Vulnerability

I woke up this morning quite bedraggled: tired, listless, unwilling to start the day. As my first commitments were not until the afternoon, I sank into the lethargy, hoping a few more minutes would suffice. Within a half hour of futile indulgence, not only was I still tired but there was fear also: why was I so tired? I had just slept nine hours, shouldn’t that be enough? Why did I feel so weak…was I sick? Allowing fear to run amok in my (now)chaotic mind, thoughts of devastating but unrealistic illness—chronic fatigue and cancer— bulldozed through my psyche increasing the ante. I finally surrendered to this onslaught, stopped thinking and just felt the fear. I let it shiver over me and I hugged myself in the face of its vulnerability. Eventually the irrational gave way to my truth. I wasn’t so much tired (or sick) as I was avoiding, through obsessive and irrational thinking, what was really bothering me, that is, the mundane day-to-day fears that can cloud one’s horizon ever so often. So, voicing these seemingly minor worries, I reassured myself while comforting the fearful parts within me. Feeling better and somewhat more energized I got up and went for a walk.

The sunshine was brilliant, as only a long awaited April sun can be and spring flowers smiled in the promise of longer days and bluer skies. I walked along, feeling less tired and no longer fearful when a silent and insidious critique of others, close friends and strangers, crept over me. The inner harangue went on for some time before the beauty around me made me stop and ask, “Jo-Ann, what it is? This anger is irrational, what are you really feeling?” And, once again, I realized it was fear, although this time it was masked by anger. I voiced my fears again, giving them more expression and more reassurance. I went deeper with my self care this time around, coming to the realization that these “minor” fears were more potent than I had initially judged.

Emotions, especially ones that frighten us, are easily masked by other, shall we say, more convenient ones. People will cry when they are really angry or joke when sadness overwhelms them. For me, feeling tired, expressing irrational fears of disease, and/or angry thoughts are ways to avoid the everyday fears of, for example, social anxieties and financial concerns. Feeling fear is an exercise in vulnerability and, no pun intended, it is not my strong side. I put up masks or defenses to hide from this feeling and, in doing so, deny a part of myself that wants expression. The ironic thing about these masks is that the more one tries to deny or repress the feelings beneath them, the harder the feelings will work to express themselves. The result is that the mask has to become harsher, more extreme; more irrational. Just like this morning: I was incredibly tired, had unrealistic fears of sickness and was unjustly critical of my friends; all in the attempt to distract myself from feeling the normal vulnerabilities of everyday life.

In codependence, a part of us feels we don’t have the right to express. That expression could be anger, sadness, fear or even love, and we feel we lose that right because there is either a lack of safety or we judge ourselves as “lesser than”. When my codependent parts go to these extreme lengths to distract myself from feeling vulnerable, I deny myself a chance to be authentic and open to life. I am creating a false self that not only hides from fears but in doing so, hides from joy. You cannot have one without the other: if we fear dying, for example, can we really enjoy living? If I hide from anger (my own or others), can I fully express love?

Charles Whitfield says that in the recovery of codependence you have to “get down on the floor and wrestle with each feeling”. You have to “recognize it, feel it, experience it, work it through, use it, [to finally be able to] let go of it”. It was not until I gave my vulnerable parts enough space and time to express their fears, could I truly let go of them and enjoy the beauty and abundance the day had to offer.

The Wind

Funny how the wind can take it out of you. I woke up this morning, my windows blown wide open; swaying trees beckoning. I could almost hear the waves crashing against the seawall, compelling me to witness the creative forces of nature. I ate a quick breakfast and headed out. It was enough, as they say, to take your breath away. All senses ignited: seagulls calling, laughing, rejoicing; rocks tumbling underneath as waves sorted and tumbled; salty brine in the air, on my face, in my lungs; wind, pushing, pulling, pure, unadulterated play making: rough and tumble kids, searching out every nook and cranny, seeking adventure. And sights! The multihued blues of the ocean: steel grey, aqua, teal, midnight, cerulean, sapphire, deep purple and ultramarine; capped with snowy froths, a waving, rollicking sea of grapes and blueberries and plums, crushed and slurping in a wine makers heaven. I want to drink it all and gloriously suffer the consequences yet the wind restrains me. I push against it, forcing my way forward as its forces it way back into me, ‘neath scarves and collars, zippers and flaps. I want to go forward, isn’t that what we do? Move forward, push through, consequences be damned?

I had a dream the other night. I was fighting with the Grim Reaper. We were in this mountainous region of huge granite cliffs and boulders, towering peaks and unimaginable abysses. It was like being in an ancient Chinese water colour where rugged terrain holds vast beauty, grey green mists, leafy trees tenuously holding on to their rocky mantle and perhaps a butterfly, easily floating above the canyons below. The Grim Reaper wanted me to let go of the rock I was desperately holding onto. He was pushing me off so I would fall, perhaps ever more through the chasm below, perhaps to my death. I was petrified yet I knew that no one, especially I, could defeat this portent. My fate seemed sealed, yet the method, I realized, was yet to be determined. Shall I be pushed to death or shall I go on my own? Pride made me favour the latter and the decision to let go of the rock became my new foe. Just let go, I said, just let go. The hardest part is letting go. But I held on, fear keeping me strong in its grip. Then a distraction came: some men were fighting over on a near by cliff and the Grim Reaper, hearing duty call, scooted over. As soon as he left, the ground closed up beneath me and the abyss was no more. I was safe.

I woke up from this dream, some what disgruntled. Why cant I ever let go? All I had to do was let go and be free. I knew the imagery of death was but symbolic of change, rebirth; new beginnings. Why was I so scared? But then another question came to me, why must I always go for the extreme? Does change always have to be so drastic? Do I always have to force through making life and death decisions; pushing against the forces of nature? Struggling?

Codependence can be a lot like the initial part of this dream in terms of perceiving life as a constant struggle; one of defending rigid boundaries to the death and being for ever on guard. Stillness, allowing and just being are foreign words to our codependent parts. These words denote flexibility and gentleness; acceptance and openness. In my dream I eventually chose to be still, to not struggle nor let go. I chose the middle ground of just being and the ground beneath closed up, encompassing me in calm.

This morning, after fighting the wind for awhile, I realized that life doesn’t have to be that hard. I turned around and let the force propel me (with ease) in another direction.

Heroes

I was talking with a friend the other day about heroes. People like Mahatmas Ghandi and Martin Luther King who stood up against oppression, put others before themselves, and who ultimately died for their beliefs. Steeped, as per usual, in the hows and whys of codependence, my radar went up. Putting others before one self? Sacrificial behaviour ? Martyrdom? Aren’t these symptoms of codpendence? Were King and Ghandi codependent?

The answer, of course, is yes, or rather, because they were human, they had codependent parts. But was their martyrdom codependent?

One of my favorite examples of codependent martyrdom is that of the (Stephen B.) Karpman Drama Triangle. It’s a graphic example of how someone can be a rescuer, victim and abuser— sometimes all at the same time— martyring themselves in the process.

Let’s say I am the protagonist of this story. I work in an office with my colleague, Sally. I notice that Sally is not fulfilling all her responsibilities. I worry that the boss will notice and Sally will get in trouble. So, without first checking in with Sally, I start doing some of her work. I rescue Sally.

There are plenty of reasons why I might do this and most of them tend to be unconscious. On the surface I might say: “I’m just trying to help” but underneath I might hope that Sally will like me better; or that my heroic work ethic gets noticed and others will value me more; or that I will become indispensible to Sally and/or the boss thereby fulfilling my “need” to be needed. Any of those reasons underline the belief that I am “lesser than”, that I have to earn my value in what I do and not in who I am.

Sally has her own reasons for not doing her work. Perhaps she is not feeling well or is bored, or maybe she just doesn’t care. The point is, I don’t know because I haven’t asked. I don’t know if Sally needs help or if she even wants my help.
Sally may or may not notice I am doing her work. She may or may not thank me but regardless, she does not change her habits. I start getting resentful. I am not quite sure what I want from my rescuing behaviour—my real needs are unconscious—all I know is that I am bending over backwards to help Sally and there isn’t enough reward. So, instead of backing off, I begin feeling resentful. I become a victim. I start berating Sally with such infamous martyr-like lines such as: “After all I do for you.” I may start spreading rumours about her or telling her to her face that she is good-for-nothing. Hence, I become the abuser. But the abuse is unconscious because it all seems justified: Sally owes me something. In fact, it feels like a lot of people owe me something.

These three roles of rescuer, victim and abuser, can be played out instantaneously or take years to manifest. I could, for example, be doing Sally’s job while feeling like an exploited hero and, at the same time, telling Sally how lazy she is. Or, I could play the rescuer for years before the resentment kicks in and then start acting passive-aggressive towards Sally. This is codependent martyrdom. We’ve all seen it or experienced it – not a pretty sight.

Codependent martyrdom is then sacrificing your self for some inner need or want that is not, for the most part, aligned with the stated goal. For example, I say I am doing Sally’s work because I want to help but the truth is I just want Sally to like me. The problem, however, is that this true desire will never be fulfilled. Even if Sally starts liking me, the relationship will be based, at least in my mind, on my doing things for Sally so that she will continue liking me. It becomes an addiction: never ending; always hungry. I will always be in fear that I’m not doing enough in order for Sally to like me. Said another way, I may just not believe her due to low self-esteem— how could anyone like a “loser” like me? So I work harder, sacrificing myself in hopes that I will eventually do (and be) enough. It eventually leads to resentment and, for some, abusive behaviour.

Heroic martyrdom is different. A hero sees how they can make a difference in the world and strives to manifest that difference. They put their principals above themselves not because they do not place value on their own lives but because they do see their value. Their principals are a guiding light in showing the world that each and everyone of us has value and that we all deserve respect. Heroes don’t rescue others for some inner need but empower themselves and others out of love for all.

So, while Ghandi and King had, more likely than not, codependent parts, their actions were interdependent. They believed in mutuality, respect and community. Tragically, they were also martyred for their beliefs.

To close I give you a quote from Jane Goodall, another hero, although thankfully, not martyred. No longer living with and documenting the lives of chimpanzees in Tanzania, she “tours the globe preaching the need for sustainability, harmony and respect for the natural world.” She states: “You can kill yourself saving forests and chimps, but if new generations aren’t going to be better stewards there’s no point.” (The Guardian Weekly, Feb. 26.10, p.29)

The Triple C

In my last entry (Risky Investments - March 19) I explored possible origins for the early childhood perception that one must earn their value. Today I want to issue a challenge. How can we redirect those childhood tools, that is, the ones we used to “earn” external validation and that later developed into codependent behaviours, towards our self? How can we invest in the relationship we have with ourselves in the same way we invest in the relationships we have with others?

We all have codependent parts, it is, as Charles Whitfield states, the “human condition”. Although we don’t manifest them every day, even a person in recovery is bound to show off a few, at least, and I am being generous here, once a week. I, on the other hand, have been known to entertain them with a nice cuppa, at least once a day. As I’ve said before, we live in a codependent society, its like swimming upstream to avoid not contemplating codependence on a fairly regular basis. Yesterday, for example, sitting on the lee side of a minor bout with depression, I ambiguously waited for someone to either save me while at the same time praying everyone would just leave me alone. This is typical of my codependent parts and the hallmark for my occasional sojourns into darkness. When these parts are in control, I tend to base my emotional wellbeing on the actions or beliefs of another. I either look for a rescuer or avoid human contact altogether in a misguided attempt to find self worth in the former and safety in the latter. In both scenarios, my gaze is turned outwards, rather than within.

Today, however, I did something different. I woke up, and while a part of me wanted the sun to go find some other victim to drag out of bed, another part said, practice what you preach. And so, rather reluctantly, I started the Creative Codependent Challenge (The Triple C). I knew my codependent parts had been at the helm for the last week, I examined my behaviour and said, okay, enough. I realized that one more week of isolation alternating between Giles Blunt (murder and mayhem) and Goethe’s Faust (redemption of the soul); drinking tea (Tazo Awake); soaking in long, hot baths; and ignoring phone messages, and those belittling internal voices labeling me a failure, become a reality—its hard to make money when your life is held betwixt a book and a bathtub.

Creative Codependence, as I teach in my workshops is about incorporating those ingenious childhood tools—the ones that got our needs met—into healthy adult behaviours. Most of us do this naturally, especially those youthful tools that were successful in getting our needs met. For example, as a little girl, I created an entertainer part of myself to get positive attention. Because it was successful, I subconsciously carried it forth into adulthood: I write, teach and give presentations, sometimes in outrageous ways. I am also impulsive and, on occasion, stick a foot or two into my mouth. This part served me as a child and, for the most part, serves me today as an adult.

As a child I was also tough, independent and adventurous, or at least I pretended I was. It got me a certain amount of validation. That role also stayed with me and manifests today in several ways: I prefer to do things alone and I rarely ask for help—“I can do it myself… thank you very much”. That part can also be a self-righteous and autocratic disciplinarian that creates strict rules and, at times, unhealthy guidelines in diet and exercise.

Other successful tools included the part of me that learned to take care of others (in hopes that others took care of me) and the part of me who learned that being sick was another effective attention getting tool.

Reeling ourselves back to the sleepy haze of this morning and the burgeoning Triple C, I asked myself how I could use one of my childhood tools to get me out of this depressing miasma? I didn’t have long to wait. As soon as I asked, my tough part rather sternly said:

“Get out of bed, go for a walk.”

Trying to ignore it, only made it louder: “pull yourself together,” she said, “you’re starting to believe that negative self talk. Move!”

My caretaker quickly came in and admonished Ms Tough. She softly stated that I had needed the downtime; that it was good for me. Not wanting to be left out, my old sicky part squeaked: “yes, she did, she did.”

I let them ramble on for a bit and then, before it escalated into fisticuffs, I interjected. “Listen,” I said, “I hear you all and, in fact, agree with some of it. You have good points but,” adding dramatic pause, for greater effect, “how can I take better care of myself right now?”

“By walking,” insisted tough part.

I gave her response some thought— excess exercise can be an unhealthy coping mechanism for me. So I consulted with my caretaker parts and, after some hesitation, finally agreed. “Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”

During the walk some of my parts had a good cry with my caretaker, turning her skills inward, gently encouraging me to get it all out. (Ms Tough wisely stayed mute during this time). By the end of the walk my entertainer parts felt energized enough to sense the seeds of an article and Ms Tough, unable to withhold her tongue any longer, demanded: “Well, what are you waiting for then?” I shushed her up, somewhat fearful the cycle would begin again, and encouraged my entertainer part to show me what she could do.

The result? Not only did I feel better but I got this week’s blog written. Success on all fronts.

Now I am not going to say that’s its always this easy. Timing is an important element in these things and I truly don’t think I could have done this before today— it was just too damn dark. Then again, as my caretaker part assures me, I needed the downtime: a little bit of melancholy and quiet, intertwined with some Faustian logic. I needed to isolate so to reflect, regroup and finally, rejuvenate. I could say then, that even my few weeks of isolating was just taking care of myself using yet another childhood part. I was taking the Creative Codependent Challenge… incognito.

So, now I issue the challenge to you:

How can you redirect your childhood tools, that is, the ones you used to “earn” external validation, towards your self? How can you invest in the relationship you have with your self in the same way you invest in the relationships you have with others today?

Risky Investments

I recently gave a presentation on Creative Codependence to the Solution Focused Coaches Association. It was a dynamic evening, full of ideas and a willingness by all to explore the inner facets of life. One of the things we discussed was the loss of energy that can occur in codependent relationships.

Pietro Abela of The ARC Institute likens codependent relationships to risky investments, ones that are based on hope rather than reality, and tend to expend more energy than is received. With codependency, there is a certain expectancy that if I do “this”, I will get “that” back, but rarely does “that” fulfill the expectation. These investments have an early start, usually in childhood, and are based on the perception (real or not) that the best, and perhaps the only way, to get needs met is to do or be something for another. This could mean anything from getting good grades at school to being a bully, if that’s what gets attention, love ,validation or even safety—basic needs that prove we, as children, have the right to be.

For a child then, this is a matter of survival. This perception may not be based on reality, but if a child does not get the external validation that proves to them that they have the right to be they will feel , at some level, their survival is at stake. They will begin seeing relationships as investments: I must do or be this (whatever “this” is) to get my needs met.

The inherent error in this situation is that the child perceives that they themselves are at the root of the problem. It is not the caregiver that is negligent (however relative this is) but that the child is not up to snuff. The child begins feeling that they need to earn their value rather than that their value is a given. This earning power is analogous to that of employment: stop working and the job security that enables you to live a certain lifestyle ends; cease “earning your value” and your survival chances decrease.

Without a solid conviction that they have a right to be, children can mature into adults that feel that they have to continue proving that they are inherently okay. The irony in this, is that the same lack of inner conviction, or self-validation, will inhibit the person from accepting external love and positive attention, or demand that it come in some unattainable way. Without a basic belief in one’s “okay-ness”, no amount of external validation will be enough, making these relationship investments not only risky but shaky, indeed. We end up losing energy because the amount we expend in trying to show others that we are okay and that we have the right to be, will never balance with what we receive in return. In other words, by primarily looking for self value outside ourselves (rather than within) we lose out. Or, said another way, the depth of love that can be accepted is directly proportionate to how much we love ourselves.

The key then, and the basis for Creative Codependence, is how can we redirect the childhood tools of gaining external validation, love and acceptance, towards our self? How can we invest in the relationship we have with ourselves in the same way we invest in the relationship with others?

Olympics

Okay, I admit it, I had fun at the Olympics. I didn’t want them, didn’t vote for them and thought they were a bad idea but, having been through them, I’ve changed my mind. This is not to say that we couldn’t have spent the money, perhaps more wisely, on things like health care, education and social housing but, with all due respect to these issues, Vancouverites, at the very least, experienced a morale booster – even if just to chase away the February blues. In fact, I have never seen so many happy people in one place for so long a period. And that is something to be celebrated.

When I talk about codependence, whether in presentations or workshops, I use the Olympics as an example that we live in a codependent society. I suggest that all levels of society tell us to get our needs met by looking outside ourselves. It is not whether we feel good, but whether we look good, get the good grades or promotion, and, in the case of government, did the Olympics come to our city? Remember when Vancouver was “going for the bid”? We were bombarded with images of hope that implied we would be a world class city if we got the Olympics.

My question is, weren’t we already a world class city? Didn’t Expo 86 already prove that? How many events do we need under our belt until we gain “international respect”? Do we really have to look outside ourselves for validation to respect and feel good about who we are? Wouldn’t it be better to gain this respect through prioritizing the care of our citizens: promoting health and welfare, local art and culture, and being a responsible custodian to the environment? In other words, whether we are talking about the identity of a city or an individual, shouldn’t one look first within; practice good self care and be satisfied with the internal or self-validation that the manifestation of this self care provides?

While I still agree with these sediments, Olympics 2010 taught me something about the extremism that codependence can sometimes manifest. One of the main default patterns my codependent parts fall into is to look at things in black and white terms. In respect to the above commentary, one could narrow that perspective down to the following: Any acceptance or reliance on external validation is a sign of codependent behaviour. Self-validation should be complete in itself. But is that true?

Self validation – feeling intrinsically good because of who we are and not what we do—is a healthy aspect of interdependent living. While we should not rely on external validation and recognition, these aspects are a complement to a healthy lifestyle. Before the Olympics, I felt good, internationally speaking, about who I am as a Vancouverite. I was not arrogant or shy about it; but I knew and appreciated Vancouver’s strengths and vulnerabilities and its role as a Canadian city. The Olympics, however, helped me see some of the things I was missing in my self-evaluation. I saw my city, and the people within it, through the objective eyes of the world and felt pride. Yes, we have many things to improve but I went away from those two weeks with a greater appreciation of my Vancouver-self: I feel stronger, more cabable and have a deeper sense of my role as a global citizen.

Codependent or not, the Olympics may have been little more than a morale booster but that little external validation went a long way.

Facebook

Creative Codependence just joined Facebook. I welcome you to join me as a ... eeks, I hate this term, but a fan. How 'bout joining me as an interested bystander instead? I can handle that. I'll keep you informed of upcoming events and blog entries that may interest you.