A Letter to My Co-Dependent Self

This is a picture that I drew to represent my co-dependent self.

The ball on my back is heavy like lead and the points are sharp. It is way too heavy. It represents all the responsibility, worry, and blame that I took upon myself. My eyes are closed to the truth. One tear escapes, but no one notices. I have to keep the big smile on my face so no one notices. That's part of my job. And I have to wear high heels so I look good while I carry this weight. The guy is my ex-husband. I'm tying his shoe because it's something he should do for himself. He is clearly indifferent to both the service I am rendering, and the burden I am carrying.

Dear Co-Dependent Self,

Writing this letter to you is difficult for me because the way I feel toward you is complicated and a little confusing. You are someone what I love and pity. You are someone who I want to defend and protect. But honestly, I hope to never see you again.

You’re like a dear little horror that I would like to tuck into bed, kiss on the forehead, wait to see an honest smile of peace on your face, and then turn off the life support forever.

You did what you had to do. You did it bravely, and the best way you knew how. Now you have earned the right to slip peacefully into the blackness, and I have earned the right to live with light and joy and freedom.

I know that you were trying to take care of us-all of us. You believe in the family like I do, and you had the strength to be a bumper pad for the abuse. It gave me the time I needed to exhaust all the possibilities for somehow finding a different answer besides breaking apart my family. You bravely tried to protect our kids. When the love for him ran out, it was the thick, tough love for those kids that enabled you to keep us moving and working and trying to find solutions and answers.

I won’t let anyone criticize you for what you did, because your exhaustive tenacity bought me time. And that enabled me to make a clean break– when it was time. Your sacrifices bought the reassurance that I had done everything I could.

In a strange twist of irony, maybe your biggest flaw was over-confidence. The impact of all the blows you took was so heavy that even your thick skin and strong love couldn’t absorb all of it. You over estimated your ability to absorb damage, and underestimated the harm your thinly disguised pain would do to the kids. Though you worked hard to be a cushion from the darkness, the deep wells became less sweet, and the nourishment that we had to offer the children was less nourishing than it could have been. We gave them the best of what we had, but it was sour, even though we offered it as sweet.

In your strength you were blinded to more destructive dangers, and you blinded me to my greater capacities. Your stubbornness limited my view of truth and light to a single goal- ‘preserve-my-family-make-this-work-do-not-fail’. You were afraid of the medicine that healing would require, but ended up taking much worse poisons trying to avoid it. Those poisons infected me and it took a lot of fighting, and a lot of help to work those out of my system.

I felt so small, so worthless. Stupid and ineffective. I felt like a burden and an annoyance. I felt contaminated and contagious. I wanted to hide and keep the rot of my sorrow and disappointment and failure to myself.

But as I shook you off, I was able to accept help to clean my wounds and wash my face. I started to believe that I really could put my burden down, and that I could rely on help to carry what was mine to carry.

I began to be able to feel warmth again, and light returned to me. The shame that welded us together began to dissolve and my view opened up to truth and opportunity that I hadn’t been able to consider before. My mind was released and so was my creative power. 

I had more than a strong back to rely on, but I had forgotten that. In this new power, I discovered that under those heavy burdens were buried wings.

So, my dear co-dependent self. Please rest in peace. When you try to wake up, I will tuck you back into bed. You are not the one to fight my battles anymore.