Then I Woke Up – A Story of Codependency

Then Pharaoh said to Joseph, “In my dream I was standing on the bank of the Nile, when out of the river there came seven cows, fat and sleek, and they grazed among the reeds. After them, seven other cows came up – scrawny and very ugly and lean. I had never seen such ugly cows in all the land of Egypt. The lean, ugly cows ate up the seven fat cows that came up first. But even after they ate them, no one could tell that they had done so; they looked just as ugly as before. Then I woke up.” Genesis 41:17-21

The time was limited and I spoke rapidly. I talked about the obsessive fairytale fantasies where I would somehow find a way into a different life with another man instead of my husband, thoughts I could not get out of my head no matter how hard I tried. And I talked about other issues and problems. The purpose of the convoluted rambling seemed to be to convey two messages. The first being -- I am not evil, and the second being -- I am a happy, joyful person; I am NOT letting people suck the life out of me!

He said the things I had been saying revealed some kind of thinking that was so far from “normal” he had trouble connecting at times. He said he had to keep reminding himself to consider my words in reference to MY normal.

I told him about how I had been much more crazy during my adolescence and that I

thought I had actually made a lot of progress, especially in the past few years. He did seem to at least acknowledge and agree with that.

I said that, for the most part, I was someone who was happy and full of energy. He said that was because I was “in denial”. He said I should come back on a regular basis for awhile.

On my way out, I smiled at the secretary, chatted pleasantly, and left without scheduling another appointment.

I thought about how I had been considering writing a collection of comments on life, as I see it. I was going to call my collection “Through Rose-Colored Glasses”. And I thought about a conversation with a friend who said that even positive thinking can be a bad thing when taken to extreme. Maybe it becomes the same as being “in denial”. My friend had said that sometimes there are things in a person's life that desperately need to change, but a person can't change those things if they can't even see them.

And maybe the insights of others were beginning to make some sense to me because one evening when I arrived home from work, I took off those rose-colored glasses and tucked them safely away, just to have a brief glimpse of what my family life really looked like.

When I entered the house, my 11 year old daughter was sitting on the couch. She looked sad and emotionally drained. She wasn't reading or anything, but was just sitting there. I asked her if she was doing okay and she said, “I'm just tired.”

My husband was in the kitchen spilling pancake mix all over himself and the floor. He cleaned up the mess (sort of) with dish towels and then threw the dish towels on top of the pile of dishes in the sink.

He was very drunk. He had been very drunk all week. He kept staring at me or maybe glaring. He began to ask all sorts of suspicious, accusatory questions. I answered them cheerfully.

He put a bag of pre-cooked chicken pieces he had gotten from the grocery store deli on the table. We had fried chicken and pancakes for dinner. He used to be so particular about what foods go together to make a meal, like which vegetables should go with which meats, etc. I have no idea what kind of vegetables are supposed to go with pancakes and fried chicken.

We didn't have any vegetables in the house anyway. I thought maybe I could buy some milk this week since I hadn't mailed out some of the checks to pay the bills. Usually I

would pay the bills first because my husband seemed more concerned about having food than about bills getting paid. He wouldn't use any of his money to pay bills, but he would buy food if we didn't have much. Lately, though, he wasn't even eating anything himself, just drinking.

The next day our daughter was upset and said she didn't want to go home after school. We talked about a plan where I would pick her up and take her to my office for a couple of hours and then we would go to church.

But she asked if I thought that was really a good idea, leaving him alone all evening with no one to supervise him. I wondered if that was what she thought she was doing the day before when she was sitting on the couch looking sad and emotionally drained. She was “supervising” him.

“It's not our job to supervise your dad,” I said, “and especially, it isn't YOUR job.”

I made arrangements for her to spend that night at a friend's house.

“Don't let him hurt my puppy,” she said as I was leaving to go back home, “and don't let him burn the house down . . .”

(Based on a journal entry from January 31st, 2009)

Update:

It took another 10 months for me to finally connect with enough strength from God and support from other people to be able to follow through with a separation and eventual divorce. But even then, I don't think I ever could have done it for me. I did it for her. I had to!

I worried too much about people disapproving of me getting a divorce and I worried too much about people disapproving of me taking so long to finally get it done. And I would like to believe I am much stronger now. But I find myself experiencing some guilt for sharing this story at this time, when my exhusband is dying, alone in a nursing home.

I have no animosity toward him. He didn't overcome his weakness, but overcoming weakness is a very difficult thing. His wounds from a lifetime of hurt ran very deep. And he did love us, the best he could. He says I promised to be there, holding his hand, when he dies. The nursing home is a bit of distance from my house, but, if at all possible, I will fulfill that promise!

He kept himself surrounded by his excuses; there was always some person or some circumstance that could be blamed. And those excuses became like a little army, protecting him from guilt and from facing himself and from having to do the hard work of recovery. But they also kept him prisoner, so that he never was free to find the peace and healing he needed.

I think of the contrast between his situation and the life of a dear lady who did so much good for so many people. She died in the arms of her loving family and, at her funeral, many spoke of the ways she had made a positive difference in their lives.

My exhusband wanted to make a positive difference too. I truly believe he did. So maybe this is his one last chance. Maybe there is a reason that I found this journal entry now instead of any of the other times I looked for it. Maybe I wrote it for YOU, and NOW is the time you are ready to receive it. Maybe you, someone reading this right now, see yourself in one of the roles in this all too common story. If so, I probably don't need to spell out the message, but I will anyway, just in case you are not seeing it clearly enough.

Get help!!! Please!! There is support and hope and healing for you and your family, if you reach out and accept it and take that first step!

RoseDQ January 2012