Interlude Five--Netflix Therapy

Six weeks ago, I sat at my computer and cried as the last door shut. 

My efforts to find a place to live for me and my kids had come to a complete stop. 

If something didn’t happen soon, I would be homeless.

I had been searching in Oregon and California for rentals I could afford.

I wanted to go home to California, but no matter how I searched or what help my family and friends offered, my ability to support seven kids and two cats…well, the cost of living there had reached beyond me.

I was barely making it in Utah with its low rent and still-reasonable taxes.

My good friend tried to find resources and connections for me to make a move to Oregon, but I couldn’t seem to meet all the requirements for renting.

Too many kids, not enough income, not employed…two cats? Forget it.

Desperately, I filled out the last application and got an e-mail back telling me I couldn’t qualify unless I had a job in the state already.

I tossed all my Al Anon training out the window and had a good, panicked cry.

Alone. In my garage. Completely alone.

But sometimes being alone has an advantage.

For me, that advantage was being forced to confront a problem that only I could solve.

To put it another way…I needed to do be able to solve this problem.

Decision-making…not my forte, as you remember.

Every time I found myself in this place…alone with an insurmountable problem, I would pray.

Every time.

Sometimes I would get a phone call from my dear friend to help me through.

Oftentimes, God would say: wait, the answer will come…and it did.

But this time I clearly heard: Go back to your computer and look again.

I sat there for a few moments. Seriously?

(I’m a tough nut to crack. But God already knows that)

Yes, dear daughter. And this time…look closer.

I realized then I had two choices: give up and look for a shelter…or get back to the computer and look again.

I started looking for rentals closer to Orem.

But the rental requirements had gotten a lot more restrictive since we moved here four years ago.

The panic began squeaking again…making its presence clear.

I pushed it away and kept searching through the lists of homes to rent.

Then I saw a HUD home on the rental list.

I saw the words “See if YOU qualify!”

It must have been the exclamation or the “you” in capital letters…but something stopped me short.

Could I actually buy a house?

Through the generosity of my same dear friend who was working as hard I was to find us a place to live, I’d managed to save enough money for the move.

Could I use it as a down payment?

What if my credit was no good on my own?

So many questions avalanched when I opened this home-buying door, like an over-stuffed closet.

But I knew in that solitary moment in the garage, that this was the answer God had provided.

I retrieved my Al Anon program from where I’d tossed it and started on “First Things First”.

I searched the HUD websites.

I found a community service center offering homebuyer’s educations classes for people looking for HUD home loans.

That meant, if I took the certified class, I would have a better chance at getting a loan.

I signed up for the class…it was six hours on a Saturday.

Six hours of learning about mortgages, predatory lenders, state homebuyer’s programs, revitalization projects, self-help mortgages, etc.

I thought my brain would explode.

The mediator seemed to understand this, as she often gave us breaks so we wouldn’t go into a coma and miss something important.

…like opening our mail.

Out of six hours of home-buying information, I came away thinking about opening mail.

You see, she explained that the number one way new homebuyer’s get into trouble with their mortgages is because they don’t open their mail.

They don’t check on their mortgage status, or periodically review their insurance costs, or ever look to see if they are late in their payments.

I think I recognized my fellow ostriches. We are very comfortable with not knowing certain things.

But as with everything else in my life…these issues ran a little deeper than procrastination or even kicking the can down the road a bit.

My sister got the stomach flu once when I was with her and she kept repeating over and over how she’d rather ‘bleed out her eyeballs’ than throw-up.

It was the most succinct description of loathing that I’d ever heard.

And whenever I thought of something I hated, but was forced to do, I hear her desperate gasping and the words she repeated over the toilet bowl.

I hate to throw-up too.

Almost as much as I hate opening my mail.

I’d rather bleed out my eyeballs.

It’s just one of those many habits of thought I’ve developed over the years to help me survive.

It may have taken root when my husband brought the mail in with a scowl each time.

It may have escalated when he opened the bills and began his campaign against air conditioning (we lived in the desert).

There are certain things I cannot live with and being pregnant in the desert without air conditioning was one of them. But oh…the price. And I don’t mean money.

I remember tensing when he walked in with the mail in his hand.

On occasion, I remember hiding some bills until I could handle his reaction.

But that often made things worse.

So I would try and just cook a really good dinner, or keep the kids quiet, or arrange a golf date, or let him buy something he wanted…pretzel-making time.

It didn’t matter if there are good things that came in the mail.

I’d rather have nothing.

Of course, when I was living with an alcoholic, ‘nothing’ was always a relief.

When I realized just what was at stake with this mail-avoidance issue, I had to make a conscious decision to change things.

I had to find a way to change this loathing to something resembling grim determination at the very least.

Recently, I’d let go a subscription to Netflix in an effort to save money. I was trying not to be frivolous.

I’d thought that was the most important thing…saving money.

But sometimes there are more important things.

Like learning to love opening my mail.

Because when we received those movies, my kids would jump for joy and make a parade out to the mailbox to see which movie they’d gotten.

It was fun.

And the first thing a co-dependent gives up is fun.

They would grab that movie (along with the bills) and hand it to me (along with the bills), and wait anxiously while I tore along the perforated edge. Sometimes I did it torturously slow…for fun.

Sometimes I ripped it open and jumped for joy with them.

And I would open the bills after they left, while the glow of their smiles still illuminated my heart.

And I knew that the loathing had begun to mellow into resignation.

It wasn’t so hard anymore.

I'm still in the process of buying our own home. Opening that door did more than give us the opportunity to own a home...it gave me a process through which I'm learning to take care of the most important things first.
And it's giving me the practice to learn what exactly is the most important thing.

I re-subscribed to Netflix after the class.

Behavioral therapy for ten dollars a month isn’t a bad deal at all.

First things first, friends.