May 3, 1991

Dear Future Self:

I’m sitting here in our semi-dirty apartment on Catherine Street while Tim makes cinnamon rolls from scratch in the kitchen.  There’s a joke in there somewhere but I don’t know what it is.  I’m looking around at this place in all its grungy glory - the pink stove (before breast cancer pink comes into fashion), the avocado green refrigerator.  I spend a lot of time here being smart, feeling sad, writing, experimenting.  Even now I get how geeky it is to spend my Tuesday nights in the Objectivist philosophy group.  Shouldn’t we be out drinking and smoking, like other college kids?  Let’s hope you laugh when you read this, because you’ll remember all the bad decisions we made this year and in the next few to come. 

I know us well.  I know we’re going to have a ton of fun in our 20’s.  The palm reader we’ll go to in 1994 will tell us the truth:  the years between 22 and 30 will be constant chaos, moving, change, loving, leaving, ups and downs.  The 30’s are supposed to be our best, most stable years.  I can see us getting married to some nice boy from Jersey, wearing a pretty white dress, anorexia serving us well.  We’ll pop out some beautiful kids, buy a house, practice being Holly Homemaker in the suburbs.  But knowing us, we’ll get itchy the further away from our roots we get.  And knowing us, we’ll probably blow it because rising from the ashes is what we do best. 

I’d like to think that we’re going to do something spectacular before turning 40.  Write a book.  Climb a mountain.  Become a nun.  Become a patron of the arts (no idea where the money to be a philanthropist is going to come from, but just go with me on this one).  Become Volunteer of the Year, or start a kennel for dogs who need homes.  But if not, I’m still going to try to be proud of us.  Being a mom is an achievement too, and sometimes being a mom means putting the other stuff aside for a few years. 

It’s funny to know that I am hyper-critical of myself right now, and I know that at 40, we’ll look in the mirror and think, “DAMN, I looked good when I was 20.”  I still don’t see what you will see, but I’ll give it to you.  At 40 we will be wrinkled and curmudgeonly, because from way back here in 1991, 40 seems really freakin’ old.  People will probably tell us that we look great for 40.  Right now, looking younger is annoying because I’m constantly carded when buying cigarettes or trying to get into a club.  At 20, I’m sitting here in Ann Arbor at the peak of our beauty and unfortunately, I suck at appreciating my size 6 curvy body.  I’m hopeful that we will be happier in our skin at 40, even though there’s a lot more skin in which to be happy. 

When I think of us married, I get sort of hazy and woozy.  Our friends already plan their weddings - Genevieve even picks up Modern Bride at the drugstore.  I’m not planning our wedding quite yet.  I don’t really get the whole idea of marriage, but that’s probably because I don’t date anyone but men who should have their legs tethered to cement blocks and dropped into Lake Huron.  We’ve made lots of bad decisions, not going with our gut, not trusting our instincts.  I’m fairly certain we’re going to struggle with that a bunch more in the next 20 years, but by 40, let’s hope you get our crap together for us, girlfriend.  Right now I’m allowed to flounder, change my mind, sway in the breeze.  In another 20 years, however, you need to give us some backbone and decide what is right for us.  I’m counting on you, grandma. 

Whatever we’re doing at 40, I think it’s going to be fabulous.  How can I think anything else?  Maybe you’ll even surprise me - take up running, actually beat an eating disorder, find someone worthy to love and be the type of person who is worth enough to be loved as well.  Stranger things have happened.

No matter what, we’re in this together - so make our 40’s spectacular.  I’m counting on you to make this life worth it. 

- Cristina

Codependency (or codependence, co-narcissism or inverted narcissism) is a tendency to behave in overly passive or excessively caretaking ways that negatively impact one’s relationships and quality of life. It also often involves putting one’s needs at a lower priority than others while being excessively preoccupied with the needs of others. Codependency can occur in any type of relationship, including in families, at work, in friendships, and also in romantic, peer or community relationships. Codependency may also be characterized by denial, low self-esteem, excessive compliance, and/or control patterns.[1] Narcissists are considered to be natural magnets for the codependent.

(source)

I’ve hated the term “codependent” since I made the fatal mistake of attending a CODA meeting (for the non-12-steppers out there, Codependents Anonymous) more than a decade ago in Raleigh.  Seemed like a good idea since I was already making the rounds of the 12 step meetings, including OA and a hardcore no flour/no sugar faction of OA (think Branch Davidians to the Christian Church).  This was back in the early 90’s and everyone was throwing around the codependent phrase. Codependency was the new black and there was nothing cooler than sitting in coffeeshops or bars (for the non-AA 12 steppers) discussing all the ways codependency had destroyed our lives. 

CODA meetings crack me up to this day.  Nothing like putting a bunch of caretakers in a room together, full of other people and their problems, everyone with an overwhelming need to fix each other.  The best times were when CODA people would hook up and start dating, all the while attending SA meetings.  That unholy union created more work for therapists than 9/11 and the market crash. 

(note:  I believe strongly in 12 step programs, as they have helped me immeasurably at times in my past.  But like anything I’ve done in my life, they are fair game for writing fodder and making fun of the way I used them)

CODA meetings never felt right to me, and I never really understood how I was codependent anyway.  I mean, I loved my friends and my family to the nth degree, and what was wrong with that?  Maybe if people spent more time thinking about the needs of others, the world wouldn’t be such a selfish and cold place. 

At the time, I was still in a fairly dysfunctional relationship that lasted off and on for over 10 years.  Okay, it was fully dysfunctional, but man, was it fun at times.  On a positive note, no other man has ever communicated better with me than K.  Even though there was a lot of lying between us, when we weren’t talking about our (non)relationship we were communicating at a level that even today makes me jealous.  I never felt judged and I told him absolutely everything.  I held nothing back.  I think in his own way, he didn’t either - except where telling the truth would hurt me or drive me away.  Thankfully that was only one small part of his life.  The rest was wide open.  K was not an open person in general and he held much of his personal life close to the vest.  I’m sure he was practicing emotional infidelity with me long before it was a catch phrase.  He told me things and communicated with me in a way that I don’t believe he did with 99% of his girlfriends. 

As I look back from a sunny seat in a place with free wireless, having a good hair day and feeling fairly peaceful, it’s easy to put a love that actively lasted 14 years of my life into perspective.  He was, and probably always will be, the great love of my life.  You can make fun of it or call it fantasy, but I loved him like I’ve loved no other. I also understand that the great loves of our lives are not always the loves we should commit to either. 

I always thought our relationship was so complex, but really, it was amazingly simple.  I made it complex with all of my desires and dreams, and my emotional deafness when it came to hearing him.  I met him when I was young - 14 - and he was older - 22. Most of what I learned in how one expresses love or receives it came from K, and it isn’t all bad.  The rest, well, I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy fixing my messed up ideas of what love is, why I have abandonment issues, why I don’t trust men, or trust them too much.  Why once I bond with my friends, it’s very hard to ever break it, even if the bond is literally tearing me apart.  I can trace back most of my crap to this relationship that began many years ago. 

(break)

Sean told me recently I have abandonment issues.  At first I was thinking, “He totally doesn’t get me”.  Then I realized I definitely do, and one of the reasons - a main reason - I married Mike was because I knew instinctively he would never, ever leave me.  But every other man I’ve ever loved has left me - without fail.  It’s no wonder I struggle to let down my guard these days or preplan for how my head is going to land when the guillotine drops. 

(end break)

To this day, I’m still conceited enough to think that if I love someone enough - if I love them hard enough - if I give enough or if I sacrifice as much as I can - they will do what I want them to.  I’d like that sentence to read:  “If I love someone enough . . . .they will do what’s best for them”, but hey, let’s call it what it is.  We’re all out to get what we want for ourselves, and we like to think that we know better than everyone else what they need.  What I think is best for you could actually be the worst possible thing.  I only play a doctor on tv.  I didn’t stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night. 

With K, I figured if I hung around long enough and was always there for him as much as humanly possible, and let him do what he wanted and listen and not demand, he’d come around to my way of thinking and marry me or at least live with me.  I created a whole life for the two of us without ever looking at his actions and saying to myself, “Get a grip, woman.  He has NO desire for any of this crap!”  Today, K is living out his ideal life - and he lives alone, never having been married.  He has embraced what he calls his selfishness.  I don’t think it’s selfish to do what’s best for you.  He recognized what he needed to work in his life, and he finally hunkered down and accepted his path isn’t going to look like most other “normal” people. 

Unlike me, he never directly lied about what he wanted or what was going to work for him.  Had I taken 5 minutes and looked at his actions instead of his words or my own words, clouding my judgment, I would have been finished with that relationship immediately after college graduation.  His actions were very direct and left little to the imagination.  He threw up a lot of verbal smokescreens, but I am not a stupid girl.  I never have been.  In the back of my mind, I always know what’s going on.  It’s my varying degrees of acceptance or denial that cause me to survive or conversely, falter. 

I’ve come a long way since then.  Yes, I forgave K for the things that happened between us (and there were plenty of bad things to forgive, on both of our sides).  But I forgave myself for being so self-destructive. I started to look at all the things I learned from that relationship instead of focusing on how much damage it did to my long-term view of myself and what I should expect from relationships. 

Am I codependent?  Yeah, probably.  I still have to vigilantly observe my actions because more often than not, I will get stuck worrying about other people and taking care of them while I forget all about myself.  I dated someone last year and I swear, all I did was cater to their needs.  We really didn’t have much in common but I was determined to be the Best. Girlfriend. Ever.  This included Ego Stroking 101, Counseling 301, Parenting 101, Shopping 410 and Housewifery 510.  Frankly, I am the best girlfriend ever - but I do even better when the other person is trying to be the Best. Boyfriend.Ever.  And when what they want is me. 

All of this to say that most everyone I know is in a codependent relationship. My sister is an exception to the rule - as is my friend Laura.  I’m not really sure how they do it but I’m trying - eventually I’ll learn.  For now, I’m trying to keep the codependent gene from passing on down the line to my own children.  I may have learned the behavior by my own experiences, but I’d prefer not to teach it.

And best of all, there are plenty of CODA meetings if I want to get dates for the upcoming free weekends

(couldn’t resist this one:)

I’m not going to sugar coat it.  Christmas afternoon was eerily similar to a September day over a year ago. Thankfully my day ended differently than my September experience.  Instead of hitting rock bottom, I hit a very long run followed by a very quiet evening with a very close friend and a good movie.  Stanley, as usual, I owe you.  It was especially helpful to hear how he’s gotten through quite a few holidays alone and that now it’s almost easy for him. 

Even though Kevin is perpetually perky (and it’s so very annoying), I knew he was struggling too.  He had to have been because for him to run 10 minute miles on purpose means something.  I used every ounce of strength I had to get to the run.  After the effort it took to get out of bed, cry my way to the stadium, and pull it together before Kevin showed up and laughed at my puffy face, the run seemed easy in comparison.  The run course was unfortunate as we ran by The Camel, the VMFA, and some downtown landmarks I had just visited with Philip.  I was missing all my close friends on that run, but especially him.  At this point, anyone who makes the days easier to swallow is a good friend of mine. 

My sister sent me an amazing Christmas present.  It’s a necklace from Waxing Poetic and one of the charms on it is this one:

My friend Christina sent me a necklace too - with a stone that was all about recovery and inner strength.  I need to wear both of them at the same time.  Between the two I feel like the entire last year is synopsized into silver and stone.  Running, strength, friends, family.  I’m clinging onto all of them.

I’ve been struggling with New Year’s weekend for quite a while.  I finally figured out what I’m going to do and it feels right.  I might even do the Resolution Run for “real” instead of for fun - meaning, I’m going to run a hard 4 miles.  The 5K Saturday can be my fun run, especially since it’s going to be followed with mimosas and brunch.  My weekend is not at all what I thought it was going to be, but I’m adapting and still working hard to let go.  I’ve learned a lot from Jennifer and now when I’m faced with a situation that feels terrible, I can see the lesson in it.  In this case, it’s that I have no control over others, or where they are in their life, or what is important to them.  At the end of the day, we are all very much alone and you have to stand on your own two feet or spend your days face down in the mud.  No one is able to hold my hand 100% of the time, no matter how much they want to.  I’m FINALLY okay with it.  I know that I can curl up and shriek and cry and hurl things around because I also know it’s going to pass and tomorrow something amazing will happen. 

Someone asked me today how I was surviving.  She looked so sympathetic, like someone had just run over my cat.  I was taken aback.  My life is supposed to be pretty good now.  I got what I “wanted”, so therefore all should be well.  I took a deep breath and said, “I’m not surviving.  I’m doing great - and survival sounds like drudgery to me, so I choose to not think about it as survival.”  (I actually got to use drudgery in a sentence - go English majors!!!)  I was probably lying, but I resent pity and I don’t like feeling my weakness is painted over my face like Ke$ha’s bad glitter. 

I knew my blog posts were going to be depressing (reading drudgery!) this week, and I’m okay with it.  I want to be able to look back next year and say, “Good God woman.  Did you not see through the fog that life is exactly as it should be, and everything’s gonna be ok?  You are so short-sighted sometimes . . . ”  I’ll be chuckling at my depression and fatalistic views while watching Lily paint a masterpiece and Arden rock out on her piano while penning her first novella with her toes.  The warm arms around me will belong to my Wall Street slash Writer slash Recovering Emo slash Social Media Junkie and the chai will be perfect, I’ll be six inches taller and rocking a beautiful pair of Blahniks I paid cash for.  Ho ho ho, I’ll say to the me of right now.  And you were even worried that things would work out!  Aha hahahaha.

Seriously though, I’m okay with hanging on by my fingernails.  Each time I make it through one of the valleys, I’m amazed I’ve done it when I stop being so scared I was in that place to begin with. 

I have a couple of rules about blogging.

One of them is to never blog when angry. 

One is to never blog when I am in danger of outing someone’s private stuff.

One is to never blog when so frustrated it can appear that I am angry.

Sometimes I ignore my rules. 

Let’s recap my no-win situation, shall we?

If you put yourself out there as a single mother, guys freak out because they think you want them to take care of you financially and god forbid, your children too.

So some of us are clear upfront and immediately that it’s not something they need to worry about.  On first dates, we spend time explaining the amazing father their children have, how involved he is in their lives, and how their college tuition has already been paid for.  We talk about our own financial independence and what we’re doing to ensure we can retire under worst case scenario - you know, the one where we end up living alone well into our 90s with just 16 cats and latch hook projects to keep us company. 

We spend time BEFORE the first date even happens explaining how deathly important self-awareness is.  We say things like, ‘Have you really thought the whole “I’m okay with not having my own kids?’ idea through?” We specifically state, in no uncertain terms, that a fling is what you do with bugs on a piece of bread.  We smile benignly and shake our heads and say “Yes, isn’t it great being almost 40?  The amount of maturity we gained in our 30s is really paying off!” all the while calculating which ridiculous scenario will play out next, like . . .

Will he end a relationship over text message?

Will he lie about something pretty major?

Has he really taken 4 weeks off from separating from his wife to determine why their marriage fell apart in the first place?

Is he threatened by my kids and will eventually run screaming from my house because I love them more than I’ll ever love him?

Will he make disparaging comments about my running, my ass, or my love of big words because he’d rather stay a stupid redneck than work on improving himself?

And finally, is his maturity level higher than it was at 16 years old? 

Mid-life dating is bringing back fond memories of dating in my early 20’s.  I used to think I was just a magnet for crazies, artists and men with mommy issues.  Then I realized, based on a lot of conversations with girlfriends, we all had those same experiences.  Instead of it getting better with age, as I had hoped, my experience has shown it’s worse.  The same men who used to flip one way, followed by the other, like an overcooked pancake, are even worse 20 years later. 

It is not coincidental that I have had the same conversation with no less than 5 men.  The issues are always slightly different, and in some cases, they are apologetic for their complete idiocy about their own needs and wants.  They come home and find their wife has left them, or they decide to leave.  They start throwing themselves out there, asking friends to set them up or introduce them.  The friends do this.  They meet us.  We go out.  We drink, sometimes split the tab, eat dinner, have good conversations, feel uncomfortable, wonder how many stretch marks or love handles the other has.  More time is invested in “getting to know” each other.  More drivel over email, and more often, over text.  Grammar goes by the wayside. 

In other memorable cases, there is absolutely no apology or even acceptance that they have been clueless and negligent and go through their lives like a garbage truck without brakes, slamming into one person and the next until they hopefully either get it right or hit something that doesn’t disintegrate under their front bumper. 

I used to always laugh at older divorced women.  Their bitterness could be legendary. It scared me and I didn’t understand it.

I still don’t understand it.  I still think most people are good.  The difference between the young me and the current me is this:  I think most people are good, but completely clueless about what they want, what motivates or drives them, and how their actions can seriously affect the people in their lives. 

And this, my friends, is why I’m “still” seeing a therapist even though I’m “all good”.  I actually want to keep my crazy to myself, and stop smacking other people over the head with it.  For the near future, my love life includes only a dog, a few friends, a pair of running shoes and cuddling my kids at night.  I’ve never been so happy to be sleeping alone in my life.  My epitaph, were I to die tonight, would read:  “Attractor of all Kinds Expert in the Art of Douchebaggery.”  All hail the Queen of the Damaged.  Bow to me, then close the door on your way out please. 

Arden turned 6 today.  We did pedicures, had lunch with my mom and dad, and are doing a small birthday celebration with Windsor tonight.  It’s an odd way to spend her birthday and I wonder if she’s missing her dad (they celebrated over the weekend). 

She wanted a GoGo walking dog thing, and I have to admit it scares me.  It growls, barks and pants - sometimes it does this without any provocation.  It also walks in this creepy lurching way and I know that thing is going to be standing over me in bed, teeth bared, ready to rip out my jugular.  It’s a fuzzy version of Cujo. 

As for the second part, I had about an hour’s window in which to mow the grass. My new mower, used approximately three times this summer due to extreme drought, will not start.  I started to google ways to make it work, but you know what?  I am fed up with it.  I’m fed up with maintaining this stupid house and yard right now.  My kids go through the house spreading mess and chaos and they are getting better about picking up after themselves, but it’s an unending battle.  When we talk about it, they make their eyes big and say “Mommy, this house is just SO small.”  I want to simultaneously hug them and beat them. 

Sometimes I don’t like being a girl. Even though in my previous life I was responsible for most of the small maintenance tasks and figuring out how to make things go, I get tired and cranky when I just want things to work.  I don’t have time for this.  Someone, please come mow the grass.  I surrender.