CHAPTER 1

FROM ENMESHMENT TO FREEDOM

MY STORY

When we're caught in the pain of enmeshment, we don't know who we are, what wethink or want, or what direction is right for us to move in. We have traded inour own identity for the identity we think another person prefers. And when wehave many significant people in our lives who we assume we need to satisfy, wenecessarily develop many personalities. Chaos reigns, at least in our own minds,when we are living for and through other people.

That's how I lived life for my first thirty-six years. I vividly rememberstanding in our kitchen and crying after my first husband, Bill, and Iseparated, because I had no idea what I wanted to fix for my dinner. I had spenttwelve years cooking whatever he wanted, and the sad part was that it had notoccurred to me that it could have been different. It wasn't because he wasabusive and demanded that I cook his favorite things; I had simply lived my lifearound him in every regard. I remember feeling as though I were on the hot seatwhenever he asked me what I thought about a book we had both read, a movie wehad recently seen, a philosophical idea he had painstakingly explained to me, oreven something as simple as the weather. I would nervously search my mind toguess what he might be thinking about the topic so my answer could match, or atleast complement, his ideas. I feared his look of boredom whenever I offeredwhat he considered an obviously uninformed answer.

Did he really look at me this way? Probably not. Did he demand that I pay himthis homage? of course not. It was simply what I had learned to do inrelationships in order to avoid being rejected. But in the end, my panderingcould not keep him in the relationship. And it had given me no happiness either.

My experience with Bill was not the first relationship I had tried to control byseeking to make myself indispensable. With my first boyfriend in high school, Ihad behaved similarly. If Steve was moody, I was the reason. I needed to be moreexciting perhaps. If he didn't call when I expected him to, I was certain abreakup was imminent. If he had not asked me for a specific weekend date, I knewit was because he was waiting for a better date to surface. I lived my lifearound his every mood and meager offerings of attention. I watched him like ahawk to assess how I was doing in my role as girlfriend.

My early relationships illustrate the too-common behaviors of the enmeshed,attached, codependent person. My identity was clearly an extension of thepartner I was with. If he turned away, I felt invisible. If he praised me orfocused attention on me in any way, it suggested I mattered. I was continuouslyafraid that every relationship partner and friend would eventually reject meunless I was the perfect counterpart to his or her identity. Mine was animpossible assignment. My inner turmoil and overwhelming self-doubt onlyincreased in magnitude.

Considering myself a whole person, worthy to be valued solely on my own terms,was beyond my comprehension. While growing up, I had not received the kind ofperspective from my family that would have helped me develop a positive self-image.Being constantly available and ingratiating was the only way I knew toget the feedback I craved. At the end of my relationships with Steve and Bill, Iwas aware that the behavior I had tried to master could not prevent rejection.But I had no other behavior to resort to. I didn't even realize it could bedifferent.

My reliance on open expressions of love from significant other people in my lifewas absolute for a number of years. I didn't really appreciate the depth of myown dependence on others' approval until I had been sober and in AlcoholicsAnonymous (AA) for a while. It wasn't that I didn't see how much I wanted to benoticed and liked—I had just never acknowledged how anxious I felt when theattention I sought was not forthcoming.

But while I assumed that AA was going to change all of the behaviors,perceptions and assumptions that had haunted me for years and fed my self-doubt,toward the end of my first year of recovery, I was closer to suicide than at anytime previously in my life. I had considered suicide the perfect out for manyyears; however, I had never planned it in as much detail as I did after abouttwelve months of sobriety. Stacked on my kitchen table were the towels I plannedto stuff around the windows of my apartment. All I needed to do was tightly tuckthem next to the sills and turn on the gas from the stove. I felt numb and yetrelieved that the pain would soon be gone.

Then there was a rapid, persistent knocking at the door.

I wasn't expecting anyone and considered not answering, but a voice begancalling my name. It sounded quite impatient, so I eventually opened the door. Myvisitor, a woman I barely recognized, insisted we had made an appointment todiscuss financial planning. She brushed right past me and walked into mykitchen.

After a good bit of probing on her part, I told her about my overwhelming fearand depression, although not my planned suicide. She said she understood, hadexperienced this form of anxiety herself, gave it a name, and told me I was onthe threshold of a great spiritual awakening. She said that my experience wassimply a point on the continuum of spiritual growth and that most individualswho were seeking a deeper, better understanding of their purpose in life, as Ihad been, went through this phase.

Something inside me told me she was right. I could feel a change throughout mybody as she spoke. A calm settled over me. I had not felt calm for many weeks. Ihad the quiet but profound knowledge that I hadn't ever needed to discussfinances with her. But I had needed to speak to someone about my cripplingfears. Within a few minutes of her mysterious presence in my home, I was freedfrom the need to end my life. She left almost as quickly as she had come, butshe was, without a doubt, God-sent.

STILL ADDICTED TO APPROVAL

One might think...