Tenacious Tanya: Co-Dependent Recovery - Part One

Hi. I am Tanya and I'm co-dependent.

What does that mean?  Well, I have come to understand codependence as the development of character defects as the result of long-time exposure to and relationship with abuse, neglect, and abandonment.  At least, that's what is at the core of my codependence.

​As I approached my 38th birthday, I felt as though my life was falling apart because I couldn't figure out what was happening to my relationship with the love of my life or how to get back to feeling joy and happiness again. I was convinced that the answer was just right under my nose and as soon as I figured it out, we would be good, and I would be happy, again. Because I could fix this. I mean, I'm "Tenacious Tanya", after all. But, I was clambering in every way possible, until on the evening of my birthday, the argument of arguments between us resulted in the hardest rock bottom I ever could have imagined.

In what I've mentally dubbed his "three hour raging tirade", this man I loved so very much threw insults and cuss words at me. Angry in a way I've never seen before, he pointed out that it was my controlling, need to know everything, and petty ways that left me with a string a failed relationships. It was as if every story, every hurt, every vulnerability I'd shared with him over the last three years was converted into a bullet and on my birthday, he shot every shot there was. Into my heart. Into my mind. Into my spirit. I sat there, terrified, heart pounding, unsure of what I should expect next, as he stormed through my house in the wee hours of the morning, slamming doors and packing his belongings, stomping up and down the steps, and insisting that only a pussy would want to marry me. But, he wanted to marry me. Actually, he was going to propose to me. But, "I just won't let anybody love me." Refusing to engage, I didn't say a word. I just took the shots. It was mentally and emotionally the worst night of my life and it was the wake-up call I needed. Because, despite his fucked up delivery and despite his fucked up timing, what he said was true. I am controlling. I do have an insatiable need to know everything. I am petty. And, I do indeed have a long trail of failed relationships. His angry tirade was a mirror, one that highlights your flaws, and reflects back to you only the worst of who you are. Who, in their right mind, would want to marry me? He was wrong on many levels, but I could not deny the other startling truth: he was right.

Leading up to this night, I started reading a book entitled, "If You Loved Me, You'd Stop" because I had previously figured out that his drinking was the root of our problems, and I was going to figure out how to get him to stop drinking. His drinking had become an obsession of mine. I watched, with judgmental eyes, how much he drank and how much of his money he spent to maintain this habit. I fed my resentment, which was continually brooding in the undercurrent of my love for the two years that we lived together. His drinking triggered my unresolved childhood traumas of feeling inadequate as I watched my father choose drugs over taking care of me. That's how little Tanya felt and that's how I'd been feeling in my relationship for years. If only he'd stop drinking, I could stop feeling inadequate. I equated my value and worth to his willingness to stop drinking. If only he'd stop drinking, he could save enough money to finally file for divorce and marry me. If only he'd stop drinking, he could finally take me on a trip. He could finally take care of me. This slowly transitioned into, if only he'd stop drinking, I could stop taking care of him. I could stop obsessing about him drinking and driving, feeling nervous and scared that the next wreck, he was going to kill himself, in my car. I could stop bearing the financial load of our blended family. I could get back on track with managing my money as I was before he moved in. I could reap the benefits of my hard work, multiple degrees, and career advances. If only, he'd stop drinking. Every time we argued about his drinking, he'd ask questions like, "who's to say what's too much?" He'd say things like, "everybody drinks. You drink." I bought this book because I was confident it would give me the right responses to finally get him to see he had a problem and his problem was ruining our relationship and threatening our happy ending. Yeah, well, the author knew something I didn't. It wasn't "just" his problem. I had a problem, too. To test this, a short assessment of 36 questions hit way too close to home. So close, to be honest, I got mad and stopped reading the book. I wasn't ready to see myself as the problem. Not until my 38th birthday. I didn't actually hit rock bottom. It hit me. It met me where I was and forced me to see myself differently. I knew on that very day I had to do things differently. I had to heal and shed this childhood shit I've been carrying around for what seems like my entire life.

As I started looking into codependency, it was as if information and resources just fell out of the sky.  Right on time! I don't believe in coincidences, so I took this as a sign. The nod from God that I was on the right path, the universe's reward for my commitment to being and doing better. Learning that I'm codependent has changed and saved my life.

I now know that my codependence has impacted every relationship. Beyond my romantic relationships, these co-dependent thought patterns and behaviors have shown up in every other relationship that's ever been important to me. My family, my friends, my colleagues/peers, and especially my children, have been subjected to my codependency, because it had become so deeply rooted in my thoughts and behaviors. It was normal to me. It was "the devil I know" and it was familiar. It had become so pervasive in every aspect of my life that I would have eventually killed myself from a stress-related disease. I might as well have been smoking. I was just as much killing myself slowly as any chain smoker.

I didn't want that for myself. So, I committed to changing.

I've been going to therapy. I've been connecting with others who struggle through the same issues. I've been reading and reading and READING SOME MORE. I've been unpacking, writing, crying, praying, and healing. But, I've been still very co-dependent. I was still holding on. I was still convinced our happily ever after was achievable. I was excited about his moving out because I was so sure that would be HIS wakeup call, and he'd start his own recovery. I knew I was ready to do the work to get to a healthy Tanya. I fantasized about what our happy and HEALTHY relationship would be like and I was chasing the mirage it presented to my wounded and thirsty soul. I put up boundaries all the while violating his. Then, shamefully letting him violate mine. I stood up for myself only to back down, afraid that I was going to ruin any chance for this future I was clinging to. Then, I shamed myself for not recovering faster and for still acting out codependently. I shared every epiphany and realization with him and discussed openly and freely the hard-to-swallow truths about myself that I now understood, with the hope that he'd be proud of me, he'd see how hard I was working to get better, and he'd equally charge his way towards his own recovery. Because, that's really what mattered most. For the six weeks I spent living with the man I loved the most and still desperately wanted to be with but couldn't be with until we were both healthy, I was tormented worse than when we were together. I was confused and afraid. I was at one moment happy then the next crying myself to sleep. I was okay then I wasn't. I was ready then I chickened out. All I really wanted was to know that at the end of this work I was doing, I was going to have the happy ending I wanted with the man I wanted. But he wouldn't give me that. And ultimately, his last words to me were that I'm disgusting, he fucking hates me, and he never wants to talk to me again.

I thought my birthday was my rock bottom. It wasn't. That night, upon hearing from his best friend that I'd called him for advice about him/us, I was accused of being a liar, a sneak, and a cheat. I was disgusting and had no boundaries.

I was, to say the least, devastated. I have never before been told that I was hated. To be said with such vehemence as he yelled into my voicemail, I felt every bit of the fucking hate. And then, and only then, did I finally let go.

Letting go of someone you love is unbearably hard. But, learning to love myself as I have loved him (and those that I loved before him), I must believe, is worth this journey of what seems like a million steps. But, I know that I'm on the right path, and though I've only got enough light for the step I'm on, I'm trusting God and I'm trusting the process. I'm Tanya and I'm co-dependent. And I'm grateful. Because now I know and can do something about it. And I will. Because, I'm "Tenacious Tanya" after all.

11/04/2019