When I was about eighteen years old, I decided I wanted to be an artist.
This was after I gave up trying to be a journalist. Community college took care of that aspiration when the teacher kicked me out of class the first day for being two minutes late.
Yes. I gave it up. I knew I wasn’t cut out for the hard-hitting world of reporting when I broke down in uncontrollable weeping for three days over a straight-forward rejection.
I figured if I had a talent for drawing and worked hard enough, recognition and money would start flowing in. Hey…I was eighteen.
So I practiced my craft with zeal. I bought charcoal, graphite and heavy bond sketch pads, and I began by copying from photographs; concentrating on faces I was familiar with, namely my family.
I found a picture of myself and my two sisters, my brother and my father, and set to work on it.
After days of intense concentration (and the heavy use of art gum), I presented it to them for their approval (and applause), but alas…they broke into snorts of laughter as they pointed out something I was not even aware I had done.
You see, drawing other people means seeing them differently then you see yourself.
Drawing yourself is a bit like writing about yourself—you look a little, um…better than those in the picture with you.
And that was the problem.
I had drawn what I thought was a very realistic picture of my family, but because I had drawn myself in there with them, the comparison was glaring.
One thing that stood out was my hair.
My sisters especially, laughed themselves silly over the long, glowing, Breck-girl locks I had given myself and wondered why their hair looked more like straw hats.
I can’t blame them. It was the brutal truth.
And I had long carried about an unfortunate tendency toward vanity when it came to my hair.
However, as Jerry Maguire said to his fiancé when she was reminding him about their agreement to have “brutal truth” in their relationship…Jerry responded: “I think you were the one who insisted on ‘brutal’”.
So for the record, I think the brutal truth is overrated.
Unless I have to use it for smelly, teenage boys who insist the bar soap has gone missing and a hefty dose of “Axe” will eliminate my discomfort.
Which brings me to the title of this post: “Know thyself”.
I reckon if I can know myself better, it’ll save me some embarrassment such as my experiment in drawing.
Though I didn’t give up art…I just switched to drawing lions and gazelles.
Which brings me a little farther to the reason for this blog, and what “An interlude from co-dependency” means.
This isn’t an exercise in narcissism. I debated for weeks on how to approach talking about my experiences.
Then it hit me…this is the 12th step.
“Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”
This is my message. These are my affairs.
I’ve been going to Al-Anon for almost four years now. It is a 12-step program for anyone who has lived with someone who has a substance-abuse problem, usually an alcoholic.
It is an anonymous program for good reason, so I won’t be revealing any names or personal information on other people in this blog. That is why I’ll stay focused on myself.
It’s basically how the program operates.
Which is why people often misunderstand the “me” part of it as some form of navel-gazing.
It isn’t.
I’ll explain.
“Co” comes from the Latin word “with” or “together”. Of course that sounds like you’re just trying to get on the same page with someone else.
That’s not it at all.
I guess psychologists couldn’t find the Latin for “Trying-to-read-someone-else’s-freaking-mind-24/7”.
But there it is.
Co-dependency is a habit of thought. Once that habit is ingrained over the years, you lose the ability to think your own thoughts. You lose yourself.
And over time, you lose all ability to make decisions.
Decision-making is something most people take for granted.
For example:
You go to the store and buy toothpaste.
You might buy the cheapest brand when you're low on money, or you may buy something for your sensitive teeth, or you may just like the taste of one, or you may be adventurous and try something new.
For the co-dependent, it’s not so simple because my mind is always on what will keep the alcoholic happy.
Which brand of toothpaste does he want this week? Has he changed his mind? Is it too expensive? Will he become angry, or worse, not speak to me for days? Will there be some other form of retribution for buying the wrong toothpaste?
Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it?
It is. But not funny. Not for the co-dependent.
I’m the proverbial frog in the pot. It takes time to build up this sort of habit of thought, so the water slowly heats while I’m thinking it’s just a warm bath.
And before I knew it…I was cooked.
But there’s something I know now.
I am not a victim.
I made my own choices in the beginning, and this is where those choices led me.
Habits of thought are not easily changed. It took years to get me here and it will take years to change.
It took a huge crisis to make me walk into my first Al Anon meeting years ago.
Within three meetings, I had an epiphany and realized my autonomy had disappeared.
I had simply lost all ability to think my own thoughts. I couldn’t make any decision that did not involve the alcoholic in my life.
I was, in short, helpless, and if I wanted to survive, this program was my only hope.
I want to clearly state that this blog is in no manner a substitute for the Al Anon program and isn’t affiliated with it in any way. This blog is my own journey out of co-dependency, and while I offer it as an interlude for others to read and contemplate, it is not a replacement for the program itself.
Because of this addendum, I’ve turned off comments.
Just think of this as the self-help section of the bookstore that you browse through with a latte in your hand.
Writing is what I left after the long burn.
And I’m still not sure if I’ve timed this right. My timing has always been awful.
But, I’ll never know unless I give it a try. So here it is.
I’ve come to believe this place, this interlude of thought, is where God meets me to deal with the wounds…to help me think differently about people, life…Him.
To think for myself about those things.
I don’t want to draw a picture of how I want others to think about me…that’s a hallmark of co-dependency.
And I guess that’s where the brutal truth rears its huge head.
But in Al-Anon, the brutal truth is for me to figure out…no one gets to tell me.
Except God.
And He isn’t brutal about it.
One Day at a Time, friends.
