Co-dependence 201

There is much to say about co-dependence. My thoughts keep rattling around on this, sometimes alighting on a truth, sometimes worrying over a frustrating issue.

And then I remember … if I’m frustrated by something, so are other people. And I also remember that writing helps me figure stuff out.

So here we go.

One of the things I’ve noticed about co-dependence is this: when it reaches its full-blown mess of a forest fire, there are two unhealthy people involved, not just one. For some bizarre reason, these two unhealthy people are drawn to each other. Their relationship might be a friendship, or a romance, or a family connection.

But it is a freakin’ mess.

When therapists first began tossing around the term co-dependence, they applied it to alcoholic marriages. One spouse was the addict, and the other spouse was the co-dependent. The addict was addicted to alcohol. The co-dependent was addicted to the addict. The behavior of both people contributed to the dysfunction of the relationship (although the co-dependent did not cause the alcoholism). Nonetheless, both people becoming controlling, approval-seeking, fear-based freak-a-zoids, and I say that with all the love in my heart.

Now we know that this weird relationship dynamic, this addict/co-dependent thing, can take on many forms. The “addict” role might look like alcoholism or drug addiction, yes, but the addiction could be other substances or behaviors. Food, gambling, and sex are some of the more of the obviously harmful ones, but addictions to anger, approval, and attention are equally damaging.

I say all of this because I have occupied the co-dependent seat in more one than one relationship in my life. My mother. My late husband. And a friend or two along the way.

And in every case, I am no longer in that relationship.

There are co-dependent wonderkids who learn how to stay in close connection with addicts, loving them in a detached, healthy, non-judgmental way. Here’s an example:

Alcoholic: I overslept! And now I’m late for my very important work meeting! You have to help me!

Spouse (who knows her husband overslept because he’s hung over, but did not spend her morning trying to get her husband out of bed): Oh, rats. You sure did. I can see that you’re stressed. Listen, I’m in the middle of making my lunch and packing up for school. I really hope your day gets better.

I’m chuckling as I type this. Friends, this was me never. I was the wife calling her husband’s secretary with an excuse for why he was late. I was the wife who put her own day on hold in order to rush around and find clean clothes, aspirin for the headache, and the car keys. I was the wife who yelled, “If you hadn’t spent last night drinking until you passed out, this wouldn’t have happened again!” I was the wife with a knot of fear and worry in her stomach.

All the time. Every day. For years.

I’m also cringing at my little “imaginary” scenario because, in truth, if I’d actually said, “Gee, I’m so sorry, but I can’t help you right now,” I’d have been met with fury. (I know this. I tried.)

The deal is, I never learned how to love with detachment. The only way I could find peace was to step away from co-dependent relationships altogether. So I separated from my husband. As an adult, I only spent time with my mom with my posse nearby. I walked away from friendships.

And my life is better. I am sad—immeasurably sad—that my late husband didn’t find recovery on this side of eternity. I wish I’d had a mom wanted to parent rather than be parented. I wish I didn’t have to run like a bat out of hell away from some relationships.

Yet, even with the sadness, even with the lost relationships, I am a woman at peace. Getting here was a bare-knuckled street fight, and I’ll bloody my knuckles again if I have to. My life is worth fighting for. Don’t get me wrong—I experience discomfort all the time. I believe that’s how we humans best learn. But gut-wrenching fear, the inability to sleep, non-stop anxiety over someone else’s disease?

No.

But here’s what I wonder: how is it that I become enmeshed in co-dependent relationships in the first place? Do I give off some sort of “I’m willing to be taken advantage of” pheromone? I have a friend who says she is prone to pick up strays. I am prone to doctor people whose wounds need far more salve than I possess.

I have an image in my mind of a drowning person. The poor soul needs a life preserver, not a weak swimmer he will accidentally pull under.

I have to remind myself, ridiculously often, that I am the weak swimmer, not the life preserver.

And until I learn how to throw a life preserver, straight and true, I have to stay out of the water.