The Damning Effects of Codependency

     

Hello, my name is Laura Hall, and I am codependent.  If I was in a recovery group that made me list what the ailment that plagues my life is, this would be it.  Ironically, as I wrote the opening sentence, I recognized the play on stating my sin as my identity.  Which, in effect, would make codependency a fixed thing.  I hate the idea of that, because although I do need the interaction of people in a more than healthy excessive amount, I don’t want to stay there.  I recognize that I am hurting, but I also hurt people.  Moreover, even though I am finding a means to meet my needs, ultimately, I am still left lacking fulfillment.  The moment people are gone, I am lonely again.

    If codependency could be defined, it would state “a psychological condition or relationship in which a person manifesting low self-esteem and a strong desire for approval has an unhealthy attachment to another often controlling or manipulative (such as a person with an addiction to alcohol or drugs)” ( Merriam-webster.com/dictionary/codependency.  Accessed January 24, 2022.).  Now, because of lack of grammar, I can’t tell if the dictionary is stating that a codependent person is attached to a controlling or manipulative person, or they themselves are controlling or manipulative.  From experience, I can tell you it can be both.  I have been guilty of clinging onto someone that I wanted to protect me (and giving them WAY too much influence in my life), and I have meandered in ways to have friends be at my beck and call as needed.     I know I am primarily extroverted.  But my need to be with people goes beyond following normal schedules.  If I am alone, I become ancy.  Severely internally stressed.  My mind wants to know if there is a place to hang out, a dinner to share, or a Bible study to attend.  And if that is unattainable, I then become creative.  I imagine having conversations with the people in my life so I can tell them what is on my mind.  Or, I make up stories to fill my imagination with accounts of living life with a sense of my own adventure; usually finding a love that I hope to have, or being a part of something impacting for generations.  Usually a mixture of both.      I know that this is unhealthy.  I know I have used my friends.  To the point that even though I moved away, and genuinely want to check in to see how they are doing, they don’t respond.  Perhaps it is just the fact that they are busy.  But I wonder…I wonder if I was in need of them SO much that when I was no longer in proximity, they ignore my texts as to say, “We can’t do anything for you anymore.”  A sense of a wall.  It hurts to know that my friends may not trust me, because I begged for their presence more than what they could give.  Even though I am trying to change, I fear that from their perspective, I am just the same old Laura who only wants to contact someone to ask for their help.  I am guilty of caring for someone to the extent they care for me.     Worst of all, I am a Christian.  By that definition, I have a relationship with the living God.  And to know and be known by an Individual who never leaves, can and does care for my every need should be enough of a reason for me to be satisfied.  Right?  Then why isn’t it so?  I don’t think I have as deep of a relationship with Jesus as I sometimes appear.  And I wish it was deeper.  I wish I trusted God with the hidden needs of my heart.  I wish I spoke with Him as a best friend.  Though I believe Jesus died to save me from my sins, I am finding how little I gave my life to God.  More specifically, I have failed to give God the wounds I grew up with.     Because it is true that I have lived with self-esteem issues.  I have yearned to be loved unconditionally, but felt that whenever I did something wrong, I had to earn forgiveness.  I felt I never measured up.  I was often left to myself to entertain the passing time, so I stood aloof wondering if my mother cared to be a part of my life.  I wondered why I had to carry my family, spiritually.  I have known Jesus for almost 20 years but walked out my faith as an orphan.     Growing up without affirmation and physical presence did something to me.  I want people in my life.  And frankly, I want them to stay in my life.  An orphan spirit hoards.  I wonder if I hoard friends.  Never distinguishing the difference between a seasonal friend and a life-long friend; wishing that everyone could be in my life forever.  I guess I don’t do closures very well.  I’m even scared to start dating.      I want to be married someday.  But with the early 2000s’ message of making sure to find the “one” before dating, mix in my analytical-perfectionist mindset and through in my ever-present need for a human to be on stand-by, I wonder if just on the first date my mind will only go swirling into a romantic, Laura chick-flick, mess. “Who knows?  Maybe he is the one!  After all, I’ve waited so long.  It’s gotta be!!”  Could I be okay if I never got married?  Sometimes I think so.  But, man-oh-man, wouldn’t it feel good to have someone hold me every night?      Uh…Sorry about that.  My mind likes to derail into fantasies.  Ones that make me feel loved, cherished, and fitted for a specific purpose.  And yet, I know that they aren’t real.  The reality is that I seek out socialization or try to keep myself busy..  In this year of not working, I am just home.  Thankfully, I do have family to live with, but if there is no engagement, I give my mind permission to run an alternative idea for how life could be.  Even if I can admit to myself that it is only fiction.  It fills a need.     I try to go to God.  Actually, in the recent months, God has been making me admit the childhood wounds - even the ones I don’t want to share.  However, He isn’t just wanting me to admit them.  He wants me to let go of the past.  Up until now, my pervasive looking for the eternal best friend and working toward affirmation came from a place that declared victimhood.  “I wouldn’t be using people if the adults in my life had just loved me right.”  God even convicted me on the fact that while being back in Missoula, I am wondering when some of them will learn to carry me like they should have when I was a kid.      And ironically, these individuals are in need, themselves.  They cannot carry me all the time.  As long as I hold the requirement that they should make up for their mistakes, while I am growing in the Lord, I am leaving them hanging.  But God has been teaching me that He really does meet my every need.  And in that, He can be the father in such a way that my own may have failed me.  He can nurture me in a way that my mother couldn’t.  The lost child doesn’t have to get affirmation from the parents, because the needs are already taken care of.  Furthermore, I can see the humanity of my parents.  It is an odd place to find that your parents are aging.  The ones who watched over you now need you to watch over them.  And I need to be okay with that.  Holding onto past failings will only make me frustrated that they no longer can carry me at all.     Codependency is a multifaceted subject.  There can be genuine concern for the other, but if the personal needs are not satisfied, as with anyone, the individual will cleverly devise manners in which to have others meet those yearnings.  I am guilty of this.  I have called people in duress, instead of taking time to pray.  I have overstayed my welcome at peoples’ homes, because I love their company.  I have committed to counseling, just so I can have something to do and a friend to spend time with.  I have used people.     I have pushed people away.  And in their own defense for boundaries, I took to blaming them for not looking out for me.  I carried the offense to the pile of “people who forget me”.  When is it ever going to stop?  And I know that trusting God is the only answer.  Being confident in who I am as His daughter will help with the remedy.  Unfortunately, I still find coping mechanisms.  Even if I starve myself of human interaction, that mind is awfully inventive.  And I admit that I still find myself going to it when I want an adventure, feel loved, or to spend the time interactively.     This is my confession, but I don’t know if I am repentant, yet.  Probably not a good thing for a Christian to admit.  But admittance is the first step out of denial.  And stepping out of denial is the beginning of healing.  Jesus and I are scratching the surface, but we’re not done digging.  No, we are not.  The stories I run to hint at the needs I still believe have not been met.  Or, they are goals that I haven’t submitted to God in order for Him to tell me what He wants in my life.  But daily I am walking.  And daily I am leaning into my Father.  And the more I do so, I know that I won’t use people for my gain, but I will genuinely serve them for their benefit.