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Abstract

Did” out of my personalized prayer and changed it to a mindfulness consideration.Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting the hardships that carved my path to peace and joy, taking stock in past experiences, trusting it will be made right if I surrender my attempts at controlling, so that I may be reasonably happy today!In my perception book, Codependent means I am dependent on your addictive behaviors because I live in the wormhole of instruction given by the Jekyll-and-Hyde world of love. My thoughts and emotions follow the roller-coaster ride of my desires and decisions being any place other than with me. It fed the hope that I would be good enough for them to love over the addictive substance one day. It also gave me a sick reason to try harder to prove I was worthy of love.The uncertainty of day-to-day actions fueled my waking moments. I learned the chess game well, trying always to be one step ahead yet often ending as the pawn in the twisted game.My “normie” childhood, dear addict, probably looks a lot like yours did. Uncertainty, violence, abuse, trauma, secrets, threats, and some fun in the dysfunction are all wrapped in a cloak of skewed love.My firstborn gave me the strength to finally break the silence of my childhood — ten years after the final Mr. Hyde incestuous act.I became a card-carrying member of ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) and CODA (Codependents Anonymous) about five years later.Yet, I still felt like an outsider, and I had no tangible proof of my recovery. I diligently read, practiced, affirmed, and self-helped myself into believing in something outside myself that would bring a miracle cure from being me. Something, anything, to duct tape the broken pieces that I still could not speak of.When addiction is the behavior engrained by the sickness of others deemed to be the “norm” one is accustomed to, how did the twelve steps get me out of the hell hole of my thoughts? I spent 25 years seeking to understand then be understood, and I even wrote a book, “Click 3 Times — Beyond the Flying Monkeys.” It weaved the 12 steps into the scenes and characters from the Wizard of Oz — which had become my spiritual path. I purposely published it with grammar errors, misspellings, and childhood literary knowledge to subconsciously show the beauty of imperfection. Yet, I still was protecting others within my storyline. The fear of speaking up harming another was my soul’s sentence.Fast forward to hitting my codependent bottom and learning my true definition of acceptance. The two years prior to the bottom, I started my descent into my empty bottomless despair pit.Flying high, donning my superwoman cape, fueled with the childhood breath of keeping two significant people alive. The air that filled my cape was the words embedded into my thought circuitry by Mr. Hyde. If I did not comply, I would be responsible for my family members dying.My second husband, a recovering addict, was diagnosed with cancer. During his treatment, I worked, ran the household, tried to be there for my teenage stepdaughter, and kept up with all the responsibilities of being the caregiver to someone in active treatment.After the treatment ended, he and his budding teenage daughter hit their depressive states simultaneously. That kicked my co-dependency into high gear. Our daughter entered into the world of anorexia, gender dysmorphia, and self-harm. At the same time, my husband shrank further into his depression and dry addict behaviors (a dry addict is one that abstains from the substance but does nothing to grow spiritually). The same as the original Mr. Hyde had done as a dry drunk. The insidious behaviors of addiction without the substance to blame. Lies, secrets,

Options

and attaching glamour and allure to the times of addictive disconnect.It was my stepdaughter who taught me true acceptance. Seeing the tangible effects of self-harm, primarily cutting, forced me to look at her pain masked on the inside yet visible on the outside. The scars of every warped thought on her tiny body. My complete anger and frustration with what she was doing to herself and the surrender that there is not a god damn thing I can do about it.A parent’s nightmare.I ran around like a classic codependent madwoman, with my husband at my heels barking “check” her, hide the razor blades, and stop the madness. I would cry myself to sleep every night. Mixing this all in with the suicidal ideations, the dysmorphia, and teenage rebellion, I had stepped back into hell. Triggers floated constantly throughout my brain. I was reliving my own teenage emotions through my present moments of her pain. The trigger of the painful gun of terror released in rapid-fire.My bottom came when my husband relapsed into addiction with his drug of choice. He was already dabbling in addictive behaviors with an affair, drinking, and the secrets shared only with his new friends. Yet, he expected of my support, love, and understanding as in his world his plight was worse than mine. “Shut up and deal with it!” rang throughout my brain waves.But, something else took over. Within weeks, I secretly started my new recovery plan. I immersed myself in the world of the law of attraction, mindfulness, and getting back to the roots of my spirituality. I surrendered and found self-compassion, self-care, and the will to keep myself alive.I began to practice a new twelve-step program intertwining the 12 universal laws. My daily affirmations came with mindful minute distractions. I set my intentions to master my mindset and finally change my inner world once and for all. I pursued my coaching certifications to learn the techniques to coach myself back to wholeness.The hardest part of this recovery journey is the perceived loss of love and support. When the Codependent starts taking care of themselves the entire love and support system has a temper tantrum. It is a lonely journey off a high cliff to change my entire response system without a net to catch me.Thankfully, my net did show up and became a trampoline as I bounced back with newfound buoyancy. Today, I am the happiest I have ever been. I know who I am. I have solid boundaries. I trust myself. I honestly like who I am. I found the integrity to treat myself with compassion, awareness, even when no one is looking. I am divorced, adopted my stepdaughter, and proud to say she has had only one relapse incident in the last 18 months. She is following my example.Her addiction showed me the light that saving the addict means saving yourself first. The subtle behaviors that support addictions are learned. We don’t trust words, we are hypersensitive to actions. You will always be an enabler, it's embedded. But you can change your mindset and enable them to see the miracle of recovering their soul and spirit by your actions.Today, my heart sparkles like the Ruby Red Slippers. Click 3 times is the awareness of my present moments without the judgment of being good or bad. Moving beyond the flying monkeys of thoughts carried me through the fear, the pain, and the darkness to land in Oz (the bottom drawer of life’s file cabinet). A place of different colorful perspectives and the knowledge that the man behind the curtain was the persona of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in my head.I am grateful for all the wicked witch and dark forest events because they led me to where I am today. My beautiful, peaceful, secret garden in my own inner backyard — revealed once I believed in myself.</article></body>

When a Co-Dependent Hits Bottom

Accepting the quiet addiction of loving you more (Weekly Special Dec. 6–12)

“Oh, you won’t understand! You’re a normie!” In recovery circles, a normie is someone on the outside that could never understand the world of addiction. But I have news for you. Normies understand the world of addiction from a far deeper place.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde taught me about love, trust, and loyalty. They taught me love is not a constant I can rely on. Words and actions do not blend smoothly, and it’s a flip of the coin on any given day or given moment sometimes. Oh, and the entitlement of loyalty because of that perceived love.

Trust and loyalty are said to be foremost family traits, yet family members often extend that to do not dare follow another highway of your own choice. We are fed the sense that we owe them our lives because they believe that, as opposed to Source, they created us and they say they love us and provide for us. The bread crumbs we receive are what we deserve within their royal court, otherwise, it could be “off with your head!”

What’s a girl to do?

I would cower and comply with no choices of my own. I adjusted to the eggshell remnants on the floor in an attempt to survive. They treated me as their possession to do with what they will. I am supposed to have no voice, no choice, and adjust my behaviors for their happiness.

It’s a deep caverned fall to hit bottom from the heights of co-dependency. The chains of the addiction of pleasing and protecting them are a high price to pay. The fears, the survival, the secrets, and the silence are embedded in each link of my psyche. It takes a complete resurrection of the lost soul buried beneath every ounce of my limiting beliefs to break free.

I finally hit my complete bottom three and a half years ago. It is a painfully dark place where all concepts, beliefs, and ego shatter into a million pieces.

Lori’s (Ravyne Hawke) weekly prompt, “What does the word ‘Acceptance’ mean to you?” popped into my email feed and kicked my ass out of my procrastination time warp of writing my truth about loving addicts. You see, the draft of this story has sat for a long time, staring at me every day, while I had set aside and shoved down rather than cope with the multitude of emotions that stir in the dark crevices of my thoughts.

The serenity prayer is the light that guides me on the acceptance path. Until recent years, I only knew the short version. But it is the original version that gave me the strength to accept my life entirely.

God, give us grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.

Living one day at a time, Enjoying one moment at a time, Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace, Taking, as Jesus did, This sinful world as it is, Not as I would have it, Trusting that You will make all things right, If I surrender to Your will, So that I may be reasonably happy in this life, And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Because of my spiritual beliefs, I changed the second stanza by taking “As Jesus Did” out of my personalized prayer and changed it to a mindfulness consideration.

Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting the hardships that carved my path to peace and joy, taking stock in past experiences, trusting it will be made right if I surrender my attempts at controlling, so that I may be reasonably happy today!

In my perception book, Codependent means I am dependent on your addictive behaviors because I live in the wormhole of instruction given by the Jekyll-and-Hyde world of love. My thoughts and emotions follow the roller-coaster ride of my desires and decisions being any place other than with me. It fed the hope that I would be good enough for them to love over the addictive substance one day. It also gave me a sick reason to try harder to prove I was worthy of love.

The uncertainty of day-to-day actions fueled my waking moments. I learned the chess game well, trying always to be one step ahead yet often ending as the pawn in the twisted game.

My “normie” childhood, dear addict, probably looks a lot like yours did. Uncertainty, violence, abuse, trauma, secrets, threats, and some fun in the dysfunction are all wrapped in a cloak of skewed love.

My firstborn gave me the strength to finally break the silence of my childhood — ten years after the final Mr. Hyde incestuous act.

I became a card-carrying member of ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) and CODA (Codependents Anonymous) about five years later.

Yet, I still felt like an outsider, and I had no tangible proof of my recovery. I diligently read, practiced, affirmed, and self-helped myself into believing in something outside myself that would bring a miracle cure from being me. Something, anything, to duct tape the broken pieces that I still could not speak of.

When addiction is the behavior engrained by the sickness of others deemed to be the “norm” one is accustomed to, how did the twelve steps get me out of the hell hole of my thoughts? I spent 25 years seeking to understand then be understood, and I even wrote a book, “Click 3 Times — Beyond the Flying Monkeys.” It weaved the 12 steps into the scenes and characters from the Wizard of Oz — which had become my spiritual path. I purposely published it with grammar errors, misspellings, and childhood literary knowledge to subconsciously show the beauty of imperfection. Yet, I still was protecting others within my storyline. The fear of speaking up harming another was my soul’s sentence.

Fast forward to hitting my codependent bottom and learning my true definition of acceptance. The two years prior to the bottom, I started my descent into my empty bottomless despair pit.

Flying high, donning my superwoman cape, fueled with the childhood breath of keeping two significant people alive. The air that filled my cape was the words embedded into my thought circuitry by Mr. Hyde. If I did not comply, I would be responsible for my family members dying.

My second husband, a recovering addict, was diagnosed with cancer. During his treatment, I worked, ran the household, tried to be there for my teenage stepdaughter, and kept up with all the responsibilities of being the caregiver to someone in active treatment.

After the treatment ended, he and his budding teenage daughter hit their depressive states simultaneously. That kicked my co-dependency into high gear. Our daughter entered into the world of anorexia, gender dysmorphia, and self-harm. At the same time, my husband shrank further into his depression and dry addict behaviors (a dry addict is one that abstains from the substance but does nothing to grow spiritually). The same as the original Mr. Hyde had done as a dry drunk. The insidious behaviors of addiction without the substance to blame. Lies, secrets, and attaching glamour and allure to the times of addictive disconnect.

It was my stepdaughter who taught me true acceptance. Seeing the tangible effects of self-harm, primarily cutting, forced me to look at her pain masked on the inside yet visible on the outside. The scars of every warped thought on her tiny body. My complete anger and frustration with what she was doing to herself and the surrender that there is not a god damn thing I can do about it.

A parent’s nightmare.

I ran around like a classic codependent madwoman, with my husband at my heels barking “check” her, hide the razor blades, and stop the madness. I would cry myself to sleep every night. Mixing this all in with the suicidal ideations, the dysmorphia, and teenage rebellion, I had stepped back into hell. Triggers floated constantly throughout my brain. I was reliving my own teenage emotions through my present moments of her pain. The trigger of the painful gun of terror released in rapid-fire.

My bottom came when my husband relapsed into addiction with his drug of choice. He was already dabbling in addictive behaviors with an affair, drinking, and the secrets shared only with his new friends. Yet, he expected of my support, love, and understanding as in his world his plight was worse than mine. “Shut up and deal with it!” rang throughout my brain waves.

But, something else took over. Within weeks, I secretly started my new recovery plan. I immersed myself in the world of the law of attraction, mindfulness, and getting back to the roots of my spirituality. I surrendered and found self-compassion, self-care, and the will to keep myself alive.

I began to practice a new twelve-step program intertwining the 12 universal laws. My daily affirmations came with mindful minute distractions. I set my intentions to master my mindset and finally change my inner world once and for all. I pursued my coaching certifications to learn the techniques to coach myself back to wholeness.

The hardest part of this recovery journey is the perceived loss of love and support. When the Codependent starts taking care of themselves the entire love and support system has a temper tantrum. It is a lonely journey off a high cliff to change my entire response system without a net to catch me.

Thankfully, my net did show up and became a trampoline as I bounced back with newfound buoyancy. Today, I am the happiest I have ever been. I know who I am. I have solid boundaries. I trust myself. I honestly like who I am. I found the integrity to treat myself with compassion, awareness, even when no one is looking. I am divorced, adopted my stepdaughter, and proud to say she has had only one relapse incident in the last 18 months. She is following my example.

Her addiction showed me the light that saving the addict means saving yourself first. The subtle behaviors that support addictions are learned. We don’t trust words, we are hypersensitive to actions. You will always be an enabler, it's embedded. But you can change your mindset and enable them to see the miracle of recovering their soul and spirit by your actions.

Today, my heart sparkles like the Ruby Red Slippers. Click 3 times is the awareness of my present moments without the judgment of being good or bad. Moving beyond the flying monkeys of thoughts carried me through the fear, the pain, and the darkness to land in Oz (the bottom drawer of life’s file cabinet). A place of different colorful perspectives and the knowledge that the man behind the curtain was the persona of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in my head.

I am grateful for all the wicked witch and dark forest events because they led me to where I am today. My beautiful, peaceful, secret garden in my own inner backyard — revealed once I believed in myself.