When foundations of codependency aren't so obvious...
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When foundations of codependency aren't so obvious...
Often I'd read about codependents who come from homes with addicted parents, or parents with personality disorders, or severe mental health issues, or abuse/neglect. Because that was the frame I kept reading/seeing around codependency, I struggled to see where I fit in the frame.
You see, my parents were never overtly, or even covertly, abusive. Not in the traditional sense. They doted on me--their only child. But the more I read about only children, the more I saw many of us face tremendous pressure (whether intentional or not) to constantly shine for our parents. And too many of us become 'little adults' long before our time as a result of being exposed only to other adults.
There's that, and then there's this: my parents were politicians, and I was thrown in the limelight. A lot. There was never a forceful "here is how you act in front of people and you better comply, dammit" tone from them. But rather, they modeled the behavior they expected: indulge others. Work the room. Keep a conversation moving. Delight and impress people.
Can you see the recipe formulating? The ingredients for codependency begin to stack: a child who feels pressure to be a star. A political family that cares, deeply, about how others perceive them. Modeling of how to modulate other people's emotions toward a 'positive' outcome.
Then, my father. You know in so many ways, I was my father's light, but that isn't nearly as lovely as it sounds. Because it's a really high pedestal to stay balanced upon. One of my overall memories (not specific, but in general) is how my father would express his displeasure with me asserting myself: he'd go into silent treatment/wounded little boy mode.
In the most formative times in my life, from about age 16 on, I began to make important decisions about my future, and when they didn't fit the narrative my parents (especially my dad) had constructed, the pushback was strong.
After 10 years of training and a major injury, I was burned out and done with the sport I was in. I can still remember how it felt to tell my parents this: the feeling is almost an exact match for how it feels when I need to assert a need or boundary with my husband. Like I still do now, I delayed that conversation until the pain of continuing to do what I was doing was too bad and nothing was left for me other than to say, "I am done."
This did not go well. My home wasn't one where my father hit me or my mother got drunk, and I want to acknowledge that I grew up in a lot of privilege and safety that many of you here did not. I don't know what it's like to be hit, or take care of an addict parent, or have a Cluster B parent, and I am grateful that I didn't endure any of that level of pain and abuse.
But what I faced, at 16 and beyond, was a questioning of my agency. Of my capacity to decide for myself my needs and future. I was questioned, not in that respectful "I want to learn who you are and see you" way, but in that "I don't think you are making the right decision and want you to present to me enough logic and facts to convince me otherwise." (except this was no winnable feat: the point wasn't for me to present a coherent raison d'etre. It was to keep moving the goal posts so I'd acquiesce my position).
My simple feeling of burn out wasn't enough for my father. He saw me as giving up. What I can see now is he saw me giving up his ideation of my life.
He saw the same when I told him I could no longer fathom going to graduate school after college. That, once again, I was burned out. I had pushed too hard, too fast, and needed a break.
My dreams were not my own. Instead, my parents were the claimed owners of my dreams and wanted to carve out for me a path they envisioned, with little room for flexibility.
My mom would condition me on a more social scale. To this day, if I tell her I don't have the energy to spend much time at a family event, she (in a very polite and "nice" voice) tries to tell me how I feel. That that can't possibly be the case and if I stay I will see how much I enjoy it and how much people enjoy me.
That is one underlying message, from my parents before (and even now) and my addict husband, too. My purpose, my role in this world is to be enjoyed by others.
When I attempt to reclaim my agency, there is, of COURSE, push back. Because me being there as an object for their needs suits them and it doesn't matter that it doesn't suit me. Subtly, they'd never own up to this: subtly, they will position this as trying to look out for me. It is possibly they may not even know, consciously, how much it is really them deciding for me what they think is best.
Isn't that the heart of codependency in some ways? Us thinking we know best for others. It's interesting for me to write this out and see how these dynamics in my world played out. When asserting myself didn't work early on in my marriage, I would try to subtly (and not so subtly) control my husband's behaviors.
The more I grow and heal, the more my husband tries to control my behaviors and choices. Or, it's possible the more I grow and heal, the more comfortable I get with asserting myself, and in turn, become awake to how others close to me push back against that.
I paint this picture for anyone who may struggle to find the roots of their behaviors, reactions, and feelings. Just as our addict family members often grew up to normalize the dysfunction in their family systems, we, too, normalize things, especially if we hold only one set of dysfunction as the 'metric' for causes of codependency and emotional issues. Sometimes we have to dig more.
As I dig, I can understand, but understanding is not the whole enchilada for me. No. As I posted in another thread of mine recently (and actually was reminded by other SR folks), for our recovery to work, we must work it. As sparklekitty wrote, sometimes we have to do the thing we do not want to do. The things that make us uncomfortable.
Understanding is a part. It enables me to be kinder to myself. It tickles the part of my brain that seeks control because it equates analysis and discovery with power.
The more I seek to understand, the more I am reminded of my powerlessness. Every nugget of backstory truth I stumble upon serves--now--as a reminder that discovery of a prior fact does not bring me zen. It may bring me kindness and forgiveness, but the serenity comes only from the day-to-day one foot in front of the other practices of gratitude, of acceptance, of tiny acts of bravery.
That peace, at least for now, is never guaranteed. Instead, peace is a practice, and for me one I must hold gently enough so I don't overwork (control) it, and solidly enough so it doesn't slip my grasp. It must be held in concerted awareness and meaningful actions.
It is an act of consciousness.
It is an act of self love.
You see, my parents were never overtly, or even covertly, abusive. Not in the traditional sense. They doted on me--their only child. But the more I read about only children, the more I saw many of us face tremendous pressure (whether intentional or not) to constantly shine for our parents. And too many of us become 'little adults' long before our time as a result of being exposed only to other adults.
There's that, and then there's this: my parents were politicians, and I was thrown in the limelight. A lot. There was never a forceful "here is how you act in front of people and you better comply, dammit" tone from them. But rather, they modeled the behavior they expected: indulge others. Work the room. Keep a conversation moving. Delight and impress people.
Can you see the recipe formulating? The ingredients for codependency begin to stack: a child who feels pressure to be a star. A political family that cares, deeply, about how others perceive them. Modeling of how to modulate other people's emotions toward a 'positive' outcome.
Then, my father. You know in so many ways, I was my father's light, but that isn't nearly as lovely as it sounds. Because it's a really high pedestal to stay balanced upon. One of my overall memories (not specific, but in general) is how my father would express his displeasure with me asserting myself: he'd go into silent treatment/wounded little boy mode.
In the most formative times in my life, from about age 16 on, I began to make important decisions about my future, and when they didn't fit the narrative my parents (especially my dad) had constructed, the pushback was strong.
After 10 years of training and a major injury, I was burned out and done with the sport I was in. I can still remember how it felt to tell my parents this: the feeling is almost an exact match for how it feels when I need to assert a need or boundary with my husband. Like I still do now, I delayed that conversation until the pain of continuing to do what I was doing was too bad and nothing was left for me other than to say, "I am done."
This did not go well. My home wasn't one where my father hit me or my mother got drunk, and I want to acknowledge that I grew up in a lot of privilege and safety that many of you here did not. I don't know what it's like to be hit, or take care of an addict parent, or have a Cluster B parent, and I am grateful that I didn't endure any of that level of pain and abuse.
But what I faced, at 16 and beyond, was a questioning of my agency. Of my capacity to decide for myself my needs and future. I was questioned, not in that respectful "I want to learn who you are and see you" way, but in that "I don't think you are making the right decision and want you to present to me enough logic and facts to convince me otherwise." (except this was no winnable feat: the point wasn't for me to present a coherent raison d'etre. It was to keep moving the goal posts so I'd acquiesce my position).
My simple feeling of burn out wasn't enough for my father. He saw me as giving up. What I can see now is he saw me giving up his ideation of my life.
He saw the same when I told him I could no longer fathom going to graduate school after college. That, once again, I was burned out. I had pushed too hard, too fast, and needed a break.
My dreams were not my own. Instead, my parents were the claimed owners of my dreams and wanted to carve out for me a path they envisioned, with little room for flexibility.
My mom would condition me on a more social scale. To this day, if I tell her I don't have the energy to spend much time at a family event, she (in a very polite and "nice" voice) tries to tell me how I feel. That that can't possibly be the case and if I stay I will see how much I enjoy it and how much people enjoy me.
That is one underlying message, from my parents before (and even now) and my addict husband, too. My purpose, my role in this world is to be enjoyed by others.
When I attempt to reclaim my agency, there is, of COURSE, push back. Because me being there as an object for their needs suits them and it doesn't matter that it doesn't suit me. Subtly, they'd never own up to this: subtly, they will position this as trying to look out for me. It is possibly they may not even know, consciously, how much it is really them deciding for me what they think is best.
Isn't that the heart of codependency in some ways? Us thinking we know best for others. It's interesting for me to write this out and see how these dynamics in my world played out. When asserting myself didn't work early on in my marriage, I would try to subtly (and not so subtly) control my husband's behaviors.
The more I grow and heal, the more my husband tries to control my behaviors and choices. Or, it's possible the more I grow and heal, the more comfortable I get with asserting myself, and in turn, become awake to how others close to me push back against that.
I paint this picture for anyone who may struggle to find the roots of their behaviors, reactions, and feelings. Just as our addict family members often grew up to normalize the dysfunction in their family systems, we, too, normalize things, especially if we hold only one set of dysfunction as the 'metric' for causes of codependency and emotional issues. Sometimes we have to dig more.
As I dig, I can understand, but understanding is not the whole enchilada for me. No. As I posted in another thread of mine recently (and actually was reminded by other SR folks), for our recovery to work, we must work it. As sparklekitty wrote, sometimes we have to do the thing we do not want to do. The things that make us uncomfortable.
Understanding is a part. It enables me to be kinder to myself. It tickles the part of my brain that seeks control because it equates analysis and discovery with power.
The more I seek to understand, the more I am reminded of my powerlessness. Every nugget of backstory truth I stumble upon serves--now--as a reminder that discovery of a prior fact does not bring me zen. It may bring me kindness and forgiveness, but the serenity comes only from the day-to-day one foot in front of the other practices of gratitude, of acceptance, of tiny acts of bravery.
That peace, at least for now, is never guaranteed. Instead, peace is a practice, and for me one I must hold gently enough so I don't overwork (control) it, and solidly enough so it doesn't slip my grasp. It must be held in concerted awareness and meaningful actions.
It is an act of consciousness.
It is an act of self love.
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Join Date: May 2012
Location: Florida
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The more I understand codependency the more I know it to exist everywhere & to get passed down through multiple generations often without any understanding of the roots of it within the family unit. Some of the worst Codies I've met have no direct evidence of addiction in their lives.
To me, dysfunction is EVERYWHERE across all kinds of socio-economic & lifestyle categories. The kind you detail out here is often impossible to get people to see for what it is & instead they trip through life considering themselves very "normal".
True "normal" is so very, very rare that it doesn't even fit the very definition for the word.
To me, dysfunction is EVERYWHERE across all kinds of socio-economic & lifestyle categories. The kind you detail out here is often impossible to get people to see for what it is & instead they trip through life considering themselves very "normal".
True "normal" is so very, very rare that it doesn't even fit the very definition for the word.
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Join Date: Nov 2014
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Originally Posted by FireSprite 
To me, dysfunction is EVERYWHERE across all kinds of socio-economic & lifestyle categories. The kind you detail out here is often impossible to get people to see for what it is & instead they trip through life considering themselves very "normal".
True "normal" is so very, very rare that it doesn't even fit the very definition for the word.
True "normal" is so very, very rare that it doesn't even fit the very definition for the word.
Recently I read some work about a concept called "consensus trance," which wasn't entirely new to me, but it reiterated how cultural conditioning reinforces, generation after generation, unhealthy patterns, and calls them "normal."
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This is why Brene Brown's work helped me so much - it tackles a lot of root codie issues without focusing on addiction specifically. It allowed me to address my issues without getting stuck on trying to figure out how/if/where it intersected with any qualifiers in my life.
It gave Me control over My Recovery & I threw all of my "labels" overboard while I focused on myself.... it no longer mattered if I was a child of an addict or married to an alcoholic or whatever - it only mattered that I was capable of seeing my behavior clearly, recognizing the need for & working toward creating lasting changes for myself & my daughter & willing to be accountable going forward no matter who it offended.
(but to be clear, I don't have any problem with "labels" - they are often necessary IMO for us to truly see a situation for what it IS. The correct label helps me identify a problem & work toward resolution - it doesn't mean I am forever trapped inside that definition. Labels are fluid, just like life.)
It gave Me control over My Recovery & I threw all of my "labels" overboard while I focused on myself.... it no longer mattered if I was a child of an addict or married to an alcoholic or whatever - it only mattered that I was capable of seeing my behavior clearly, recognizing the need for & working toward creating lasting changes for myself & my daughter & willing to be accountable going forward no matter who it offended.
(but to be clear, I don't have any problem with "labels" - they are often necessary IMO for us to truly see a situation for what it IS. The correct label helps me identify a problem & work toward resolution - it doesn't mean I am forever trapped inside that definition. Labels are fluid, just like life.)
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firesprite, your way of looking at the world in a nuanced fashion resonates. I, too, find labels are often useful to me as pointers, especially in trying to make sense of patterns. They also run the risk of becoming a cult or a cage if one is not too aware.
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i believe us only kids are a special breed all our own. from very early on we had to be a lot of things to a lot of people! 
and there was NO ONE to deflect the blame or the spot light......if something got messed up, you couldn't throw your non-existent little brother under the bus, for example.
and there was NO ONE to deflect the blame or the spot light......if something got messed up, you couldn't throw your non-existent little brother under the bus, for example.
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Originally Posted by AnvilheadII
if something got messed up, you couldn't throw your non-existent little brother under the bus, for example.
It reminds me, too, of another thing: in the absence of a sibling, we don't learn about healthy fighting and conflict. Bubbled away peacefully in our solo bedrooms, we never learned to stand up for our favorite toy, or simply to get in the proverbial ring with an adversary. Is it any wonder that standing up for ourselves later is such a challenge?
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