Unspoken

A year ago today, my world got rocked. 

No, I don't mean in the way that someone made my day or anything like that. I mean, it was rocked. It was hit by rocks, knocked off its moorings, blindsided, and so much so that for weeks, even months, I was unsure of anything anymore. 

I have thought about the experience often since then, painful as it is to do so, and all I can figure out is that I was a victim of - or more likely a participant in - a miscommunication that destroyed a promising friendship. And it all came down to expectations. UNSPOKEN expectations. 

You see, I had planned to stay a few weeks with this person while I was out of town. I was willing to pay for the cost of the groceries I would be using, and I was so grateful for their generosity in offering me a place to stay at less than I would have paid for regular accommodations. 

But, well in advance, every time I would mention or even ask what this person expected to receive, that person changed the subject.   They preferred to joke around - and I could take so much of that ... and then it became so much that I had to just make an excuse and go do something else. And this was before I even got there.

We should have talked. We should have talked about EVERYTHING. 

This person's idea of friendly banter was teasing. I hate teasing. Teasing was always malicious when I was growing up, and I grew to detest it. So when this person started doing this, laughing at me, twitting me about my height and telling me to keep up, and making fun of my Maritime expressions, it didn't feel like friendly banter to me. It felt like criticism at best and persecution at worst. 

So one evening this was happening and I started to react. And I reacted badly. And I said things that were, in fact, malicious. And this person was hurt. That was the first mistake... unspoken expectations. Not talking about what things meant to us, where the boundaries were. 

That night before bed, I apologized for losing my cool and then proceeded to explain where I had been coming from. All this person heard was someone who pretended to apologize and then justified her position. Resentment grew, unknown to me. I thought things would be better. But they weren't. They got cold. Real cold. Real quick. The teasing stopped, but it was replaced by stony silence. And I assumed that the person just needed time to recover. But that wasn't it at all. The individual had made a judgement of me and my motivations based on that person's upbringing ... and not mine.

You see, this person was brought up in a home where if you screwed up, you apologized without excuses, you took all of the blame for everything, and then you moved on, letting everyone be the way they were beforehand.  In my upbringing, nobody ever apologized that way; if there were apologies at all, they happened in the midst of people trying to understand why the other person did what they did. So to this person, my apology (which would have been accepted with open arms in my own family) was suspect, and not to be trusted.

But there was something else, too.  There were other unspoken expectations, and rather than talk about them, this person never even considered that I might come from a different perspective. It had to do with the rules surrounding house guests. In this person's home, everyone - even guests - pulled their weight, and nothing was free. The unspoken rule was that you cleaned up your own mess, you paid your way, and you did it without being asked and without expecting any thanks. To do any less was just plain rude and selfish.

Photo "Girls Looking At Each Other" by Stuart Miles.
Courtesy of www.freedigitalphotos.net

I, on the other hand, grew up in a home where, whenever anyone came to visit, they would offer to help out, and my mom would shoo them away from the kitchen and say, "No, you are guests here. You don't need to do that." If they offered money, it was, "Keep your money. Your money is no good here." So I had the unspoken expectation that hosts waited on guests hand and foot. And if a guest insisted on helping, they were profusely thanked (unlike the family members, who never received a thank you, not. even. once. ... but I digress.) If I (as their daughter) tried to do something on my own, my help was not appreciated, and I was often criticized for not doing it right. So I learned to only help when I was given explicit instructions, because to do otherwise would invite parental anger.

So, back to a year ago.  It only took a few days of staying with this person after the initial misunderstanding when things really fell apart. I was not feeling well, for various reasons, but yet the task of carrying this person's things fell to me and I was never thanked. Not. even. once.  I felt as though I was treated like a slave.  All the while, I felt hesitant to do things like wash dishes and put them away, and I was keenly aware that this was someone else's kitchen and not mine. I didn't feel free to move around, and I was kind of scared of the dishwasher - had never used one of the more modern ones, and wasn't even sure how it opened, or where to put things in it. So I stayed away.  

So of course, this person thought I was an ingrate.  

I didn't know how to pay for things; at the grocery store, they would whip out their bank card before I could even speak - and all the time, resentment built on both sides. 

Each of us felt put-upon. So when the blow-up happened, it happened BIG. 

I won't go into the gory details, but when this person finally confronted me, three days later, there was a list of things that took 20 minutes to deliver... and I was not used to confrontation. I apologized; my apology was not accepted and the person accused me of justifying my behavior because I mentioned not knowing how to help and not knowing what the rules were. I paid the person twice what they had already spent on me in groceries. I did not receive any kind of comment or even a statement that it was too much.

Unspoken expectations.

That evening and the next morning, I tried to chip in and show that I was trying to follow the rules this person had laid out, but it was too late. The cold shoulder persisted. I no longer felt welcome. I was on the verge of tears the whole time - partly because of the experience and partly from lack of sleep. Finally, when they left to do something with their family, I arranged to move out and pay strangers to live elsewhere, like I should have done in the beginning. 

The relationship never recovered.  It took a long time for me to recover from the experience. I was not used to not being believed, not used to essentially being called a lazy, selfish liar, even though those words were never used exactly. It rankled that this person could feel this way about me. And to this day, the memory of how things happened and thoughts about what I could have done differently plague me. And all I can figure out from all of it is that if we had just talked about things without judging each other - if we had just listened to each other without making assumptions - our friendship might have survived.

The Deadly Dance

She's been getting more and more frail for many months. It happened slowly, ever so slowly, like ice freezing over a pond - by inches, sometimes millimeters. Joint problems, cataracts, deafness, and the worst thing to watch - dementia.

For the last 2 to 3 years she has suffered more and more from osteoarthritis in her toes right up into her hips. Anti-inflammatories still didn't help when she went to make her way down the stairs of our deck. When the weather was bad, she'd refuse to go out and then she'd eliminate in the house. We weren't happy, but it didn't happen often, so we cleaned it up and hoped for more success the next time. 

In the winter, she started going out the door to the deck itself and doing her business there in the snow. After the snow left, though, we wondered what would happen. 

This spring, she was doing fairly well, because our daughter had injured her knee and needed to use a wheelchair, so we had a temporary ramp over the stairs. But a little over a week ago, there was no need for the ramp, so hubby disassembled it and took the bits that couldn't be re-used to the dump. Within two days the occasional "accidents" became more and more frequent to the point where she was going in the house several times a day, without even asking to go out.

This is upsetting for us especially because there had been a few falls over the years associated with wet spots on the hard surface flooring (from previous incidents with various pets), and equally because our daughter is on crutches and the wet spots pose a serious safety hazard. 

Shari - December 2012.

So, I am faced with a difficult decision, one I discussed with the vet the last time I needed to call - for a seizure she took a couple of months ago. The vet said seizures could happen more and more often.

Now this.

It may be time to take that final walk. 

I looked at her this evening, really saw her, for what might be the first time in several weeks, perhaps even months. She is not a happy dog. She sleeps most of the time, and when she moves, she moves slowly. Her coat is scraggly, she can't hear unless the noise is low, loud, and very close. She coughs - hard - after any kind of excitement or anything-more-than-sedentary activity, sometimes to the point of vomiting. The vet said this was probably due to some fatty tumors pressing in on her heart. 

We've been - I've been - dancing around this issue for far too long.

Her quality of life is slipping.

So is ours. It's not an easy decision. We'll see what happens.

Cowardice - or courage?

When I was a child, a couple of boys picked a fight with my older brother. He was unable to defend himself and got knocked around a bit. My father, man's man that he was, was disgusted that the younger of his two sons would not be able to defend himself. He expressed his displeasure in no uncertain terms, and compared the two brothers, saying that the elder brother could "handle himself."  

What should have followed was a conversation about when it is appropriate to fight back, instead of condemnation and misunderstanding. My brother interpreted his father's comments as an indication that the definition of a man was someone who could beat someone up. It marked him - unfortunately - for life. He spent the next few years learning how to fight ... and funneling all of his resentment against his father into becoming really good at breaking someone's face.

Years later, my two brothers and my father were present when someone tried to goad my oldest brother into an altercation. Instead of punching his lights out, the elder of the two brothers refused to be drawn into a fight, and walked away. The instigator also left. My dad turned to his younger son, and said, "Now THAT's a REAL man."  

What? Talk about mixed messages!!

It's regrettable that, because the conversation never happened in the first place, a teaching opportunity had been lost. My brother never recovered from those two experiences. He'd spent his entire youth building his life on something he thought my father valued, only to be told that it was wrong. 

The truth is that in a way, my dad may have been right in both instances - but he was definitely wrong in not trying to communicate the reasons for his reactions. 

It IS appropriate - sometimes - to fight. It is right and proper when there is something good, something worth defending. I'm not talking about defending one's pride or position. I'm talking about standing up for what is right, the way you stand up to a bully and call attention to his or her inappropriate behavior. I'm talking about telling the truth to someone - even if it hurts. I'm talking about battling injustice to give someone a chance at a better life.

But there are also times when it's better to walk away. Or to hang up the phone when someone is trying to provoke you into saying something you'll regret - only to use it against you. Will that person call you a coward?? You bet!! Is it still better to walk away in that situation? Most definitely, yes!! 

I've been thinking a lot about that kind of thing - cowardice versus courage - because of recent events in my personal life. 

I've spent a lot of years fighting to protect the rights and opportunities of someone I love. Sadly, she must have interpreted my bull-dog tenacity as a tacit message that the rules apply to everyone except to the person I was trying so hard to defend: her. Slowly, the person I once knew died, and was replaced with someone I barely recognize. Through the influence of some of her friends, over the course of the last few years, she has come to view me - and my husband - as people to take advantage of. To take from, always promising but never giving back. To manipulate into being given more. And MORE.

And I finally ended up in the unenviable position of fighting, struggling to

Photo "Woman With Sad Expression"
 courtesy of David Castillo Dominici at
 www.freedigitalphotos.net

defend myself and my husband from her abuse. And from the abuse of her friends, one in particular, who verbally attacked me and is actively trying to ruin my reputation and further undermine my relationship with her. With her full consent. 

She made her choice clear. 

Yes, I fought back. I wanted the person I used to know to return to me. I fought to keep her in my life. To protect her.

Until I couldn't take the mental anguish anymore. I had to walk away. 

A large part of me feels like that is cowardice - that I am giving up, that I have failed. 

Yet the glimmer of hope that I cling to is that in walking away, I can teach what I couldn't before - that no matter what the provocation, certain behaviors are simply not acceptable. Abuse is one of those behaviors. 

So I - in conjunction with my husband - hung up the phone, to use a metaphor, to keep from saying/doing something we'd all regret. 

If that makes me a coward, fine. I'm not so sure it does... but that's really not my (or anyone's) judgment to make. 

It's a painful process; in a very real way I am grieving - I've shed more tears in the last 56 hours than I have in the last year. But now that it's final, now that this person is no longer able to keep behaving in that same old pattern, maybe now the healing can begin. On both sides of the equation.

I sure hope so.

Goodbye - again.

I must have been about 11 years old the first time it happened. A schoolmate with whom I was very close at that time, left in the middle of the school year. Her mother was moving to a province very far away. 

I'd lost my grandfather at 7 years old, and that was really tough too. But losing a friend's company, knowing that they were still out there somewhere but prevented from that regular contact ... was almost worse than losing someone to the grim reaper. 

The sense of loss was incredible. I am not a person who makes friends easily, even less so when I was a child. She was my only friend. And she left. 

As I grew older, this was a pattern that repeated with various people and for various reasons. Often. So often, in fact, that I became afraid to make friends with someone new, because I absolutely KNEW that I would have to say goodbye to them; they ALWAYS left. Or they were so far away that it was just as though they were gone from my life. Keeping in touch was really difficult; I'd write and they wouldn't write back.

Loneliness was a frequent companion. Grief too.

Abandonment. Whether intentional or not, whether permanent or not, it hurts. 

A few years ago, a family moved to our province and started attending our church. And I tried not to like them. I really did. I knew - given the nature of the work that brought them here - that they would eventually leave.

However ... I couldn't help myself. Their dedication to being real in their faith, and their love of worship were akin to ours; their positive attitudes were something I wanted to emulate. I found myself wanting to be with them, watching them interact with each other, and cheering them on in their successes and their vision for the ministry of which they and we were a part. I grew to love them - to consider them friends.

Girl Looking Unhappy
Image courtesy of Stuart Miles (royalty-free
under certain restrictions) at
freedigitalphotos.net

And now ... all too soon, the time has come to let go - again - and say goodbye.  The job that brought them here ... naturally ... is leading them away from here.

When I first heard, a little over 24 hours ago, that this was going to happen, I felt as though someone had kicked me in the gut... that overwhelmed, breathless feeling of betrayal that quickly leads to nausea. Then it migrated into a profound sadness that stays even in the midst of laughter over other things. It's like this deep and guilty wound, scabbed over on the outside, but never quite healed on the inside, that someone punches (hard) every time a loved one leaves, either through death or distance. 

Guilty, because I am fighting the thought that I "should" be happy for my friends - and all I can think of is how much I will miss them, how things won't be the same without them. Selfish? yes. 

But it's allowed. I'm allowed to feel this way because that's how I feel. Simple as that. The fact that I have learned to feel what I feel and let it happen instead of stuffing it down inside, helps me to heal a little more than I would have if I'd lived (once more, like so many other times) in denial. 

The reality is, I really AM going to miss these wonderful people. It would be easier if I could even be angry at them - dismiss them. I can't. I need to work through the stages of the grief I know is normal and natural for me to experience. 

It's okay. It's hard - very hard - but it's okay. 

I guess I'll just have to make the best of the time that's left to us.

Doors and Windows

There's a well-known saying that whenever God closes a door, He opens a window.

A few years ago, my husband and I weren't sleeping very well; we'd go to bed tired and wake up tired, and the whole cycle would get worse and worse until we would "crash" and have what Jim Davis (the cartoonist) called a "nap attack."  After doing some thinking, we figured out that the reason we weren't sleeping well was because the cats would come into the room at 3 in the morning (or some other such unholy hour) and demand attention. Our Internet search showed us that closing the bedroom door would help us get the sleep we needed, once the animals figured out that we weren't coming to open the door. 

It worked, but quite frequently we awoke with headaches from sleeping in a room with less and less oxygen in it throughout the night; putting a fan only circulated the "bad air."

So we opened our bedroom window. It was literally a breath of fresh air. And ... problem solved.

There've been quite a few doors and windows in my life lately. One of them has been the closure of the first ever Codependents Anonymous group in our province, for which I was the contact person for a year and a half. Through that group, God opened a window for fellowship with a dear friend with whom I had virtually lost touch. Once we re-established contact, He just let the group - such as it was (with an attendance of no more than six people and usually only two) - die a natural death. I believe it served its purpose, and its passing doesn't prevent another group from starting up, as soon as there are enough people to make a serious go of it. 

It was actually a relief to let that go, because I'd been feeling so responsible for keeping it going, frustrated that it wasn't going anywhere, and burnt out from all the energy I was pouring into it with no results. 

It dawned on me - finally, through the help of that same friend - that I was being codependent about Codependents Anonymous! Once I released my hold on the group and "stepped back," I could enjoy freedom from stress and an extra two nights a month of freedom in which to do whatever was needed: from napping, to putting in an extra hour at work, to visiting with friends. 

An open window can also let in some
fresh air - picture source

Another door/window combination has been the loss of ties with my birth family. I'll not bore you with the gory details, but let's just say that it became necessary for me to make a clean break. 

For a while, there was a gaping hole in me, with very raw edges - feelings of hurt and betrayal mostly - but as I shared my vulnerability with a couple of people I trusted, I found a whole network of these individuals who were supportive, understanding, and encouraging. Friends, I think they're called. Friends to me ... of all people. Who knew? They helped give me the strength to let go of the past and to move on with my life.

Sometimes, when God starts closing a door for my own good, I fight tooth and nail to keep it open ... such as in the case of our family finances. With my husband in retirement, our family income took a major hit in the fall of 2009, and our personal line of credit began to grow larger and larger. I tried to stay ahead of it, but it grew faster than I could pay, and it became a monster. There just wasn't enough month left over at the end of the money: major expenses like college for one child, and dental expenses for another (ones which weren't covered by insurance!) all conspired against me.  I keenly felt the weight of responsibility; for the first time in my life, I was the primary bread-winner! I was spending a tremendous amount per month - more than some people make in a month - on paying the debt from the line of credit, the credit cards, and the car loan. We were desperately casting around for ways to save on expenses and to make extra money, even to the point of my husband considering rejoining the work force; nothing I tried to do worked. Everything backfired or fizzled.

My account manager at my bank saw this happening when she did my annual financial checkup (gotta love programs like that!) and she pointed to the line of credit as the chief culprit. It had become a crutch for our family, and she helped me see that this door needed to close; having it open - having that safety net there - only served to overwhelm me because it was too easy to fall back on it. She suggested a drastic move: closing the line of credit, and restructuring the debt into something that was manageable, shutting down the credit cards that were costing me more money and limiting our credit limit on the cards we agreed were just for emergencies. Over a series of about four meetings, we were able to do just that, and reduce my monthly debt payments by two thirds. The debt payment reduction was the hidden window in that slammed-shut door. That oppressive heavy feeling in the air was gone, and I found that I could breathe freely again.

Suddenly I realized that my efforts to "make extra money" had been just the frantic flailings of someone who was drowning - and panicking. She threw a life-raft out to me, pulled me to shore, and as sure as the door closed on our unmanageable situation, I felt the cool breeze of that opened window ... ever so faintly.

Even now I can feel the remnants of that last closing door. All my desperate efforts to make money, to start my own business, have resulted in nothing. I've come to realize that people in the local area don't need proofreading services in the traditional sense anymore. They can get a software program to do it for them, so why pay someone? As this realization dawned on me, it was hard to 'unhook' from my beautifully laid out "Plan A" and admit defeat - but it seemed the only viable course of action. As I'm letting go of that, as that door is closing, I see another window opening on the horizon. 

However, I think I'll keep that one a secret. For now.

A Bigger Picture

The last few months, I've been focusing on working out my response to some burning and long-standing boundary issues with my birth family. Basically the Cole's Notes version is that (1) I have boundaries now, and that I need to look after myself, and (2) they - well - they don't get that.  

I've been trying very hard to figure out what is the right thing to do, praying about it, talking it over with people I trust.

It all boils down to this.  What I've really been trying to do is the same old thing: trying to get these people to think better of me.  It is difficult for me to accept that the people who are supposed to be my safe haven - just aren't.  How sad is that? not only for me, but for them?

About two weeks ago, I got a relatively long letter ready to send to one family member in particular, explaining my reasons for pulling away and setting a boundary based on her behaviour.  But I didn't send it.  As loving a tone as I tried to set for what I thought I had to say - deep inside I knew that what I had to say would hurt this person, because she doesn't understand in the least and would take anything I said as a personal attack.  I know this because that is what has been done so many times in the past by this permanent citizen of the continent of Victim-land. (I know the terrain well; I used to live there, right by the river of Denial next to the over-inhabited city of Martyrdom.  It's a sad, pitiful place.) 

I just shredded the letter this morning. 

Found this photo at THIS SITE

Last week, on a totally unrelated matter, I sent a second letter to someone else - in response to an inner prompting that didn't have anything to do with me.  It was only a couple of paragraphs, and it was to someone I care for very much - who is NOT a family member.  As it happened, (and as God usually does) the letter arrived just at the right time, and met an emotional need that went beyond anything I could have imagined.  The timing was ... well, it was perfect.  And God worked it out perfectly.  I was humbled - awed - by it all and I still am. 

As I pondered this morning about those two letters, the differences between my motivations for writing them came crashing through.  The second had nothing to do with myself but only with the person to whom I sent it, and only to build up and encourage. 

The first, on the other hand, had more to do with justifying my choices and my feelings to someone who could no more understand them - than a person completely blind from birth could understand the colour red.  Different universe. As Someone wise said once, "[Don't] cast your pearls before swine, lest they turn on you ... and tear you apart ..."  Basically that means that if someone couldn't possibly understand - don't give them ammunition to use against you. Because they will.

Point taken.  :s

Comparing the two letters, I realized that I felt about each of the intended recipients in opposite ways, too.  The first was written to someone with whom I have never felt and still do not feel emotionally safe, nor do I trust that person around my children or my husband.  She would find a way to end up making me look like the villain, a classic case of projection (attributing to another person one's own motives and character while hiding those very things from oneself).  

If I can't trust her with my own loved ones, what makes me think I can trust her with words on paper conveying my innermost thoughts? No, as difficult as it is for me to refrain from self-justification, I must.

The second letter recipient, though, has been a friend through a lot of ups and downs - and has been a safe place to land and be myself when I needed to be loved and not judged.

She is a kindred spirit.  A sheltered harbour.  A welcoming soul.  

When I prayed for clarification as to my motivations and whether to send that first letter (to the unsafe person), I was shown - given a bigger picture from higher up - how I don't need to chase after the approval of someone who will never approve of me.  

And conversely, I don't need to keep asking for approval from someone who already loves me anyway (wouldn't it be insulting after a while if your spouse or your child came to you every single day and asked if you approved of him or her?) I can accept that I am already accepted. I don't have to prove anything. 

As a people-pleaser in my natural state, I would normally be blind to that sort of thing.  It's not something I would have seen on my own. So I am grateful for this epiphany.  Even though it might not seem like a big deal to someone else, it's a lesson I never learned in active codependency, and I am thankful. It's simply this, in a nutshell: seeking approval from anyone but God only leads to heartache in one way or another - for me, or for the person from whom I am seeking approval.  Or both. 

And in the final analysis, God's opinion is the only one that matters anyway.

What a relief!!

Fostering Function - not Dysfunction

The reason I so often hear "crickets" (figuratively speaking) when I share something I've been learning is because not everyone is in the same place...and I get that.  But it dawned on me this morning that it could also be because our society has for generations misinterpreted the Judeo-Christian message and morphed it into some sort of masochistic self-punishment monster that it was never meant to be.  

There's a sign on a church bulletin board outside the building, probably in front of hundreds of churches across North America at one time or another, that says, "Humility is not thinking less of yourself; it's thinking of yourself less."  But most people think that it IS right to think less of themselves - yes, even godly to do so!!  So they subscribe to "put the other person first" dogma but the underlying belief is "put the other person first at the expense of yourself" - which leads to burnout and resentment. I hardly think that this is what Jesus referred to when He said that one of the two greatest commandments ever given was, "Love your neighbor AS yourself."  (emphasis mine).

So people get all caught up in trying to outdo each other in social situations - oh you know, Johnnie and Sue invited us over to their house a week ago Sunday and they had lasagna and garlic bread - boy was it delicious!  We have to do at least as well.  So!  We're going to invite them over this week and have a BBQ with three kinds of salad, two different types of sausages, steak and chicken, and walking nachos, and cheesecake for dessert! Then Johnnie and Sue feel obligated to at least match the spread - and it turns into a thinly veiled game/war of one-up-man-ship. 

Or people stay in abusive relationships because they think that by being nice and taking care of the abuser, he/ she might change.  And by abuse I don't mean physical necessarily.  I've been in relationships when the person just "uses" me - picks my brain and only has anything to do with me when they want to pick my area of expertise clean.  Or they explode and use me to vent their feelings toward someone else, thus involving me in their "stuff" over and over and over again - or they ask me to do favors for them and after awhile, come to expect them. Or they think they have the right to tell me how to live my life, raise my kids, or treat my husband - and use that "right" at every opportunity in order to try to control MY outcome. Or they call themselves my friends ... and appear to take every opportunity to exclude me from their circle.  These things have happened over and over again for as far back as I can remember. 

I know from experience that people who use people will keep on using people.  Even if you DO tell them what they're doing and that it's hurtful. So I've learned - as painful as that process is EVERY TIME - to walk away (either literally or emotionally) from people who consistently use me.  Even if there ARE good times, good memories. Even if the person IS a member of my family.  Ouch - that one hurts especially, because it usually comes with the sting of disappointment, betrayal and shame.  And not entered into lightly, I can tell you.  

But the "Christian" thing to do, the "nice" thing to do is to let that person (whoever he or she is, whatever the relationship) walk all over me, apparently.  To suffer in silence, to never say anything.  Hm.  I somehow don't think that it is.  Yet ... it is fostered in the church - in western society - and sweeping statements like "family is everything" and "church is family" have swept a multitude of inappropriate behaviors under the carpet and allowed them to be tolerated and glossed over far too long.  I held the broom for decades - the rose colored glasses were firmly fixed, the bows welded to my temples.  I was in deep denial.  "They only lied to me because they care about my feelings." (Denial.)  "They're just busy.  A LOT." (Denial.) "Oh, he / she is just like that. They didn't mean anything by it." (Denial.)  "Maybe if I was even nicer to them they'd like me and spend time with me." (Denial.)  "It's wrong for me to be angry and hurt by what so-and-so said / did / didn't say / didn't do.  There must be something wrong with my relationship with God." (Denial.)  

It all fosters dysfunction in relationships - condoned by our society to the Nth degree in the name of "being nice".  

What I had to learn to do was to get comfortable in my own skin - to develop a relationship not only with God FOR ME (not primarily to be a passer-on of prayer requests of other people, but to actually get to KNOW Him), and to develop a relationship with ME - to get to know me (which was really difficult at first because I was such a chameleon to please other people that I didn't know who the real me WAS!), to like myself, and to look after myself.  I was running on empty and didn't know that it was okay to care for myself.  As a matter of fact, I discovered that it was actually biblical to care for myself first (reference the word "AS" in Jesus' command, above, plus Eph. 5:28, 29 - emphasis on nourish, cherish!!) so that I had enough resources to be able to help others and not get burnt out!  

I'm still learning that.  Every situation that tempts me into trying to control the outcome, or to be a caretaker when I don't need to be, or to let people use me as a doormat, is one more learning experience.  And I do it wrong sometimes.  Sometimes I still go back to old patterns of thinking and it always ends up with me messing up the situation and making it worse. But it happens less often than it used to (which was almost all the time...) and because it happens less often, I don't normally let resentment build up and then blow up at people for the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.  That was a regular occurrence as little as four years ago.  God truly has worked a miracle in my life.  

I don't know how to get society or to get church people or other social groups to stop fostering the dysfunction that was so much a part of my life - until it wasn't.  I don't even know if it's my place to try to change that.  Probably it isn't.  I can't do anything to change it.  It's just something I keep noticing on a regular basis.  The only actions I can take responsibility for are my own.  Not my kids', not my husband's, not anyone else's.  Just mine!! (I can't begin to tell you how amazingly freeing that is!)   But what I CAN do is:  I can choose to behave in a non-dysfunctional way in my own life, to like me, to look after me, to live in a close relationship with God, and to help people (not to control them or to create a dependency on me but out of a place of compassion).  It's the main reason I wrote my book, and it's one of the reasons I (in spite of my private nature) keep sharing and putting myself out there in this blog (and others).  And although feedback is nice, I remind myself frequently that it's not the main reason I do this.  I'm just working at being real - and blogging about it helps me shed more and more of my own mummy-wrappings.  

Hopefully ... along the way, I will foster FUNCTION - if only by example.

The imaginary family

Grief comes in stages and waves.  Everyone goes through it in their own way.  And you can grieve a loss even if the person hasn't died ... or left you.  And it doesn't even have to be a person.  

I once had an imaginary family.  It was one I created - in my childhood - a coping mechanism to escape from the unpleasant realities of growing up in an abusive atmosphere.  I deluded myself into believing that I grew up in a Christian home, that I was fortunate, that my abuser really did love me, that I deserved the beatings and the constant criticism and that really, it was a happy, closely-knit family.  

Like I said...imaginary.  

The first wave of grief happened almost ten years ago.  Details don't matter - it was just my wake-up call to the fact that the family I had created never existed. With that realization - came a short period of denial (not long because the truth was undeniable) ... and then shock.  I went into an emotional tailspin.  I reverted back to the mentality I had when I was fifteen - and what I was then wasn't ... uh, shall we say ... appropriate.  I scared myself with my own behavior.  Afraid I might lose my ministry, I sought counseling - but got one of those "cookie-cutter" people who are more interested in statistics, pressing charges, and following the social worker manual than in listening to what I needed.  I told the counselor in my first session: "I don't want justice.  I want to be free."  I finished my minimum mandatory EAP sessions with that person and left, never to return.

Then the anger hit: white-hot rage. I cut off all ties with my family of origin, couldn't even talk on the phone with them without spitting nails.  For a good eight months I was livid as I started to review memory after memory.  The outrage was incredible.  Fortunately, I discovered the ministry of Joyce Meyer - and was able to work through about half of the rage and come to a place where I was willing to forgive.  At that point I was able to know a little peace.  My life started to make sense again, away from that family, whom I finally saw without the rose-colored glasses of denial.  But not quite enough grace to forgive.  Not yet. 

That was 2004.  In November of 2004 there was a crisis in the extended family that thrust me back into contact with them again.  I reverted within six months to feeling oppressed, criticized, abused all over again.  I gave up hope that it would ever get better.  Somehow, I was holding on to the idea that if I was just good enough, brave enough, honest enough, strong enough - they would see what they had done to me and change.  I was wrong.  

Four years later, on another front, I was ready to ask for help.  And I got it!!  This time, I got an amazing counselor and started to heal from the inside out.  It took about six months to a year in some areas - but there was progress.  I was able to come to a place of forgiveness.  I was even able to feel some compassion for my chief abuser.  Which, by the way, in NO WAY makes the abuse "all right."  Forgiveness isn't like that. (And that in itself was a revelation to me.)

For the first time in my life, I actually experienced acceptance from a whole community of people ... and happiness within me.  And freedom from the burden of holding on to so many of the negative messages I was raised with, lies I believed about myself, mind-sets I was indoctrinated with.  It was HUGE.  I was ... amazed.  It was so freeing, so many lights came on that I felt compelled to write a book about the process.  And I did!  my e-book was published on Smashwords on September 25, 2011. I named this blog after it. 

And I thought - silly me - that my family of origin would be happy for me.  

One person was.  I will give that person that much.  The rest - as I have come to find out because they discussed this behind my back - judged me and condemned me for telling the story of my journey - from December 2008 onward to my entering the world of recovery from the chains of the past. In doing so, I happened to mention once or twice in the book, that I had been abused as a child. This was the bone of contention for my family of origin. When given the chance, they said nothing to my face, so I assumed they were okay with me publishing! But I had forgotten what their natural way of dealing with things was: nicey-nice to my face and venomous behind my back. Some even accused me of lying, of making it all up.  Not directly - to be sure (because that's all part of the dysfunction) - but I did find out about it.  The feeling of being unaccepted, of being (how shall I put it best?) crucified by my own mother and extended family - was almost as unbearable as the first.  The main way to describe this feeling is "betrayal" followed by "frustration (also known as, "If they'd only ____") - and most recently, "profound sadness."

This second major wave of grief hit right after Christmas 2011, during a visit that opened my eyes to truths I didn't want to face - as dedicated to truth as I have been, there were some things I was both shocked and disappointed to learn.  I could call this wave of grief a lot of things but I think I can best sum it up by calling it "The goodbye wave."  

There is something so final about that word. Goodbye.  I read a poster once that said, "The only thing that's harder than letting go is moving on." That was the crossroads I have been facing the last few months.

I really had to finally accept that these people bore no resemblance to my fantasy / imaginary family - that my self-created idyllic group of people never existed and that these people ... the real people who would have ruined my life if God hadn't stepped in and rescued me ... would NEVER change, showed no desire to change, even insisted (and still do) that they did nothing wrong.  I knew that if I stayed around them, they would destroy what little bit of healing I had been able to enjoy, and that it was unhealthy for me to continue to expose myself to their extreme dysfunction.  My recovery from those chains took me too long and it was too hard a journey to have it stolen from me, eroded away foot by foot until there was nothing left.  

I'm still in the middle of that wave, riding it hard through all the stages of grief all over again.  It's difficult.  But I'll live through it ... and with better tools to be able to handle it.  And in the end, I'll be healthier for it.

Normal - NOT!

"As long as we believe that someone else has the power to make us happy then we are setting ourselves up to be victims"- Robert Burney  

I grew up thinking that my relationships, my upbringing, my siblings, my parents, my relatives... were just like everyone else - or rather, that everyone was like us. That everyone's parents acted like mine did.  That everyone got "wailed."   That everyone went to bed scared to death that they wouldn't wake up in the morning.  That it was all normal. 

It wasn't normal at all.  It was extremely dysfunctional, in fact - so much so that it took a year of therapy for me to even begin to be free of it... and the insidious lies I was told and shown while I was growing up still resurface and need to be put to death with truth. 

I encounter this all the time.  Usually it's from those in my family or my old circle of friends, most of whom are still living in dysfunction.  I heard it again tonight.  I'd told someone that I could not be around them anymore if they were going to be pushy.  And the answer eventually came back... "Everyone's bossy in one way or the other."  

Hm.  

Well, that doesn't sound like an apology; that sounds like an excuse to keep trying to run people's lives and then judge them for resenting it.  It's a red flag to me - perhaps because I used to be all about fixing other people's problems - that some people have this incredible need to be bound up in someone else's life and bully them into doing what they want them to do, justify it in the name of "fun" and then judge those who don't want to toe their line.  They think that by saying that everyone does it, that it makes it acceptable, that it makes it normal.  

The truth is - it's not normal.  By normal I mean healthy; but then again, perhaps it's not normal to think of normal as being healthy  ;)  Oh well - then I will use the word healthy. 

Healthy people don't need to be needed or to be in charge in order to feel happy or worthy or useful.  They don't look down on anybody or put anybody up on a pedestal.  They know what they want and need, and are able to say that in a way that is respectful of others while still holding their ground and looking after themselves.  

And I've noticed something as I go along in my healing process.  Unhealthy people, dysfunctional people, tend to blame the healthy person for setting boundaries.  They call it "holding on to things" (actually, we're letting go of what is not healthy for us) or "being too sensitive." (In reality we're looking after ourselves for the first time and they're just uncomfortable with it.) I'm sure there are other labels.  The bottom line is that they do not want to see or admit to their own dysfunction - and FORGET about changing!

My role in all of this, as a person who's becoming normal (as if one can EVER become fully normal...) is to resist the temptation to justify myself, to just focus on my own recovery ... even if it means receiving and using The Gift of Goodbye.  (click on the bolded link to read my post from last fall...) and not try to fix their problems for them.  

It's not my place to do that.  It's theirs.

The Gift of Goodbye

I ran into a couple tonight at a diner, and they asked me if I ever heard from a certain person.

A year ago I would not have known how to handle such a question but tonight I just shook my head and cheerfully said, "Nope!"  To which the fellow said, "Us neither."  And he laughed.

What he didn't know, and what was none of his business, was that although for many years I considered the person he mentioned a friend, in reality, friendship was not what we had. I ended it over a year and a half ago.  

What we had was a codependent relationship (that is, two codependent people feeding off each other), and when I realized how that person's intimidating version of control and my manipulating and victim version of control were not good for me, and ended in me always getting abused over and over again and saying nothing until I exploded - and there was an apology - and the whole thing would start over again, that's when the relationship ended, this time for good.  While I was in it, I was just like Charlie Brown... believing Lucy every time when she assures him she won't pull the football out when he tries to kick it.  He falls (literally) for it every time.  She HAS to control.  He's COMPELLED to believe that she doesn't mean to hurt him.  And so it goes.  Or so it went for me with this person - for over thirty years.  

I'm not saying that it was easy.  It wasn't.  I had spent more than half my life thinking this person was my friend. I had to grieve.  Slowly I realized that it was for the best, that this was one more hindrance to my relationship with God, myself, and others... which was now removed from me.

I've said it before; real friends treat each other with the respect they wouldn't get from their families.  They are God's way of compensating you for the people in your life that have systematically hurt you. 

I read something once by a preacher by the name of Bishop T. D. Jakes.  It really touched a chord with me, even before this all happened.   I find myself thinking about it tonight, since I started thinking about this person.  I don't bear him/her any grudge, do not wish evil upon him/her.  I just can't be around him/her anymore and still stay true to the real me.  The people in 12-step programs of recovery from such relationships would call this process I'm talking about "detachment."  Sometimes people can detach without ending a relationship; sometimes they can't.  In this instance I couldn't.  Anyway, here is the quote:

There are people who can walk away from you.

And hear me when I tell you this! When people can walk away from you: let them walk.

I don't want you to try to talk another person into staying with you, loving you, calling you, caring about you, coming to see you, staying attached to you. I mean hang up the phone.

When people can walk away from you let them walk. Your destiny is never tied to anybody that left.

People leave you because they are not joined to you. And if they are not joined to you, you can't make them stay.

LET THEM GO!

And it doesn't mean that they are a bad person; it just means that their part in the story is over. And you've got to know when people's part in your story is over so that you don't keep trying to raise the dead.

You've got to know when it's dead.

You've got to know when it's over. Let me tell you something. I've got the gift of goodbye. It's the tenth spiritual gift, I believe in goodbye. It's not that I'm hateful, it's that I'm faithful, and I know whatever God means for me to have He'll give it to me. And if it takes too much sweat I don't need it. Stop begging people to stay.

LET THEM GO!

If you are holding on to something that doesn't belong to you and was never intended for your life, then you need to...

LET THEM GO!

If you are holding on to past hurts and pains...

LET THEM GO!

If someone can't treat you right, love you back, and see your worth...

LET THEM GO!

If someone has angered you...

LET THEM GO!

If you are holding on to some thoughts of evil and revenge...

LET THEM GO!

If you are involved in a wrong relationship or addiction...

LET THEM GO!

If you are holding on to a job that no longer meets your needs or talents...

LET THEM GO!

If you have a bad attitude...

LET THEM GO!

If you keep judging others to make yourself feel better...

LET THEM GO!

If you are struggling with the healing of a broken relationship.......

LET THEM GO!

If you keep trying to help someone who won't even try to help themselves...

LET THEM GO!

If you're feeling depressed and stressed...

LET THEM GO!

Get Right  or Get Left, think about it, and then...

LET THEM GO!

What a gift to be able to say goodbye without holding any ill will.  Much of what is fostered in organized religion is an "in-your-face" and "up-your-nose" kind of relationship where your brothers and sisters have to know everything about you, and be involved in every last detail of your life, express their opinions on everything you do, say, think. Whether it's about them or not.  If respect is consistently non-existent, if there is a pattern of abuse there, and if there is no indication that it will ever change, it may be time to say goodbye.