Healing the wounds of codependency a day at a time
My mum's suicide when I was 26 threw my world into total disarray. Without her I was lost, set adrift on a wild and savage sea of indecision and pain. The impact of her death was manifold, grief for her loss and the subsequent loss of my grandfather (her father) shortly afterwards... but there also became a secondary tier to the loss. 'Truths' began to emerge, about her life and her death, her mental and emotional state and her relationship with all those around her: things that had been hidden from me to protect me, but that now were sprouting up like weeds to over-crowd the garden of my perceived as perfect childhood.
Now, looking back at my childhood and at that tricky period of loss, grief and truths, I can see that everyone has their own reality and that maybe my childhood was perfect, for me. And that my parents, my family, everyone in my life, was doing the best they could with the tools they had at the time. But what really affected me was the discovery that my mum's fragile emotional state wasn't as recent a development as I had thought. She had suffered with bouts of depression throughout her life, and had struggled emotionally on several counts unknown to me. I was protected from this information for a reason, and I know that she felt that it was for my best-good not to see the lows she suffered, however understanding this was a real struggle for me in those early grief-stricken days.
It was the deeper layers of grief that brought me to my real journey: my real path. The discovery that my mum had made me her world, her happiness. In "Codependency No More," Melody Beattie talks of codependency most often in terms of those who are in a relationship of one type or another with an addict. How the codependent party takes on responsibility for the addict's behaviour, but also grows resentment in relationship to what they have taken on. This was, I realised, what had happened in the relationship between my mother and I. She always used to talk of how her mother had "tied her to her apron strings", and how she wished to never do that to me. As is generally the case with these things, in trying not to do so, that's exactly what had happened. She lived vicariously through me and I, in turn, made her my world. She was my best friend, my confidante, my everything. I adored her and I wanted to please her. Now, please note well, she didn't do anything wrong. She didn't parent me badly: she loved me, she told me I was talented and beautiful and clever, she gave me tools for life, she encouraged my growth and development, my passions and pass-times. But it was the case that the relationship between us was codependent. Looking back at decisions I have made, people I have chosen, relationships I have fostered: I see my codependent patterns. Even down to the marriage I chose. And ended.
You see, when I learned that I was doing this I learned that I needed to stop. To heal this wound that I was reopening with every codependent choice I was making. Because alongside the people-pleasing there was also resentment and pain. Fear and inability to take responsibility for myself. Healing is a journey. A never-ending one. But a beautiful, courageous, painful, glorious, roller-coaster ride of a path. And without the guide of a coach, the encouragement of a mentor and the accountability-keeping of a practitioner I wouldn't be where I am now.
10 March 2018