetoric. Even as I type it all I feel squirmy because it’s so deeply ingrained in me that wanting more rather than settling for less is selfish.
Choosing yourself is not selfish. Wanting more for yourself is not selfish. Choosing your health and wellbeing is not selfish. Wanting to feel loved the way you want to feel loved is not selfish. LOVING YOURSELF IS NOT SELFISH.
Wrapping up this journey, it feels like I've been on an excavation, digging deep into the soil of my own heart and the ground beneath our collective feet. Co-dependency, with its gnarled roots, wasn't just in my backyard; it was a sprawling garden cultivated by society's own hand.
But here's the kicker – the moment you see it, really see it, you can't unsee it. You start to recognize the patterns, not only in the mirror but in the lyrics of a song, the subplot of a movie, or the well-meaning advice of a friend. And once you see it, you can start to change it.
I've done the heavy lifting, and let me tell you, it’s been messy, it’s been raw, but oh, it’s been worth it. Because on the other side of co-dependency is this delicious freedom, a kind of love that starts with me and overflows, rather than one that desperately seeks to be filled up from the outside.
I'm putting it out there – to myself, to you, to anyone who's ever felt a bit "less than" – that we're enough. Full stop. And when we start from a place of being whole, we don't just love – we soar.
Here's to untying the knots, to celebrating our solo journeys, and to finding that in our wholeness, we're more connected than we ever realized.
And let's remember that walking away from what's wrong is the first, brave step toward everything that's right.
