Tag: healing

Moving Forward

I have had friends that have struggled with addiction and/alcoholism through the years. And since I know it’s a disease, I stand by them. What do you need? You got this! I’m here for you! It always seemed so completely heartless when someone they loved abandoned them. How could they not be there for them in their time of need? Don’t they see they are trying to be well? Then, I was that loved one.

I once dated someone who was a recovering alcoholic. I met him after his rock bottom. I met him into his walk of sobriety. He told me about when he came back after getting sober. His wife had a function planned, and they were serving wine. He served wine. I was shocked at the insensitivity she had. Why wouldn’t she cancel the function? Why would she let there be alcohol there when she KNEW he was trying to be sober?

Why? Because she had years but having to cancel things or put her life on hold. Because he’s lied about his drinking before and this was just one more time he was going to disrupt her world. Because the rest of the world didn’t see what she had to live with, day after day, so this wasn’t anything new. She was tired. She didn’t care. She couldn’t care. He had siphoned all of the worry and care out of her for years and years. She just wanted to live life. She didn’t trust or believe him. She was done.

Did he need support? Absolutely. And he found in friends and family. And I’m sure she’s glad he did. He’s doing well. She’s doing well.

When alcoholism hit my family, I started going to a support group. The first thing they told me was to detach with love. Let go of control. I read the following, “today, if I am tempted to interfere what’s something that is none of my business, I can turn my attention instead to some way in which I can take care of myself.”

I disagreed with them. I am not controlling. In fact, I am pretty out of control most of the time. Detach with love? But he needs me! Now seems like the WORST time to detach! They told me that he needed to be in control of his sobriety. Not me. I had to let go. I could support and love, but I needed to stop doing things for him.

The next day I started to get his stuff together and thought, no, he needs to. It’s just paper work. He can grab it himself. Then later I went to text him to ask if he made his appointment…no. He needs to. Then I googled local AA meetings…no. he needs to do it. Oh my gosh. Beth. STOP.

I looked at the bills I had organized, the budget I made for him. I looked at the cleaning supplies I got to bring to his house to clean with. I realized that I am his enabler. I just keep bailing him out. He needs to do it. But how? How do you look at someone you love and just step aside? When you know they won’t do it themselves, and you want to help?

“If they don’t want to be well, they won’t be. And there’s no amount of ‘doing it for them’ that will bring them there.” Ouch.

So I read up on codependency. I was the victim role. Always the victim of my alcoholic. And if I wanted any chance at all of us being healthy, I had to stop putting myself in positions that made me the victim. So, I tried to detach with love. I tried to be supportive and ask about his journey. And I waited or the deep talks and healing to begin. I was ready to work on me while he worked on himself.

What I wasn’t ready for was the backlash that came. If I asked about his sobriety, his house, his family, I was immediately met with anger and rage. Accusations of me being on drugs. Reminders of how I abandoned him. Screaming and cussing at me. And my response, to give it right back. That was our cycle: attack, defend, yell, repeat. It was way harder than I anticipated. I can be pretty mean. I know the low blows. And all the years of working on me, went out the door every time we had an arguement. I could feel the toxicity seeping out of me. I hate that side of me.

There was one day I went out to help with yard work. I immediately felt the impulse to “look for evidence”. Just like I had done years before. I didn’t trust he was sober. So I started looking around. Then I stopped. Is this what I want? To always feel like I need to check the hiding spots to “catch” him? No. I can’t. I don’t have the energy. He lies. A lot. He sneaks. A lot. As do most alcoholics. And I can’t “snoop” my way into trust. This is something he has to do. I am not a victim of him. He is a victim of his addiction.

So I stopped asking. I stopped responding with anything more than a “that’s too bad” or “I’m happy for you”. Slowly I started noticing being treated differently by him. And things dissolved.

It’s not about love. It’s not about not wanting someone well. It’s about awareness of your own part in toxicity and not participating. If you see someone working on sobriety or being clean, BE THERE FOR THEM. I can’t stress that enough. They need their family and friends. But just know, that person that “abandoned” them? They had to walk away. Because they were probably in a place where neither could heal with the other there. Every week I share with my therapist something I wanted to say and didn’t. Or something I shouldn’t have said, but did. I talk through why I wanted to say it, and why I didn’t. I feel like a toddler learning to walk. A bit wobbly. And when I fall, I stand back up.

Hi. I am Beth. And I’m a toxic person.

One of my favorite things that social media and technology has brought to my generation is its ability to help us cope, understand, and process dysfunction and toxicity that is in our lives. I see it all the time. People in my age group properly able to identify unhealthy behavior in themselves and in others. That doesn’t mean they necessarily know how to deal with it, but they can identify it. Which is a huge step.

A few weeks back I had a friend say to me, “I feel like I’m gaslighting them! I didn’t even realize I was doing it. They deserve better than that.” My friend was 100% serious and concerned about it. The self awareness this person has in their 30s is astounding to me. They are toxic. They know they are. And they are able to zero in on exactly what they are doing that is dysfunctional, and even tell me why they think they are like this. 

I am a toxic person. I have the potential to suck out all the life of a person. I can manipulate. I can read people and very quickly know what they are insecure about. I can sense vulnerability and dysfunction like a freaking superpower. I can also tell when a person is emotionally healthy. I can feel boundaries that are set (or not set) almost immediately after meeting someone. My comfort zone is filled with toxic interactions and unhealthy behaviors. 

I sound like a gem, eh? Well, I think I am. Not because that stuff doesn’t matter. Because I fight that stuff EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Ask anyone who knew me in my 20s. Talk to my exes. I was not a bad person. But I was broken. The adult I was trying to be was not one on a healthy path. It was one who used white lies, cheated, and manipulated to get my way. I didn’t want to be like that. I did not like seeing the ones I loved hurt by me. 

I started seeing a therapist. I started making a conscious effort. I had to learn how to purge the toxicity from my interactions. It sucked. It was hard. No…not was. It is hard. I find when I’m with other people working on themselves, or people that are emotionally stable, it is easy. I can relax and just be. But the moment someone with dysfunction enters my life, I want to retreat to my ever so toxic comfort zone. I can feel it. I can hear it in what I say. I leave feeling angry at myself. Ashamed. 

I like to cut people in their 20s some slack. That decade is such a shit hole anyways. Add in having to process through childhood/adolescence and you’re left with some pretty lost adults who are trying to sort through 2 decades of preparation for adulthood. It’s exhausting and can be overwhelming. But once you’re in your 30s, get your shit together. You have had over a decade of making your own choices. At this point, your life is what you have made it. Acknowledge what you’ve been through and grow. 

I am a toxic person. I have to know this always. I have to understand and be compassionate to those who distance themselves from me. I have to work 10x as hard to make sure I keep my toxicity from my children. I need to make sure my children find dysfunction uncomfortable and wrong. I have to make sure I guard myself from others who take me by the hand and try to lead me down to that place I’ve escaped from. I need to acknowledge what brought me to this point, but not dwell on it, blame does not add to my growth. I need to know that when I do slip up, I tell whoever I hurt I was wrong and they deserve better. 

If you are a toxic person, you are not a bad person. Every day, every interaction, you have a choice to do better, to be better. Find a therapist. (I know I know, therapist shopping is the WORST. But don’t settle for one that isn’t helping you.) Start working on rewiring yourself. Your life will be happier. Your relationships will be better. You will thrive. 

Broken Bones Do Eventually Heal

I once broke my arm. I was a sophomore in high school. I’ve heard a lot of cool “broke bones” stories. Mine was not cool. It was actually kind of lame. “But Beth! Would you happen to have some sort of analogy or parallel for life with your lame broken arm story?” Why yes I do! Join me, for a trip back to my teenage years.

Late in the winter of 2001, I found myself at a cheerleading practice. This wasn’t a regular practice. We had just lost regionals the week before. It was heartbreaking. So, we decided to have one more practice for fun. Just to throw some stunts and play around one last time until the next season. I finally nailed my Toss Awesome (for you non cheer folks, I held my flyer with one arm. It is pretty freaking awesome indeed). So, I decided to do some skills. Time to warm up my back handspring.  SNAP! The sound of the break seemed so loud, it echoed in my ears. I screamed a four letter word (it starts with an “F” to be specific). Immediate tears. I grabbed my arm and laid there sobbing. The coach tried to reassure me it was just jammed. I screamed at her it was broken and she didn’t know what she was talking about.

I sat there the rest of practice, whimpering. Holding my arm, trying to not move it. After what felt like an eternity, my mom came and took me to the ER. I was finally calming down and able to sit still without shooting pain. Then came the X-Ray. They had to pull my arm away from my body and lay it in a few different positions. I was sobbing and shaking. It was almost as bad as when I broke it. They gave me pain meds, which I immediately threw up all over. Put it in a sling, and scheduled my appt with the doctor.

I spent the rest of the night moving with great caution. Emotionally exhausted. Scared to even sleep for fear I would bump it.

I went to get it casted. Again, I had to have my arm pulled away from my body and the doctor carefully wrapped the light blue cast around my arm. I could feel my anxiety calming, until, he grabbed and squeezed. “Oh my god what are you doing?!?” The pain was excruciating. “I have to set it. Or it won’t heal right, then you would have to come back and have to do this all again.”

That stupid cast. It came up past my elbow. So, that arm was pretty much useless. I learned quickly how little I could do. I had to shower with a trash bag around it. I couldn’t shave my armpit without help, or put deodorant on. Even carrying books to class now took me twice as long. My arm itched and after awhile the cast started to stink. Worst of all, I wasn’t able to play softball that year.

Then, I got the cast off. It was very exciting. They cut it off, and I looked at this skinny, hairy, pale arm. What happened to it? It had become so weak. It was a sad reality for this inpatient, active girl, that even though it was healed, I still couldn’t use it fully. It took quite awhile to get the strength back, but I am pleased to say, I have both arms completely functional now. Yet, when the weather changes, or it’s cold, it aches. Still to this day, I feel some pain. Not all the time, but enough that I won’t forget about breaking it.

All that being said, (told you lame, but it was important to say all that before this next part) I feel loss is like breaking a bone. The initial pain is excruciating. We just want to keep the hurt close to us, but keep having people pull it out of us. Which causes more excruciating pain. If we don’t though, it won’t heal properly. Then after we have it in a place it can heal, we realize that we are limited it what we able to do. We may even have to miss out on something we wanted to do. Then, after we heal, we are made aware of how weak that part of us is, and have to gain the strength back. Slowly, we become completely functional again. But, we will always have an ache. The rest of our lives, we will feel a bit of pain and be reminded of our loss.

This is what I told my kids after my dad died 2 months ago. I have to keep reminding myself, I am casted and limited right now. But this is how I get to healing properly. There are no shortcuts. As inpatient as I may be, healing can’t be rushed.