Such a dirty word. Codependence. Images of weak, sad women groveling at their husband's feet, begging him to stay always come to mind for me. I always think of someone who is unable to care for themselves,
stand on their own two feet.
Yet, I know it's not true. It's much deeper than that. Codependence embeds itself like an illness deep inside your heart. It takes hold and defies all rationality. You never see it coming. Instead, you're blinded by perceived love.
My life has always been fueled by compassion for others. As a child, I watched Sally Struthers plead for donations while images of starving African children flashed across my television screen. My heart ached for them. I needed to somehow help those children or at least understand their plight. I declared to my mother, "I'm not eating ever again!"
She understood my intentions and laughed. "Honey, you don't have to starve," she said. "You have a big heart and one day you will use it to help others."
I desperately wanted to grow up and become a missionary. Then life happened and I ended up married to my first husband at 22. My dreams were placed on the back burner. I'm not the best cook so I forgot I left them on the burner and they slowly boiled over, evaporating.
My first marriage was a perfect model for codependency. He took good care of me and I him. At least on the surface it seemed that way. He began to have affairs. I denied it initially, but eventually I realized I no longer could. I began the plight of the codependent.
I tried to change myself in an effort to become a better wife. I made excuses as to why he would do this to me. I purposely got pregnant to make him see what he could have. I told him everything would be fine if we just worked on our marriage.
Somehow I snapped out of it and left him, son in tow. He tried to beg me to come back. I refused and shortly began dating my husband, the addict. Our relationship and ultimate marriage began perfectly. He was a good man with no red flags. It was wonderful. We had our daughter and life was pretty darn spectacular.
At the onset of his addiction, I didn't know he was up to anything. Things were fairly normal until his confession. That's when my codependent behavior kicked in to overdrive.
"If I can keep the kids quiet, he won't be so stressed and want to use," ran through my head everyday when I came home. "I won't ask him to do anything so he can focus."
Silly, codependent me. This only exacerbated his use. I denied it, trying to make everything better. All the while isolating myself, turning inward into grief and sorrow. I attempted to fix things I didn't have the tools to fix. With a lot of denial, I was able to repress my anger for months at a time only to explode with a display of filthy, violent rage.
What's interesting about codependency is you feel normal. In control. You justify your inability to repair your partner by being the better person. More responsible. Smarter. Having your shit together. "Hey look at me. I paid all the bills by myself!" It suddenly becomes your identity.
For me, I confused empathy and compassion with codependency. I felt, still feel that I am a good person and that's what good people do. They stick by those they love through aaaaaaaalllllll the shit. That is what love is about. Yet, it's an illness all on its own.
And that, is some sick shit. Loving someone so much you can't break the cycle of codependence only makes you sicker and sicker until you forget who you are. I'm trying valiantly to resurrect who I was. I ain't no Jesus. It's gonna take more than three days.
This song. I listened to it more than I should have. I took this literally and honestly, it was so unhealthy. The time I wasted crying to this song when all the while I was existing in a toxic state of codependency.