You will get other people through it: a codependent's journey out of an unhealthy relationship

I was on my face on the floor in a small apartment, scared out of my mind. After more than 20 years I had walked out of a rollercoaster marriage, with three children, no job, and no education.

You might think I was nuts. I would probably even have agreed with that assertion at the time. I had traded in a glorious mansion in a high end neighborhood and a long marriage with a lot of financial security, for this  two-bedroom apartment and an unknown future as a single mom. But it wasn’t about things; I was giving up life as I had known it until that moment, including my adult identity, in exchange for the life I somehow knew I was meant to live. That’s the polite way to say it. What it really means is; my world was on fire and my pants were soaked in gasoline. Only figuratively speaking though, so I had that going for me.

This was the time in my life that I often referred to as “the darkness.” Kind of ironic that I named the leaving an unhealthy situation as “dark,” but still could seem to effectively string two words together to communicate what it was like to live with abuse. I felt like an emotional deaf mute when it came to many of the events leading up to my sudden departure. My then-husband had not seemed to share the inability to advocate for himself, even when naming me as the culprit to things he himself was responsible for. Naively, I had thought that all lies would be exposed by the court ,and that anyone with ears and eyes would be just as appalled at the misinformation  as myself- and simply dismiss it. I was wrong. Man, was I wrong. 

How many people do you know who have divorce papers from a court that say one of the parties is living a hedonistic lifestyle? Now you can add one to that unlikely-to even-exist number. It’s kinda laughable in retrospect, but it really hurt at the time. Feeling like the courts literally siding with my tormentor, I was emotionally re-living the trauma of the lapsing, painful marriage. I had far from led such a stereotyped lifestyle, my biggest reason for staying in that marriage so long was that I thought it was a sin to leave my husband. I had been devoted to my faith and it took more than twenty years to take this bold step to freedom. I had been lulled to comfort during the legal process that my fear of being labeled with the scarlet letter by the courts was a silly fear. The courts, I had been told, didn’t care about my moral standings, which were only in question by my soon to be ex-husband. The divorce papers felt like a sucker punch sinking into my gut and my heart.

Through the years I had looked through my fingers while my husband had broken vow after vow, until the last one I was holding on to was “well, at least he ain’t cheating on me.” Also wrong. My girlfriends throughout the years would ask “Why the hell do you stay with that guy?” I would push back with “Look, he might be a jerk, but he’s my jerk, and at least he is not cheating on me.” That often shut the querent up, and I’d wonder if maybe they weren’t as lucky as me and they had a nice man, but he was sleeping around, as if that’s not the epitome of an oxymoron. So imagine how sheepish I felt when I learned that not-nice guys cheat on nice wives? The strong woman in me had boldly declared I would not stand by a cheating man, that is where I drew the line, and that was the hill I would die on. I really meant it. After his confession to his affairs I cried every day, pretty much round the clock, for two months, mourning the death of the marriage I had deceived myself to think I had until one day I broke the news: I gave him just oooooone more chance to prove he could become the man that I deserved. 

It took me more than two more years before I had the guts to leave. It was not pretty. I cannot even claim style points. The whole thing actually seems like an out of body experience. But I will never forget the moment it happened, May 12, 2012- Mother’s Day. He woke me up around 2am, turned on all the lights hanging over me like he would pop me one any moment. “It is me or volunteering at the kids’ school district,” he screamed. “You are losing your husband because you are too busy volunteering at the kids’ schools! Pick one!”

“The kids’ schools,” I heard myself say clearly and calmly. I repeated myself again as if neither of us had heard it the first time: “The kids’ schools. Get out.”

I have no idea where that ballsiness and calm came from. But I do know this is when I picked up casual cursing. And it still feels pretty good.

I was clueless as to how to move ahead, but had made one promise to the little shivering girl inside me- I am not a damn statistic.  As someone who had been numbingly accustomed to living with trauma, I knew that statistically I was likely to run into the arms of the next abuser and continue living out my part as codependent in the cycle of violence. I told myself that I sure as hell was not going through all this pain to do that, that I was different than those women, and I would be stronger. So with all my might and determination to not continue to be victimized-  I ran straight into the arms of the next clinical narcissist who laid two eyes on me.

Back to the floor of that apartment and “the darkness,” for a moment. The pain. The helplessness. The fear. That’s where I started meeting this stranger, called me. Slowly, like a turtle peeking its head out, I began to pick up the chards of what I thought to be broken and start piecing back a completely different puzzle. It began with looking at myself from a different view, the view of the creator of the Universe that I thought was judging me. He wasn’t. What a freak! If I could open my mouth I’d rattle off a million reasons I wasn’t measuring up, but His response to me was the same, love. I decided maybe speaking aloud wasn’t necessary and He would hear me without, I mean after all, He is God! What did I have to lose.

You know that little Morgan Freeman inside you that you hear narrating your life? Only my inner voice sounded more like an insecure whimper at the time. I was starting to have a new conversation with God, fumbling through awkward icebreakers. I wanted to ask “Why me?” But that sounded so self important. Like I said, these are the things they write statistics about, so this kinda crap happens to a lot more people than just me. If I went to the Big Man and asked why me, why wouldn’t the question just as well be “Why not me?” I mean, why would I think that I am so special this kind of stuff only happens to others. The question felt like I would have elevated myself above others, and then maybe it should be me to bring me down a notch or two. Trust me, I did not feel above anyone at the time. I also wanted to ask God why? Why am I going through this pain? But that seemed blasphemous. God has no reason to explain to me why He is doing certain things. If it were in my interest not to know the reason, God would keep it zipped. So instead I asked “God, if there is one person out there who my journey right now helps in the future, will you please, please show me? That way, I will know the pain had purpose.” I knew it would be months, years, maybe even a lifetime before I got the answer. But I knew in my soul the answer would one day come. As you can imagine, this is a little ghost of the past that visits me from time to time. Sometimes it is when I am speaking to a friend, other times it is when reflecting on life lessons, while deep diving into the spiritual realm. You see, God and I remained tight through all that. We didn’t do the dirty breakup of blaming God or banishing Him into non-existence, that isn’t uncommon when going through “the darkness.” And maybe I was even so codependent I glommed on to God to get me through when no one else was there to do so. If that’s a fact, then it’s the best codependent Jedi Trick I’ve ever pulled and I am so thankful that I clingy-girlfriended God and not another unstable boyfriend. In return, God has taken me on this wild ride through the Universe, showing me what is possible under the limitations I had put on myself- and God himself. We are kinda on our 40 year journey in the desert, minus sack cloth, and eating crickets- because one of us is pescatarian. 

Here is a significant, mind-blowing, life-altering discovery: toss the label gun.

That whole thing of the world labels you codependent, or empath, or whatever the parameter du jour, isn’t good or bad. It doesn’t necessarily mean you are not independent on your own. You are likely an amazing nurturer of others, splendid at protecting loved ones and strangers alike, abundantly generous, and want to heal others- aka a pretty good person. Just like anything else in the world, those choices can have a shadow side. Once we are aware of that we can use our kindness superpower to change the world around us. Out of all individual archetypes, those of us with these traits feel tremendous healing for our own souls knowing that someone out there will know they are not alone when learning of our rough journeys through a world that isn’t always kind back. In that, there is significant purpose.

Okay, I don’t mean to imply that it’s easy. I am just saying your journey, like mine, likely don’t end on that apartment floor, or in that next whacky romantic relationship. I am working on myself every day. My life is entirely different now. It is interesting, because one of my favorite qualities about myself are those listed above that some people might mistake for weakness. I protect that part of myself, and my magic rose-colored glasses that see the good and the potential in other people. If I had surrendered these traits along the way, to replace them with bitterness or harshness, I would have felt the darkness had won and consumed the very essence of who I am. Besides, I tried it on and I don’t look that good in doom. After all, I am human and it is impossible to walk the path of the light without tripping on the cobblestone from time to time.

From time to time I have the blessing to help others who are clawing themselves out of dark situations. They ask “How did you do it?” and “What am I doing wrong- this is happening over and over to me?” Now, I am not here to tell you what you do right or wrong. I am not your judge. Let’s just say there are probably way more subjective interpretations of right and wrong to the universe than what most of us give consideration, and which of those interpretations are right or wrong? See how that can become a circular discussion. Let’s just say that your decisions haven’t been right or wrong- they just were. Period.

I often speak to God. God, Universe, I use the terms interchangeably. And God speaks to me. He likes to chat through my dreams, intuition, or overwhelming waves of emotions. I keep reminding him I’d prefer a text, or perhaps an email, as communication would be so much easier if I didn’t have to also interpret the messages which are often cryptic to the 3D mind. Also, it is a little creepy when you get messages about people you barely know, who you have no idea if they share your views of the Universe- or assume you're a lunatic for giving them a cryptic message from the Divine.

One of those messages has been intended for me for quite some time, I’ve just been dodging it. You see, God is making good on a promise he made to a sobbing woman on the floor of a small, dark apartment, that her journey will one day help other people. But for God to show up big in her life like that, she has to show herself to the world. Not just a little, but all of what she is, including the darkness, the light, and her best kept, secret friend- the Universe.

That is the reason this blog is shifting from all the other things I do, to all the things very close and personal to my truth. It is freaking scary, like those dreams about showing up at school in your underwear (dear God, please tell me I am not the only one who has those dreams!), although this time I am not baring my skin- but my naked soul.

Here goes nothing.