Creative Codependence

An Ending and a Beginning

2011-05-22T09:55:00.000-07:00

Eighteen months and 87 articles later, the Creative Codependence Blog is taking a break. I've loved writing this blog and will continue to teach and write about codependence but starting tomorrow, May 23, a new blog takes its place:The Interdependent Life
Join me as I continue to explore creative ways to live life — ways that respect open and honest communication, the mutuality of need and the boundaries required to serve us in good health. As always, I welcome your comments.

For ease of searching, I've listed all the Creative Codependence articles by month below.

Stay tuned for The Creative Living workshops this fall:

• Creative Codependence™: Getting more Out of Life
• Interdependent Living: Mutuality, Respect and Self Leadership
• Awakening to Boundaries: Taking Care of Self

And... ARC Bodywork sessions are available. Go to www.jo-annsvensson.com to find out more or send me an email to get on my mailing list. Look forward to hearing from you, Jo-Ann

November, 2009
Masks
Responsibility
Global Dependency
Contracts

December 2009

Creativity
The Power of No
Self Care
Climate Change

January 2010

Christmas
Horses, Boundaries and Dr. Suess
Atonement
Rules (part one)
Rules (part two)

February 2010

Self Responsibility
The Girl Cell
Of Being Human
Interdependence
Day 1 - Day 7 of the 2010 Interdependence Challenge

March 2010

Olympics
Risky Investments
The Triple C

April 2010

Heroes

The Wind
Vulnerability
Sunshine
A Muse on Life

May 2010

Trust and Safety Series
Trust and Safety (part one)
The Codependency of Mistrust
The Chicken and the Egg (part three)
Trust and Safety (part four)

June 2010

Boredom
Centre Stage
An African Folk Tale (part one)
Name Your Hunger (part two)
The Hunger of Codependence (part three)

July 2010

The Hunger of Addiction (part four)
The Power Give Away
Self Protection
Intimacy

August 2010

A question on Vulnerability
More on Vulnerability

September/October 2010

Bread Making Series
The Light and the Dark of It
Perfection and the Mother Starter
Good Bread: The Hopeful Cure-All
Success
Authority and the Art of Break Making

The Simple Life
Breaking the Contract

November 2010

Jack of the Petit Dumpling
The Road
Party On Or Not

December 2010
My Favorite Things
Half the Sky
Gift Giving
Wikileaks
Selfishness or Health Self Care
Awareness and Responsibility

January 2011

Reclaiming Codependence
Hairdresser's Anonymous
Recovery and Sustainability: Are We Worth It

The Interconnectedness of Self Worth
The Cupboard Gourmet
Our Body; Our Self
In Praise of Being Wrong

February 2011

Hiding Behind the Socially Acceptable
Adventures in Buckwheat
Love the One You're With (part one)
Love the One You're With (part two)
Mother Issues
The Opaque Mirror

March 2011

The 2011 Interdependence Challenge
Day 1 - Day 7
Interdependence and the Social Media
Unconditional Meaning
Holding Centre

Victor Frankl and Interdependence

2011-04-03T19:33:00.000-07:00

I am taking a small break from writing this month. Elections Canada has hired me to teach workshops for the next three weeks and my mind is a wee bit focused on the voting “need-to-knows” for election officials. It is actually quite fascinating as I have never before been behind the scenes of the democratic process and it’s an interesting change from my usual workshop topics. The consequence, however, will be sporadic blog entries between now and D-Day, May 2.

Today I leave you with some quotes from Victor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Frankl spent three horrendous years in Dachau and Auschwitz. His writings inspire me and reinforce my beliefs in interdependence.

Of his concentration camp experiences he wrote:

“What was really needed was a fundamental change in our attitude toward life. … We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life — daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. ... No man and no destiny can be compared with any other man or any other destiny. No situation repeats itself, and each situation calls for a different response.”

In other words, he calls for us to be creative in our response to life regardless of where it leads us. He encourages mutuality and respect in our relationships and, above all, responsible self leadership. He calls for us to be interdependent.

Holding Centre

2011-03-23T15:49:00.000-07:00

Communication is a funny thing. No matter how straightforward or honest you try to be, and no matter how much you try to stay out of triangles and other people’s business, you can still find yourself in the middle of a conundrum that while is not of your doing, directly affects you.

Drat it all, being human is not easy.

I found myself in a bit of an uncomfortable miscommunication triangle not too long ago. Despite the fact I was an “innocent” caught in the middle, I wavered between guilt that felt I could have made my position clearer and anger that abhorred being blamed for any of it — both nicely blended in with a caretaking desire to fix the problem. None of those responses would have been helpful and, in retrospect, all three were codependent reactions. With each of those feelings I was allowing myself to be overly affected by another because I was losing sight of my truth: the problem was not mine and, therefore, not mine to fix or worry about. The best I could do was to state my case, not take on anyone else’s responsibility, nor try to solve it for them or worry that I could have done better.

It is one of those default patterns I can fall into that drives me to sleepless nights and irritable days but also one that reinforces why I don’t want to live in codependence anymore. Anyhow, while the triangle issue is still being worked out and my codependent parts gnaw at the bit to get involved, I tenuously hold my centre.

Unconditional Meaning

2011-03-18T14:53:00.000-07:00

Please share with me a quote from Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. He writes in a few perfect words what I tried to pen in a thousand. The man was not only a genius but a poet. (See my version in The Interconnectedness of Self Worth.

What is demanded of man is not, as some existential philosophers teach, to endure the meaningless of life, but rather to bear his incapacity to grasp its unconditional meaningfulness in rational terms.

Interdependence and the Social Media

2011-03-16T10:04:00.000-07:00

I am back with the question I asked on March 9: does social media deter or enhance interdependence? Or, as originally stated, does true interdependence require real, face-to-face social interaction?

** First, however, I must make full disclosure: I have been known to use the email (and v-mail for that matter) as a tool to avoid social contact and, if I am totally honest, to have more control over the messiness that can occur in face-to-face interactions. Electronic media helps me, to a certain extent, avoid intimacy. Thus twisted logic is born: because I do, everyone else does, resulting in my current bias against.

When I posed the question on March 9, “Bonnie” replied in the comment section:

“I find [Facebook] great to relate on some level to friends and family who live in other parts of the world, and who I don't have a face to face, telephone or even e-mail connection with very often. It helps us be a part of each other's life …”

Okay, that makes sense, “being a part of each other’s life” fits one aspect of interdependence, that of community. I come from the perspective that we are all interconnected (whether we acknowledge it or not) and if social media can help us feel those bonds then that is a positive in my books. But what of the other parts of interdependence: respect, mutuality and leadership? What about the fourth component that we played with on March 11 — simplicity?

Let’s deal with them in order. First off, is social media a respectful communication tool? If left unrestrained I would say no. Then again, isn’t that true of other sources of communication? We don’t, for example, write confidential information on the back of postcards or have embarrassing photos in the inner flap of our wallets or on our office computer screensaver. And who hasn’t wanted to tell their cell phone talking bus mate that their sex life isn’t all that interesting. All forms of communication require some form of boundary that draws the line at not only what is said but how, when and to whom it is said. That is, of course, if we want it to be respectful.

Is there mutuality to social media? Mutuality, as used here, is about mutual gain or, at minimum, an interaction in which no one is hurt or loses energy. Facebook may increase positive social connections (a mutual gain) but it can also be used as a tool to bully. Like other forms of communication, it depends on intent. We can have meaningful conversation or we can gossip; one way enhances the other hurts. A political example comes from the use of social media in mass protest movements. This was seen quite dramatically in Iran in 2009, and recently with Egypt, Tunisia and Libya. Lev Grossman of Time Magazine wrote:

“… Twitter practically [is] ideal for a mass protest movement, both very easy for the average citizen to use and very hard for any central authority to control. ... On June 13 [2009], when protests started to escalate, and the Iranian government moved to suppress dissent both on- and off-line, the Twitter verse exploded with tweets from people who weren't having it, both in English and in Farsi.”

Then again, what’s good for the citizen may be a loss for the government. Mutuality can be subjective and perhaps best left in the hands of historians to debate. And, going back to intent, who is to judge that what is being said is truth? As Grossman continues:

“As is so often the case in the media world, Twitter's strengths are also its weaknesses. The vast body of information about current events in Iran that circulates on Twitter is chaotic, subjective and totally unverifiable. It's impossible to authenticate sources.”

Perhaps a more easily defended example of positive mutuality is how Facebook and Twitter provided relief for loved ones looking for lost relatives in Japan this past week.

“Less than an hour after the quake, the number of tweets from Tokyo topped 1,200 per minute, according to Tweet-o-Meter. An interactive graphic created by Facebook to illustrate status updates related to the quake shows Japan’s activity on Facebook during that day was also high.” (source: mashable.com)

And now we come to leadership, a key factor in interdependence. We discussed above how intent seems to be what keeps social media and other forms of communication an interdependent process. For the underlying intent to be respectful to self and others, and a tool for positive mutuality, there must be integrous self leadership.

As I disclosed at the beginning of this blog I sometimes use email and v-mail to avoid real interaction. In those instances I am not in integrity with those of whom I am relating. I am lacking in self leadership for I am allowing the parts of me that want to hide to be in charge. This is not to say that I should talk when I don’t feel like talking but that I should also not fool myself in believing I am creating community by hiding behind a computer. Another example of this is in on-line protests movements like petitions. In a review by The Guardian Weekly (Feb 4.11), Evgeny Morozov was quoted from his book, Net Delusion: How not to liberate the world

“The internet … is breeding a generation not of activists but of “slacktivists”, who think that clicking on a Facebook petition counts as a political act and who dissipate their energies on a thousand distractions.”

If signing on-line petitions is a way of comforting our self into believing we are doing the best in making the world a better place, we are not in integrity with our beliefs. On-line petitions have little pull compared with a posted letter to the government or the newspaper editor, donated money, volunteer work or peaceful marches. While it is a step in the right direction when done in isolation on-line petitions becomes another way to shield ourselves from what it means to live interdependently in community.

Finally, we add in simplicity. When communication gets complicated it generally means our codependent parts are in play. When we try to formulate our interactions with others so to consciously, or unconsciously, manipulate them to like, help, respect, be fearful of, or protect us, we not only disrespect all parties involved but we complicate the issue. We do things in reference to the other without honestly acknowledging our own needs and feelings. Instead of saying “I am lonely” we try to somehow make another need us so they will stay or love us; instead of stating our anger we project anger onto others or act passive aggressively; and instead of showing our vulnerabilities, we project fear into others to control or keep them at a distance.

Honest communication begins with self. If we are in integrity with our feelings, beliefs and actions, we have a higher potential to respectfully act on those feelings and beliefs regardless of how we choose to communicate. Interdependence has its origins within that internal honesty — that clear intent to live in integrity … simple as that.

The Interdependent Challenge Day 7

2011-03-11T21:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I started the challenge off by asking myself what I really meant by interdependence. I found myself confused after experiencing the many emotions surrounding my father; my need for solitude and a sporadic but determined desire to be a part of the world. Through this I recognized a part of me that doesn’t want to be interdependent — the messy feelings that come from it just too damn uncomfortable. Then again, are these not my codependent parts speaking, the ones that want to hide away in a cave and find safety and reassurance within the walls of aloneness and the others that feel I can serve the world best by fixing things I have no right to fix?

I received an email a few days ago from someone responding to Day 4 of the Challenge. It was a much needed light in the dim hallway I was living. The person wrote: “I spent a lot of energy being anxious about what I should or shouldn't do. I had no compass until I found myself and started listening.” And how simple is that?

If I look at it from this perspective, interdependence may require respect, mutuality and leadership but to be truly effective the energy behind it must come from within. We must listen to and respect individual needs while interacting with others from our internal compass— the one that tells us what is right and what is wrong, what depletes and what replenishes; what strengthens and what diminishes.

Perhaps then, that is the fourth component of the interdependent tenets: Respect, Mutuality, Leadership and Simplicity. Life is complicated when our codependent parts are in charge. In the action of simplifying, however; in allowing life to flow without complicated motives, by trusting ourselves and listening to our internal compass we live interdependently.

Interdependent Challenge - Day 6

2011-03-10T20:18:00.000-08:00

Interdependence… its been such a full and, at times, confusing week, I sit here tonight and ask, what the heck do I mean by that?

It all seemed so easy last year when I first initiated the Interdependent Challenge. Back then I had a clearer vision and a yearning to be out there while today I sit in quasi-retreat. These past few months I’ve chosen solitude over connection and have been looking at my identity in terms never fully explored before. I really don’t want to interact with anyone but life doesn’t stop because I desire it to do so: the show, as they say, goes on.

So today I went food shopping and, because the jar was there, donated $1 to a microfinancing program in Peru. I bought organic and fair trade food, wrote a letter to the government about GM foods and had a sweet talk with a friend, connecting deeply on what it means to be human. I talked to my father and, while initially struck with guilt when he sounded down (see Day 4 Challenge), came to understand that he is entitled to feel down without me trying to fix it or take responsibility — his car may be a write-off, I’d be pissed off too. In short, I did my best to respectfully connect with the world while mutually respecting my need for quiet. I took leadership over my codependent parts that wanted to fix my father and then did the laundry. Yes, life goes on, however we choose to live it.

Interdependent Challenge Day 5

2011-03-09T21:55:00.000-08:00

I had an interesting conversation with a friend today about social media. Even though I write a blog (and yes, have two websites) I shy away from the Facebook crowd. I am not sure of all the reasons or even if my reasoning is logical but it feels too much like voyeurism. My friend talked, however, of a more unique way of approaching the subject: one of sharing ideas, giving freely from the heart; of networking and collaboration. My question today: is the social media movement a modern method of interdependence? Or, am I really asking, does true interdependence require a real, face-to-face social interaction?

I started to answer this and it just got too convoluted… or perhaps just uncomfortable as I do tend to prefer emails to phone calls, and reading a book over going to a party. So, I am going to sit on this for a bit and write when its clearer in my mind but please feel free to send in your comments.

On another note, during the mini crisis with my father the other day, my sister and I were in contact with three different bureaucracies: the RCMP, the hospital and ICBC (insurance). Surprisingly, all encounters were genuinely supportive and empathetic. It was amazing. Sometimes all it took was a kind word or patience for that extra question but the process seemed to glide along. This was a lovely form of interdependence where there was respectful service, a mutuality of what it is to be and feel human, and integrous leadership.

Interdependent Challenge Day 4

2011-03-08T21:12:00.000-08:00

I skipped a day but I have an honest excuse… one that doesn’t come even close to the dog-eating-my-homework kind. I speak lightly here because I am feeling happy as only a person can when a potential crisis is over. Yesterday, my father had a car accident and while everyone involved is healthy and unhurt, the potential could have been devastating. So, my sister and I spent yesterday afternoon and late evening with my father. We talked to medical personnel, insurance people and the RCMP and then, reassured that all was okay, we left his house around 10pm.

One of the effects of the incident was the questions it raised for me. In particular, how does one live interdependently with a person who is less than “able” due to age, illness, or disability? Too often it can result in codependent caretaking where the needs of one supersede that of the other, where mutuality is lost and respect transcends into resentment. Although my father is a healthy octogenarian, he can also be shy and somewhat withdrawn in the face of bureaucracy. These characteristics are compounded by impaired hearing. Because of this my sister and I often make phone calls or fill out forms for him. Last night we did our best to handle most of the red tape but there were still some loose ends to be dealt with today. The question I faced last night was whether I should stay over and assist him with the rest of the work in the morning.

I talked it over with my sister and then, in deciding to come home, spent a few more hours today agonizing whether I did the right thing. Physically and emotionally my father was fine but after any accident or crisis, support can be welcome regardless of the abilities of the people involved. But how much support is appropriate? Sometimes when I accompany my father to appointments he looks to me to take up the reigns of which, unfortunately, I am more than eager to take. My question then, is when does the supportive daughter become the enabler of dependence? Said another way, when do I become the partner in codependence?

As said above I didn’t stay overnight. Instead we conversed several times on the phone and I was pleased to find that despite the inherent difficulties of the day, he handled it all quite nicely. Yes, it would have been nice if I had been there but perhaps my presence may have also inhibited his confidence in acting and thinking independently. Of course, the other element to this is my desire to be at home today. I was trying to find a balance between his needs and mine, societal expectations, and a way to empower without abandoning.

Interdependence is a fine balance between independence and dependence: a woven tapestry of different needs and wants; beliefs and abilities. Underlying is a respect for all parties involved; a mutual positive experience at best (neutral at worse); and leadership in the face of sometimes difficult choices. Only time tells us whether our choices were right and even then, sometimes those choices that seemed wrong are ultimately for the best… and vice versa.

For today, however, these were my interdependent thoughts, if not actions, of the day.

The Interdependent Challenge Day 3

2011-03-06T20:57:00.000-08:00

The thing about being interdependent is that one must acknowledge that they are not, as the saying goes, an island; that there must be a weaving of both the needs of the individual and that of the community into a fine tapestry. Then again, must it be so overt? If I stand behind my own beliefs that we are already interconnected, then no weaving is necessary. Maybe it is more like what the TV announcer tells us so earnestly: “Batteries Not Included”. The tapestry is complete but the energy behind it will remain untapped until someone finds the will to plug it in. Okay, I am mixing metaphors but to say it less poetically, interconnectedness, the foundation for interdependence, needs to be empowered not only by individuals working together but there also needs to be an underlying desire.

I was thinking about that today as I spent the day in solitude. I took a long walk up the nearest mountain, sloshed though spring snow and was gifted with terrific views of the city — a metropolis crawling with over a million people. There I was with nary a soul around while contemplating a whole soup of them lying virtually at my feet. On one hand it was calming that I could find such peace and quiet so close to the city but, on the other, it strove to emphasize how easy it is to isolate in the midst of so many. Viewing from above I could feel some connection to this town of mine but towards the people that lived there, I felt detached. I am not a social person; I like my alone time. I like closing my front door and turning off the phone and I fantasize about living in a small cabin miles away from anyone.

How can I be interdependent when I prefer sitting on top of a mountain?

On days like this, I like to think of interdependence as being a model for many aspects of my life. Today, as I kept my communication with others to a smile or nod of the head, I felt like I was respecting both their presence and my need for quiet. As I headed up the trail, I heard a raven call out and saw buds on trees near to bursting with life. I met a couple of older women on the trail and felt the kinship of mutual appreciation and respect for nature. Moreover, I didn’t use a vehicle to go to or up the mountain; my environmental footprint was small. But I feel the main component of what made my actions of today interdependent was, ironically, my move towards solitude. I needed to replenish my batteries and sought solace in nature. Because I provided leadership in my self care I will be able to face tomorrow not only with comfort but a desire to work with others. Today, although I avoided social contact, was a vital part in my process in learning to become more interdependent.

Interdependence: Respect, Mutuality and Leadership.

The Interdependent Challenge - Day Two

2011-03-05T21:52:00.000-08:00

I just came back from visiting my father. As it’s a rather long trip, I usually go on a Friday afternoon and stay over till Saturday evening. I do this every few weeks. And, while I am fortunate to have a healthy, loving and generous father who, for the most part I am happy to go visit, there are times when I just don’t want to do it… like today. And because of that, I lost energy. The question to be asked then, was my action today an interdependent one?

When I visit my dad there is a mutual appreciation of certain shared aspects of life. Although he can get on my nerves to the level of nails on a blackboard, I love him dearly and know that he loves me. We respect each other and do things we both like: we walk, take long drives, play crib and, if lucky, watch the Canucks on TV. Despite all these pluses, I would rather not do it sometimes. On those times I find myself hosting a battle between my foul mood and the desire to be a good daughter. It is the nature of families, I guess.

With today’s visit, although we had a good time together (especially when the Canucks won), I found myself alternatively enjoying the moment and then wishing I was elsewhere. But to leave early or not to have come at all would have deprived him and me of some quality time together: time I know I will be more than grateful for having experienced when he passes and time I know he appreciates as only an aging father does. So, how do I reconcile the energy loss? I take care of myself before and after the visit. I bring a light but compelling read, usually of the suspense/mystery/romantic genre; equip myself with a non-nutritious treat and immerse myself in my own world for several hours (before and after the visit) where I pretend I have no responsibilities, no claims on my time and no need to be social. If this is not enough, when I finally get home I run a long hot bath and read some more.

In other words, I replenish my energy so that ultimately no energy is loss. I take care of myself so I can give a little extra to a man who has always given extra to me. Ultimately, this also benefits my community because when I take care of myself, I take the best care of those around me whether they be the strangers standing at the bus stop or the family I’ve known forever.

And that was my interdependent action for the day.

The Interdependent Challenge: Day 1

2011-03-04T14:11:00.000-08:00

My interdependent act today was more of a thought than a behavior. I woke up with one of those existential angst questions: “Why are we here?” Not the most pleasant way to wake but then again I was somewhat relieved to find the question wasn’t “what is my worth?” For all intents and purposes I seemed to have resolved that issue on that fated bus/train trip of last year. Back to this morning, however, it was more the whys that got me and these whys were followed by this feeling of emptiness; a loss of purpose. I don’t have a religion but I am also not agnostic, in fact, I have a deep sense of spirit. But it doesn’t help me understand the purpose of our existence. I walked the question down to its roots, as is my wont, and came to the following, albeit nebulous, conclusion.

Whether by chance or design, we are here. I don’t have to know why but in this place of “here” I can love or hate; destroy or create. It is all a matter of choice. I don’t have to know the whys as much as the hows: how do I want to live my life?

And that is my interdependent thought for the day: I will do my best to act with love and to create with care so that no one (including myself) loses energy or hurts; my actions are at worst benign but at best beneficial to all I encounter.

I am off for another long bus/train ride… may that thought carry me through.

The Interdependent Challenge 2011

2011-03-03T16:46:00.000-08:00

It’s time again! Yes… (drum roll please), it is time for the Interdependent Challenge. Go to February 20, 2010 for a complete description but basically, for the next seven days, I invite you to write down something you did that was interdependent and why you felt it was so. I will post my responses and welcome you to post yours in the comment section. I look forward to hearing your stories.

Note: last year I summarized interdependence as “mutuality, respect and community”. But after teaching a couple of workshops I changed it to “mutuality, respect and leadership”. Interdependence is about taking leadership over our internal parts, especially our codependent ones, so to live in community with mutuality and respect. So that with each and every encounter no one hurts or loses energy but, if there is an energy loss, specifically for ourselves, we let it go with mindfulness (not martyrdom) and take time to replenish with healthy self care.

I start the challenge tomorrow …

Quinoa; Buckwheat: What Joy Doth Mud Bring?

2011-03-01T20:47:00.000-08:00

New experiment: sprouted quinoa and buckwheat bread. First the quinoa. My internet source states this is a three day event. I soak the seeds overnight and then place in my ultra-fancy (quiche dish with wet cloth above and below) sprouting pan and voila, sprouts in three hours. (I have been known for a green thumb but geez, all my fingers must have been channeling verdant magic.) I mix that up with the regular dose of seeds (pumpkin, flax and sesame); oil, salt, molasses, sourdough starter and buckwheat until I realize that I have used far too much buckwheat, leaving no room for kamut. And yes, I could have added more water and then more flour but, hey, the question on my mind was what would happen if I didn’t? So, I kneaded away —quite the workout as the dough was very heavy —and popped her into the fridge for the slow rise. This morning I opened the door and was greeted by a solid mass of cold, hardened clay. When I picked her up, she crumbled like ancient artifice. Hmmm, so this is what happens when the cup overfloweth with buckwheat. Regardless, I put her in the pans to enjoy the final rising, if you can call sitting motionless with baleful eyes “rising”, and then popped her in the oven.

Well, she’s out now, and just to be clear, when you bake cold, hardened clay, there’s a good chance you end up with warm, hardened clay.

Truth? My sprouted quinoa and buckwheat bread is edible. Edible, of course, as in the edible of the seventy’s granola heads but, edible — especially recommended it if you prefer food that taste like it’s been marinated with mud. Alas, back to the drawing board.

But that is the beauty when you are in recovery from codependence: taking risks because you know it is not about the outcome; it’s the journey that counts.

The Opaque Mirror

2011-02-24T20:25:00.000-08:00

I recently rewrote my bio for one of the websites I advertise on and, not having done that for a few years, it took me on a little journey of self-discovery.

The request for the bio came on a day I was not feeling my best. My emotions were flat and while I could tell you (with passion) the attributes and skills of others, for myself, the mirror was opaque. In the past I would have pushed through it, writing things by rote, maybe asking friends for advice or just resubmitting an old bio but this time, I really couldn’t bring up the energy to care. I didn’t want to express what I wasn’t feeling or worse, express in writing exactly what I was feeling — for a bio, that wouldn’t have been, shall we say, inappropriate. I felt at the time the only thing I could do was ignore the request and let the fates have their way.

Of course, that is not how the fates, aka website managers work. Employment, marketing, and other people’s needs and demands carry on despite one’s individual moods and peccadilloes. Normally, as I wrote above, I acquiesce and am generally pleased with the result but, on that day, no pleasure would have come from denying my internal state. And, it turns out, it was the healthier (business and personal) option.

As I have written before, our codependent parts can be quite the pleasers, attention grabbers, wall flowers, bullies, or the “whatevers” in order to get their needs met. In regard to this little bio writing episode, one could imply then that my codependent parts were perversely refusing to cooperate so that another would come in for the rescue: tell me how wonderful, skillful, and talented I was; and then recite a variety of bon mots to be gilded on my epitaph. And perhaps that held some truth but, in retrospect, now that I have come through it and, yes, rewritten my bio (quite nicely, thank you), it was more about my Self, my internal leader, taking charge and saying: “you know you are fine. You know you are skillful, creative, and knowledgeable. In fact, Jo-Ann, you know it so well that it doesn’t matter if anyone else does. The important thing is that you know.”

So, perhaps you could say that for a few days I had a distorted image of myself that refused to cooperate with the rest of the world but, on the other hand, you could also say that the “opaque mirror” was just a rebellion of all my parts that were sick and tired of trying to prove to others that I am good enough.

Whatever the reason, my bio is great … and I am not so bad myself.

Mother Issues

2011-02-18T11:35:00.000-08:00

I was replenishing my sourdough starter the other day when I made a big “oops”. I wasn’t in a great mood but I knew I needed bread and my process from replenishing to sitting down and slathering butter takes at least three days and, well, I just wasn’t in the mood to start things rolling and one thing led to another and “oops”.

But first things first: the process. I keep my starter, aka mother starter, in the fridge. She’s been there for about six months and, as long as I feed her ever so often and give her a good “shake” now and then, she’s happy. (Did someone say “mother issues”?) Anyhow, she was getting kind of low, so I pulled her out, added some flour (kamut, this time, cause I am still experimenting with cutting rye out of my diet), about half as much water, and then gave her about a five minute kneed. I am not developing gluten so its just about bringing air into the mix — starter’s like a lot of air. I then sat her aside, room temperature, for about seven hours. Now, not all recipes recommend this but I find after the first seven she hasn’t really risen enough so what I do is repeat the process of kneading and sitting. After another six to eight hours and a final knead she’s ready to go or, at least, sit in the fridge again. From that stock I take what I need to make a loaf of bread until she’s low again and needs replenishing.

So, there I was, the end of the day, tired, kind of grumpy but more than anything not very mindful. I spray my counter with cleansing vinegar in preparation for mother’s final knead. As I spray the area I remember that I forgot to scrub my hands and nails — I’m adamant about cleanliness when I bake. After attending to the washing I come back and turn the nicely risen, pokey-soft (imagine the Pillsbury doughman) mother starter onto my counter. Immediately she starts frothing. I watch in horror as she spreads across the table top like Elmer’s glue. My brain takes a while to catch up with this bizarre sight but when it does my oops comes into focus, I forgot to wipe the vinegar off the counter. I softly curse as I contemplate the repercussions of my act: have I killed mom? Starters tend to be finicky at the best of times or at least in their youth. Mom was only six months old, could she handle the contamination?

I am glad to say I didn’t panic nor dump her in the garbage. Instead I gave a good sniff and thought, hmmm , sour, that cant be too bad and stuffed her back in the fridge after scooping her up from the counter in dripping spoonfuls.

Mistakes have always been my nemesis. Mistakes showed my flaws; laid me bare to critique and ridicule. From those words it would seem that I came from an overcritical family or was brow-beaten to assumed perfection. Not so. If anything, there was an absence of words, a vacuum that enhanced the feelings of not being good enough. In that arid container where nothing is sufficient, mistakes only compounded the feelings.

Perfectionism, of course, is one of the cornerstones of codependence. Depending on the speaker, to be perfect is to have no needs, no flaws and no weaknesses. So, even though as human we all have needs, flaws and weaknesses, our codependent parts will go through extremes to hide them. To be human is antithetical to their beliefs.

One of my goals in the last few years has been to transform the definition of mistake as a fatal flaw to a more compassionate idea that it is more of a learning experiment. I am quite pleased to say that when I stuffed said syrupy, foaming mother back in the fridge, a part of me was kind of excited as to what would happen.

So, I let mother rest a few days, watching with cautious surprise as she still continued to ferment in the cool darkness. When I brought her out to make bread she responded magically and produced a pleasantly plump round of dough that bounced back nicely when I molded her final shape. Seems mom likes a bit of vinegar. Hmmm, my “other” mom liked to nip a bit too. And there, you see, is the truth of the matter, vinegar is fermented ethanol, otherwise known as alcohol. Moreover, vinegar is the composite of both bacteria and yeast, just like the sourdough starter, with bacteria being the element that gives it its flavour. It is not a simple as I am making it sound as there are many strains of bacteria and yeast and the ratios have to be just so BUT it seems like my vinegar oops was the perfect amount. My kamut/buckwheat multi-seed sourdough not only rose delightfully but has a new distinctive flavor… no quite the San Franciscan flavor created by the Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis but Lactorbacillus jo-annensis will do just fine.

James Joyce said: "A man's errors are his portals of discovery". What do I say? One woman’s oops is another’s loaf of tasty bread.

Love The One You Are With (Part Two)

2011-02-13T20:27:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine’s Day! To celebrate the cause of love I am passing this blog off to Herr Goethe. But before I do I must clarify that I don’t mean LOoooooVE with a heady drawl, but the unconditional kind instead, the kind that lights up the world with understanding and compassion; beauty and joy. Now I am not a Christian by practice, more prone to Animism if anything, but I am rather fond of some of the old Christian poets and their descriptions of spiritual love. Like this one in Faust. It is near the end of the poem (part two) and Mephistopheles (a rather delightful rogue) is standing over the grave of Faust (a rather obnoxious sod) trying to maintain his ownership of the latter’s soul. Although Faust sold his soul to the devil years before Mephistopheles knows he still has to fight for it to the bitter end with the angels.

As Mephistopheles complains:

There lies the body: should the soul seek flight
I’ll show him straight the bond, the blood-writ scroll;
But nowadays too oft the devil’s right
Is thwarted by new means to save the soul.

So, as Faust’s soul starts to rise from the grave, the heavenly angels start strewing roses at Mephistopheles and his crew of hapless demons. The demons cannot bear the “love” and desert their post but Mephistopheles endures, struggling to beat off the hovering roses.

I burn, head, heart, and spleen, a flaming evil,
This is an element of super-devil,
More sharp and keen than hell’s own fire….

Us spirits you call damned, and look askance.
Witch-masters, you, par excellence;
For man and a maid you lead astray. —
What an adventure curst and dire!
Is this love’s elemental game?...

He starts to falter as love enters his dark soul and, somewhat off-balance, begins to see the angels in a more lewd light:

With you, tall youth, I’d choose in love to fall,
This parson-visage suits you not at all,
Then give a wonton loving look, just one.
You could with decency appear more nude,
The surplice vaunts too much the acolyte —
And now they turn, and from behind are viewed —
Ah, how the rascals stir the appetite.

Until he finally pulls himself together and repels the love while admitting defeat as the angels win the right to Faust’s soul.

Sigh… aint love grand? Topples the bad guy every time. So, Happy Valentine’s Day to you all. And, in praise to this thing called love, let us open our hearts to angel (or whoever) strewn roses and, once again, invoke my more earthly hero, Stephen Stills, and love the one you are with.

Love the One You're With

2011-02-10T20:34:00.000-08:00

WARNING: I am not only going to write of love in this week before Valentine’s but I am also going to embed a couple of clichés. My apologies but I couldn’t help it, love made me do it!

We all know the quote that suggests when you do something you love you will never work a day in your life. There was a time when I was enthralled with this message; believing it wholeheartedly and even carrying it further to say that if I did what I loved, success in all its manifestations would follow. What I didn’t realize at the time was that there were different expressions of love. Unfortunately, the love that I was expressing back then was that of my codependent parts.

A quick recap. Behind every codependent behavior lies a desperate hope of getting one’s needs met. Said another way, things are given, more often than not, with investment in mind. If I love you, you will then love me. If I help you, you will then help, like; need me. If I show you that I am smarter, stronger; more powerful than you, you will then need me, look up to me, fear me and/or make me important in your life.

What I know now is that to love something or someone is to forgo expectation and to live in the joy of an open heart. To love with our codependent parts is to be imprisoned with a fierce and never satisfied longing. Non-codependent love sets the stage for mindfulness — a joy in the present moment. It is not limited by what we do or who we are but is all encompassing; all expansive. In love you will never work a day in your life because when you are engaged in something or someone you love, the heart opens and life is more play than work. Even the mundane or awful can transform in the face of love.

Love doesn’t mean we will be loved back, make money, have everlasting health, or have good things come back to us. Love is just love. While singular in its meaning it is also a world unto itself — a love without expectations allows us the freedom to live beyond expectations.

So, on this Valentine’s Day, I invite you, as I encourage myself, to look to love not as a step towards a goal but as an expansion of the heart; an expression of beauty and joy in the creative art of living. Love for the sake of loving or, as Stephen Stills so aptly wrote, when you cant be with the one you love, love the one you are with.

Adventures in Buckwheat

2011-02-07T20:35:00.000-08:00

I’ve started experimenting, intrepid soul be I, with different flours for my bread. After seven months of baking, I am finally branching out. This is so typical of me. I tend to need a firm foundation, to really feel comfortable with something, before breaking new ground. It is also reflected in my hiking style. As a notoriously directionally challenged person I am at a disadvantage whenever I head into the mountains. Sure I take a compass and map but truly, I have no sense of north, west, east or south. I am lucky to live in a city where from every vantage point you can see the local hills. I know just by looking up where north is, makes life quite easy except, of course, on cloudy days. I wont mention the times I have gotten lost in the rain. Anyhow, regardless of this inherent trait, I prefer to hike alone. Trouble waiting to happen, you ask? Perhaps, but I also have a certain routine I follow. I find a well marked trail and then hike it several times over the course of a few months. During these walks, I gain a certain comfort and, as I ease into the forest, my sense of safety and awareness grows. I start to notice more: the less used paths to the side, a seldom used game trail; a natural landmark. When the time is right I venture off, going slow, never needing a final destination but getting comfortable with this new element of the mountain’s aspect. My needs of solitude and safety combined in one lovely adventure package.

And so it is now with bread. Last week I introduced buckwheat to my ever so tasty, sprouted kamut, pumpkin and flax seed sourdough (rye starter) bread. Buckwheat, for you curious minds, is not a cereal or grass. It is, according to Wikipedia, a pseudocereal, called so to emphasize the fact that despite its name and its grain-like usages, it is not related to wheat. It is, in truth, a seed and the flour is made from the endosperm that feeds the inner germ. Shall I continue? No? Hmmm. Fine. Why I chose to explore this seed of all seeds is a minor case (or major if you are standing next to me) of passing air or gas as some may call it. It would seem that my bread making days are at an end if I cannot find my allergen. I am hoping it is the type of flour I am using and, as such, have chosen buckwheat to being experimentation. But, as some of you may know, not only is buckwheat a seed but it is void of gluten — a detriment for many a baker. My first try worked well, quite tasty, but as I just reworked the ratios of rye and kamut and only added two cups of buckwheat, the source of methane still exists. Next week I will convert the starter from rye to kamut (hopes hinging on the former as the source of all evil) and up the quantities of this upstart seed flour. I will, of course, one way or the other, keep your enquiring noses informed.

Moving slow and creating a strong foundation is one way that I create safety for myself. The other is to be impulsive, even impetuous but, then again, those are the methods of my codependent parts. The mixture, however, is an interesting compilation — at times embarrassing, at times rewarding, but in all ways and all times, unique: my own version of a fine artisan bread.

Hiding Behind the Socially Acceptable

2011-02-02T17:13:00.000-08:00

One of the more interesting things I find about codependence is its ability to mask itself as a socially accepted way of being. Included among its many facades are workaholism, over-exercising, and über-independence. All three activities or ways of being are fine in moderation but when used as a defence against feeling, self reflection, or intimacy, they can be aspects of our codependent parts. Another way that codependence can mimic socially appropriate mores is to hide behind values or beliefs such as self-responsibility and the pursuit of excellence.

Self-responsibility is an important and, perhaps, sacred credo for many individuals and even groups, for example, when instituted as a company value. It states that I will look in the mirror first and adjust my behavior before seeking external solutions. It is a belief that most problems are not created in isolation and, rather than resorting to blame, prioritizes self-reflection, clear communication, honesty, and collaboration for resolution. For some, it is the philosophy that lies behind the famous Kennedy quote: Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country.

However, the statement can also be used as a defence or a block against further discussion transforming self-responsibility into a message of it is your fault, not mine. An example of this is when a company employee feels management is not listening to or responding to staff issues. If a company upholds the maxim of self responsibility but is using it as a defence, it will put the problem back on the employee and say it is each staff member’s responsibility to make themselves heard. A Catch-22 if there ever was one, especially when the problem lies with management not giving space and credence to work force issues. This can also happen between couples or friends. Even when the person declaring the wrong is not accepting their part of the problem (i.e. not taking self-responsibility), it is incumbent for the one receiving the accusation to take some time and reflect on their behavior before putting the mantra of “you’re not taking responsibility for your actions” back on the person who feels wronged. Solutions lie in safe and effective communication, not aphorisms. Moreover, on the other end of the spectrum, one must know when they are taking too much responsibility. Self responsibility is knowing where the boundary lie: what belongs to you and what belongs to the other.

The other motto that I find potentially problematic is an individual’s or company’s stated goal of excellence. Once again, an admirable pursuit but instead of encouraging high caliber performance it can sometimes become a nagging inner voice (or company voice) that says you are not good enough, that you must always try harder. I had a friend who, after putting in several years of passionate service for a company, found that he had lost his sense of balance: all work and no play. When he started to take care of himself better his work performance went from over-achiever to high achiever. As a result, the company let him go, basically saying his best was not good enough. We all, of course, have the potential to do excellent work but is it sustainable on a continuous level and, if it is, is it healthy? And what is excellence? Who measures it? Is it our personal best or some unobtainable goal?

Taking self responsibility and pursuing excellence are healthy only when partnered with self compassion, reflection and self care. Without these the former, when used as a defence, can shut down one’s humanity or, adversely, become a platform of guilt and self-denigration and the latter can transform into unhealthy and unattainable goals that put unrealistic expectations on self and others. In either case, codependence at its best.

In Praise of Being Wrong: The Imperfect Life

2011-01-28T15:25:00.000-08:00

For this blog entry I quote Zuckerman, narrator of Philip Roth’s American Pastoral. Although Zuckerman is coming from a writer’s perspective and the reality (or not) of ever really knowing his or her subject, I believe it can be taken to a larger audience. I find it a perfect ode to our codependent parts that yearn to get it right— to be perfect — regardless of the subject.

“You fight your superficiality, your shallowness , so as to try to come at people without unreal expectations, without an overload of bias or hope or arrogance, as untanklike as you can be, sans cannon and machine guns and steel plating half a foot thick; you come at them unmenacingly on your own ten toes instead of tearing up the turf with your caterpillar treads, take them on with an open mind, as equals, man to man, as we used to say, and yet you never fail to get them wrong. You might as well have the brain of a tank. You get them wrong before you meet them, while you’re anticipating meeting them; you get them wrong while you’re with them; and then you go home to tell somebody else about the meeting and you get them all wrong again. Since the same generally goes for them with you, the whole thing is really a dazzling illusion empty of all perception, an astonishing farce of misperception. And yet what are we to do about this terribly significant business of other people, which gets bled of the significance we think it has and takes on instead a significance that is ludicrous, so ill-equipped are we all to envision one another’s interior workings and invisible aims? Is everyone to go off and lock the door and sit secluded like the lonely writers do, in a soundproof cell, summoning people out of words and then proposing that these word people are closer to the real thing than the real people that we mangle with our ignorance every day? The fact remains that get getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It’s getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That’s how we know we’re alive: we’re wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that —well, lucky you.”

Our Body; Our Self

2011-01-26T13:56:00.000-08:00

Sometimes in therapeutic sessions, depending on the situation and need, I give my clients the homework exercise of just noticing their body. I ask them to slow down several times a day and notice, for example, what they are sitting on. How does the chair feel, hard or soft? And how does that feel against their legs. I ask them to notice their feet and the texture of the floor or ground. What does the rug feel like under their stocking feet? If they rub their feet against the floor, what does that feel like? What do they notice about the air as it touches their face? Very simple noticings that, for the most part, many of us ignore throughout the day.

I am inevitably asked why this is important. How does noticing how soft or hard the chair is affect my emotional well-being?

Our emotional well-being is contingent on knowing our selves. As written in Trauma and the Body: A Sensorimotor Approach to Psychotherapy (Ogden, Minton and Pain, 2006), “[t]he sense of self is first and foremost a bodily sense, experienced not through language but through the sensations and movements of the body.” When we connect with our body in such an elementary way, we reconnect with our self at its most basic level.

The problem is that many of us leave our body in varying degrees throughout the day. A boring meeting or a crowded bus finds us drifting away to a better place. Then there are the somewhat more scary experiences of driving a car and realizing, when we get to our final destination, that we have no memory of the journey. Sights, sensations, and noises have slipped by us. We have, on some level, left our body and operated on cruise control.

Others have had trauma as young children and find the best way to cope, then and now, is to “disappear” or numb out. Some find it best to disregard feelings in order to avoid pain, they think it better to be “strong”, not vulnerable, and, therefore, inviolate. And then there are those who because their body was the focus of past hurts have moved away from it in distaste or, alternatively, compartmentalized it with fetishistic fervor.

When we lose sense of what our body feels, we lose our sense of who we are and what is important to us: values and beliefs become more difficult to discern. We start looking towards other for answers to questions that our body could tell us if we only listened. On the other hand, beliefs can become more rigid if the body is not allowed to express or experience its inevitable changes. And, if we do not know what we feel when we are in a safe and neutral environment, how can we know what we feel when things change or are not so safe?

Last weekend I went to visit an aging relative. The trip was long and quite enjoyable but, as I sat on the train, I began to notice that my thigh muscles were tense. It was strange. I seemingly felt calm and relaxed but here were my legs telling me something different. So, I just noticed them and, in doing so, felt them slowly release while I experienced a deep breath, almost a sigh. Hmmm, guess I was tense. I had unconsciously gone into an old, but habitual mode of protection. One that had served me well in the past, when visiting family, but had no use in my current journey. The trip in itself had triggered me and my body instinctively reacted without my conscious knowledge.

By checking in with my body I came into a deeper sense of what I was actually feeling. With this knowledge I was able to reassure myself that things were different, I had no need to be tense; that I was safe. Calmer, more relaxed — my emotional well-being taken care of — I continued on my journey in comfort.

The Cupboard Gourmet

2011-01-19T20:59:00.000-08:00

I have a friend who is a cupboard gourmet. I’ve suspected it for some time —she is a single mom, after all — so when she happened to come by on a day I had been invited to a potluck I thought, hmmm, time to check it out. Not being a cook in anyone’s imagination, I was veering towards the standard when she knocked on my door: store bought hummus and crackers. I held back at first, not wanting to look like a vulture in for the kill, but just before leaving I somewhat benignly asked if she had any ideas for a meal. She looked at me with gamine eyes and then commanded me to open my cupboards. I gave a weak and somewhat whiny protest —there’s nothing there. She blithely pushed me aside. Within two minutes she had rambled off the seemingly bland and innocuous ingredients that lined my cupboard and fridge shelves and composed them into a theoretical meal. And, what a meal it was: my quinoa salad was delicious. Who’d have known I could cook?

I was thinking about this when I was writing my last blog about The Interconnectedness of Self-Worth. Until we realize our innate worth, it is only too easy to look in the cupboard of our soul and find it empty. We disregard the seemingly insignificant parts of our self, the parts that make us so unique and interesting, and say, huh, nothing there, better go to the store and get something to make us look or feel better. Or worse, we look inside and, seeing nothing, proceed to self denigrate on the basis of this faulty self perception.

The bottom line is that recovery from codependence is about being creative. There is something in everyone’s cupboard. These “somethings” can appear as faulty or bad the same way as a jar full of dried quinoa can suggest bland and not good enough to bring to a potluck. But looked at from another perspective and the seeds become the basis for an extraordinary salad. Coming back to me, take my desire for external attention — an undesirable something that lies in my inner cupboard. I could discard it as unworthy but why would I? This desire to be seen has been with me a long time, ever since childhood. Back then, I found care and attention was lacking so I became creative in getting it back. It developed within me a talent for teaching, writing and entertaining. Sure, I can sometimes act impulsively or be obnoxious but, for the most part, this skill of looking for and finding attention has served me well.

My cupboard is, and never was, bare. It just needs a gourmet, ever so often, to see its inner delights.

The Interconnectness of Self-Worth

2011-01-17T19:24:00.000-08:00

I have, as noted before, a tendency towards depression. It is not so bad a tendency, at least, that is, once I learned how to manage it better and it is not without its benefits. When the darkness lifts there are moments of pure bliss: colours are brighter, sounds clearer, and feelings just that more poignant. These moments come more often now and while they don’t negate the shadows they do help me get through any extended visits.

Some time ago I was in the midst of a rather dark episode and my perception of self worth was markedly low. The usual methods of coping were not working so I decided instead to walk with my thoughts to their shadowy destination. I was going on an extended bus and train ride and, as such, felt I could indulge my melancholy but not feel trapped with the heaviness if I simultaneously viewed the moving scenery outside my window. With this in mind, I started from the top, or bottom as it were, and began rationalizing the erroneous belief: I am unworthy.

I looked outside and asked, if I am unworthy, what of those people I see on the street? Have they worth and, if so, what is it? I continued with my questioning. What if one of those people were to die, what would be the result? Would someone miss them and if so, is that the basis of their worth? Is our worth based solely on the feelings or needs of another? I cringed at this thought, wanting to deny its possibility but strove onward. When we die, we may be sorely missed but what of those who have no family or friends? Because they are not missed does that mean they have no worth? And, coming back to myself, while another may miss me and find me worthy, my own internal yard stick may still find me lacking. With that, I was brought back full circle, what makes me worthy?

I sat and stared out the window with uncomfortable ambivalence while pedestrians, oblivious to my judgments, continued to make cameo appearances on this moving stage. I believe, well most of me, that is, believes that we have intrinsic value but there lies within me another part, however small, that has no such faith. Outside there were old and young; street people and professionals. I saw those who walked alone and wondered if they loved, or were loved, and I saw couples and questioned if their affection was real. There were soundless dialogues and dramatic gestures; people dodging traffic and buying hotdogs but mostly I saw a passivity of movement — a seemingly meaningless activity of going from one place to another with a marked absence of care for self or for the other. Without care, I thought, there is no worth.

Then the lines began blurring, everything seemed wrong or unreal; the actors two-stepping in a macabre dance, confusing my senses. I got off to transfer from the bus to the train and I wandered in a daze to the automated ticket kiosk. I pulled out my coins and a pocketful landed on the floor. It was suddenly too much; I felt like crying. I saw an agent approaching and with subtle horror realized it was the wrong person to be coming my way. In the past we had had a minor altercation over a slightly expired ticket and I found her to be patronizing and uncompromising. I sighed and bent down to retrieve my fare only to hear this folksy voice near my ear asking if I needed help while dexterous hands scooped up stray coins. Surely this wasn’t my nemesis talking. I felt dizzy with surreal apprehension. It was like I had stepped into another dimension and there was Mayberry’s Aunt Bee offering homespun goodness. I shook my head to clear the fog. She looked like the woman I had previously shared unkind words with but, then again, there was also something different about her. I stared a bit longer and my imagination grasped for the absurd declaring that it must be her sister, or twin. Yes, the good twin, not the evil one. The agent, unaware of my perusal, continued to offer a sincere countrified charm and surprisingly inoffensive positivity. My weakened defenses shattered and my eyes teared at her kindness. Nemesis or not, this woman was reaching out across the lines of our (my?) animosity and gifting me with kindness. I thanked her and wandered off to the train, once again alone, once again pondering my worth.

And then it hit me. My worth — anyone’s worth — cannot be measured on individual attainment, intimate relationships or some magical formula of beingness. It is based, instead, on our interrelatedness, the invisible connections that are the foundation for life. It is not so much that I am someone’s child or friend, mate or colleague but that I am connected to others, not necessarily by choice but solely because I exist. By virtue of just being, I am related to every other living thing, flora and fauna. I may not know the person walking towards me but in my noticing, we are both affected. I look at him or her and my glance is taken away from something else and in that move, I am changed as is the person I did, and did not look at. I breathe in what you just breathed out; I smile and your heart opens; I move this way and you respond in kind, or not. I die and become earth; the earth grows food and feeds those who live. I am but one strand in the web of life but that strand is continuous with the whole and, as such, is important.

Our worth is directly proportionate to our recognition of this invisible thread. If we recognize this, we acknowledge our infinite worth; if we don’t, our worth diminishes. Our self-worth is constant, it is only our perception or denial of our interconnectedness with all other beings that devalues us.

I am part of you as you are part of me. To negate my self-worth is to negate life in all its manifestations.

Upcoming Events - Spring 2011

2011-01-16T20:19:00.000-08:00

Check out my event page to find dates and cost for the Creative Codependence Series starting February 26. Look forward to seeing you there.

Recovery and Sustainability: Are We Worth It?

2011-01-13T10:53:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine is taking a continuing ed class in sustainability and I get to look over her shoulders. One of the blogs brought to the student’s attention is
http://green-changemakers.blogspot.com/2010/02/state-of-world-2010.html Within that blog, I just read the article The Rise and Fall of Consumer Cultures by Erik Assadourian. In his introduction, Assadourian tells of a 2009 documentary called The Age of Stupid where an imagined post-apocalyptic commentator questions why humans walked such a destructive path. He asks if it was because “on some level we weren’t sure that we were worth saving?”

While I assume neither the documentary’s creator nor Assadourian would link their comments to codependence, I find it interesting that codependence is engendered from a feeling that we are not good enough — not worthy of value or even, perhaps, worth saving.

Assadourian goes on to say that

“[p]reventing the collapse of human civilization requires nothing less than a wholesale transformation of dominant cultural patterns. This transformation would reject consumerism — the cultural orientation that leads people to find meaning, contentment, and acceptance through what they consume—as taboo and establish in its place a new cultural framework centered on sustainability”.

From my perspective, then, if consumerism is about people attempting to find a sense of internal value through what they consume, then consumerism is yet another facet of codependence and, by virtue of that, codependence is at the root of non-sustainable living. Yet another reason to move into recovery.

I highly encourage you to read the article for yourself but here are some of the more fascinating (and scary) points:

• The Ecological Footprint Indicator, which compares humanity’s ecological impact with the amount of productive land and sea area available to supply key ecosystem services, shows that humanity now uses the resources and services of 1.3 Earths. In other words, people are using about a third more of Earth’s capacity than is available…

• … if everyone lived like Americans [read also Canadians], Earth could sustain only 1.4 billion people. At slightly lower consumption levels, though still high, the planet could support 2.1 billion people. But even at middle-income levels—the equivalent of what people in Jordan and Thailand earn on average today—Earth can sustain fewer people than are alive today. These numbers convey a reality that few want to confront: in today’s world of 6.8 billion, modern consumption patterns—even at relatively basic levels—are not sustainable.

• Air pollution, the average loss of 7 million hectares of forests per year, soil erosion, the annual production of over 100 million tons of hazardous waste, abusive labor practices driven by the desire to produce more and cheaper consumer goods, obesity, increasing time stress—the list could go on and on. All these problems are often treated separately, even as many of their roots trace back to current consumption patterns.

• [The] $60-billion[bottled water] industry sold 241 billion liters of water in 2008, more than double the amount sold in 2000. Through its global advertising efforts, the industry has helped create the impression that bottled water is healthier, tastier, and more fashionable than publicly supplied water, even as studies have found some bottled water brands to be less safe than public tap water and to cost 240 to 10,000 times as much.

For information on how to calculate your personal ecological footprint go to www.myfootprint.org and for a carbon footprint go to www.carbonfootprint.com

Hairdresser's Anonymous

2011-01-10T14:49:00.000-08:00

I went to the hair dresser last week. Actually, it was a hairdressing school I went to for I am not only notoriously cheap (haircut and wash for $12) but they do a great job… seriously. If you have the time — it can take a couple of hours — I highly recommend it. I’ve been going for several years now and while I never have the same hair dresser twice there seems to be a curious, and yes, codependent pattern that repeats itself each time I go.

The pattern begins with a nebulous fear that initially manifests itself as procrastination. Normally I am a timely, don’t-put-off-things kind of gal but when it comes to cutting my hair, the clock is my worst enemy. I hate getting it done. I think the longest I waited to trim the unruly mass resulted in my father asking me the infamous question: “what happened to your hair?” (Love the guy but jeez, you’d think after three wives he would be a little savvier about making hair comments). Anyhow, when I finally gain the courage to go under the knife, I mean scissors, I am already, needless to say, quite tense. I sit in the chair counteracting my panic by breathing in a deep, meditative way. My intrusive thoughts, however, don’t believe in meditation. They immediately run rampant upon looking in the fully lit and absurdly revealing mirror. They are going to ruin your hair, they whisper, you will walk out of here and be a laughing stock; it will be too short; it wont be short enough, you are doomed. They attack me like bed bugs on meth. I sit in fear and curse the knowledge that long hair on me makes Charlie Manson look cute in comparison and that I am not hip enough to wear hats nor old enough to wear scarves. (Or is that old enough to wear hats and hip enough to wear scarves?) Regardless, the hair must be cut and I fear the results. Of course, what my fear doesn’t know… uhhh that would be because I don’t take leadership over it, is that I have complete control over the process. My fear is the codependent part of myself that tends to bequeath authority to whoever yields the power, or in this case, the scissors.

With fear leading the way, I am never quite able to back up my initial confident statement of “three inches off, please”. Hairdressers are notoriously shy about cutting hair too short (oops, I thought you said crew cut) and so when you say three inches they usually start with half an inch. “How do you like that length?” they ask. Immediately, my confidence fades: Why are they asking that? They’ve only cut half an inch… do they know something I don’t? Should I not go for the full cut? I start to stutter, “uhhh, doesn’t quite look like three inches.” They look at me skeptically as if to ask, are you sure you want to look like a sheered spring lamb? I whisper back, “I mean, only if you think it will look okay.”

Then we have the hairdressing students. They are a fine lot, eager to please (the teachers, that is), eager to not make mistakes and eager show how good they are — a deadly combination from the victim/client’s perspective but, of course, one that will get them far along in the biz. I have had ones that think they know it all already and flit and flat when the instructor finds uneven strands and missed wisps; ones that think they don’t know anything and beg the instructor to take over; and one’s that belabour their work for so long that my neck becomes one long strand of steel encrusted nerves. My wanna-bee stylist today was of the begging sort. Despite being half finished her training, her confidence lagged and she would not let the instructor out of her grasp. I wanted to sit her down and say, take a chance, trust yourself, you’ll be okay but then sanity (thank god) shuts me up with a she doesn’t know what she is doing, let her call for help.

Then there is the codependence between the students and the teachers. Over my tenure as a client I have had numerous visits with different hair stylists but the teachers have stayed the same, that is, until this recent visit — a new staff member has joined. Lovely lady, dedicated and seemingly talented but with the increasingly ineptness of my hair dresser, “I don’t understaaaaaand”, develops a I’ll-take-care-of-you bond, securely joining herself at the student’s hip. At one point the senior instructor came over and admonished the newby, “let her learn by doing it herself,” he said. (I gasped). Thankfully, no one listened to him and we continued merrily along with hair dresser whining and teacher taking over. A fine codependence and one I truly appreciated.

By the time my hair is complete… we actually go two and a half inches in the back; three in the front, I am feeling slowly but surely the release of tension — its over; I survived. I am pleased, so pleased I tip the ever apologizing stylist — “I took so looooonnnnnng” — a handsome amount and whisk myself off to the washroom to covertly wash my back of errant hair particles and sprinkle water over my head to reinvent the naturally tousled look with carefully hooked fingers.

So, you might ask why I do this to myself. Why do I become anxious over a rather mundane event when I inevitable come out at least somewhat pleased? Why do I become timid in declaring my needs; tip to make the stylist feel good (terrific) about herself; and cower in the face of authority when I don’t do that (well, not always) in other aspects of my life? And, why am I not alone in this absurdity?

I like to think it is my way of taking care of the little guy. I mean, I have these codependent parts of myself that are losing their power: I don’t listen to them as much as I used to; I don’t cave in to their demands; they are no longer in control. Allowing these parts to go wild ever so often is my way of saying, hey, go have some fun but be back by dark. They let off a little steam, get to flex some muscle and no harm done… right? And it only costs me $12 plus a tip. Maybe I can even write it off as a charitable donation.

Upcoming Events - Spring 2011

2011-01-07T19:31:00.000-08:00

Creative Codependence Series – Nanaimo, BC

Creative Codependence: Getting More Out of Life (Full day - February 2011)
Living Interdependently (Half day - March 2011)
Awakening to Boundaries: Taking Care of Self (Half day - April 2011)

I will also be teaching an expanded Awakening to Boundaries with horses and Equine Guided Development facilitator Carla Webb in Abbotsford in late spring.

Dates, cost and venues will be posted on January 14. If you would like one of these events taught in your area just drop me an email and we shall see what we can do.

For more information about these workshops go to the Creative Codependence Workshop page or drop me an email.

Reclaiming Codependence

2011-01-06T13:39:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I was at a gathering and someone asked me what I did for a living. A common enough question but one I’d rather avoid. Not because I don’t believe in what I do, or that I feel questions of the job related sort are inappropriate as in “I am a human being not a human doing”, it is more because of the reaction I usually get. Unless I am with a like minded crowd, “bodywork therapist” tends to get looks of woo-woo cynicism and my work with codependence engenders reactions from anger to disdain. I can handle the woo-woo cynics quite nicely — I ignore them — but the harsh reactions of the latter gets me tired and wishing I had told them I was an undertaker. It is not so much their comments that relate codependence to an outdated, misogynist, and useless concept that bothers me. Rather, it is the belligerent look that some offer, daring me to defend myself with, no doubt, inept platitudes.

But then again, that is the problem with pop psychology, which codependence, unfortunately, has found its home. It may just be a case of “familiarity breeds contempt” but I also know that codependence was initially misused by misogynists because of the narrow and circumscribed definitions used by well-meaning but, I feel, misguided therapists.

The term codependence was first defined over thirty years ago as a syndrome exhibited by families of alcoholics. Living with an alcoholic, so the literature said, created ripe conditions for an unmanageable life: codependents were thought to be “manipulative”, “controlling”, “anxious”, and “confused about their own identity”. Whoa! Talk about denigrating the victim. What the early literature didn’t talk about, however, was how trying to create sanity in an insane environment had by necessity the appearance of manipulation and control. The other thing that was not talked about was how the label was used, more often that not, on women. This could have been because the first Al-Anon group was formed by the wives of alcoholics (Beatty, 1992) but, anecdotally speaking, we have all heard stories that when a man takes charge, or tries to take charge in chaotic situations, he is called assertive and a strong leader, but when a woman does, she is labeled manipulative or controlling. In the late 70’s and early ‘80s, the label codependence fell right into a female stereotype of misogynist terms.

That, however, was then. As we now know, codependence is not synonymous with having an addicted family member. Instead, it has its roots in childhood where the act of getting one’s basic needs met, that is, one’s survival needs of love, value, and safety, could not be taken for granted and, therefore, demanded creative solutions. These solutions, when carried forth into adulthood, have the potential to become codependent behaviours. They are the “part” of our self that feels we must get our needs met the same way we did, or attempted to do, as children. That way usually involves looking outside of ourselves for fulfillment rather than finding an internal sense of safety and value.

Codependent behaviours can include, but not be limited to, being too dependent or, alternately, overly independent; being controlling or passive; having rigid boundaries or fuzzy ones; and being overly emotional or apathetic. We are all unique and, as such, have unique symptoms which may manifest in one part of our life but not in others. And, perhaps most importantly, codependence always needs a partner whether that be the spouse, best friend, pet, career or god: someone or something must be perceived as the wellspring to fulfilling the other’s needs. If the relationship is with another person, each participant feeds on the other. In simplistic terms the codependent partnership is like the game of Jenga. The structure works perfectly well with each partner building upon the expectations of the other until someone changes the rules or doesnt quite meet those expectations anymore and the structure collapses.

Finally, no one is 100% codependent but every one of us has at least one codependent behaviour in some aspect of our life. It is the human condition.

My Favorite Things

2010-12-31T15:23:00.000-08:00

I love the musicals of Julie Andrews and the songs they engendered: Chim chiminey, Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, Edelweiss … “these are a few of my favorite things”. I was thinking of the latter a few weeks ago when a friend asked me what was my favorite Christmas treat. I looked at her rather dumbfounded. There was even, strange to say, a touch of nebulous fear. I begged off an answer telling her with a laugh that I had to think about it. The question moved on to others in the group and I sat amazed at how easily people answered. Why couldn’t I? I placed the original question and my quizzical response in my back pocket and didn’t reexamine it again until a few days ago. What was my favorite treat and why couldn’t I answer?

The funny thing about recovery from codependence is the way that certain codependent behaviours can unexpectedly bop you on the head even after years of working with them. Such is the case with this recent realized fear of declaring, and even knowing of, my favorite things. I would never had thought of it as codependent until I sat with it in all its glory ─ a nicely disguised bit of bopping.

With codependence there is a lack of value or even respect placed on our intrinsic being-ness; we transfer that value onto other people or things. What we do, who we know, and what we possess becomes more important than who we are. In this climate of externalizing our value there can be a fear of loss, especially of that which lies outside of us. In an abusive (and, ultimately codependent) relationship, for example, the abused person may fear losing connection to the abuser more than they care about self preservation. This can also be seen in how we relate to our career or money ─ we may actually put ourselves at risk in order to preserve the connection to another person, object or belief.

If I look at my reluctance to name my “favorite things” from a codependent perspective, I understand the nebulous fear that crept into my thoughts. To name these things lay the possibility for potential loss of the same and judgment of who I am for liking them.

Let’s go first with the fear of losing that treasure. I can subdivide that fear into boundary and scarcity issues. Boundaries, specifically disrespected ones, are at the root of many codependent behaviours. For example, if a child’s opinions are denigrated; emotions ridiculed; privacy denied; or the physical body hurt, the child may be inclined to suppress or deny their thoughts and feelings as an unconscious way to safeguard them ─ one cannot lose what one does not acknowledge. My confusion in naming my favorite things may have been an unconscious way of protecting myself and that which I like, a coping strategy I learned in youth.

As for scarcity, the fear of loss becomes extreme when it is paired with a feeling that there is not (or never) enough. This never enough feeling can include love, food, creativity, and support, but it motivates the person in fear to hold on tight to whatever they have. If I name my favorite thing, the fear is that it may be taken away, ridiculed or hurt and I will be left alone as nothing will be there to take it’s place. One way to hold on tight is to deny, consciously or not, what I love so no one can take it away.

Looking at judgment, I feel that many people with active codependent parts have grown up in critical environments and have either taken on the negative judgment and/or believe it is the basis for everyone else’s behaviour. Expressing a favorite thing, therefore, potentially opens me up to not only internal criticism ─ “what a stupid thing to love” ─ but external criticism as well, especially if the thing we love is childish, fattening or out of fashion.

Loss and judgment are generally not life and death issues to an adult but they can be, or at least perceived to be, to a child and the thing we must remember is that our codependent parts are usually formed in childhood. I know, as an adult, that I can declare my favorite things and be fine with whatever arises. I know that no one has the right to take them away, deny me or denigrate me for my desires but I also know that if they did, I would survive. However, as I discovered a few weeks ago, my codependent parts are not as confident in that belief. When asked about my favorite Christmas treats my codependent parts took control and, as a result, I froze.

So, I have devised a plan. Every day, maybe once a day, maybe twice, perhaps three times, I will declare a favorite thing. I will imitate a healthy, well-loved and secure little girl who when asked what her favorite thing is yells out that it is chocolate chip cookies only to change it, seconds later, to vanilla ice cream and then golden haired puppy dogs in the next breath. I will be fearless in my tastes, allowing them to change with the wind, from fanciful and unobtainable to ones I can reach into the cupboard and grab. I will take my fear by the hand and allow her to state what she most desires yet is most scared to ask for. In this way, I continue my recovery.

Happy New Year!

Half the Sky

2010-12-21T12:05:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide by husband and wife team Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. It is a necessary read. The two writers travel the world investigating the lives of young girls and women in regions where being female is a liability.

They explore sex trafficking and forced prostitution, gender based violence and maternal mortality which, they say, “still needlessly claims one woman a minute.” They relate first hand stories from the young women they meet: community leaders and entrepreneurs who have risen from horrific abuse and neglect; and, sadly, second hand stories from those that didn’t survive. But, best of all, they offer possible solutions that may not be perfect but give a glimpse of what works, what doesn’t, and what we can do as individuals to reduce the oppression.

I like the book for several reasons including that it carries on with my theme of awareness and responsibility. For example, in looking at what does and doesn’t work in terms of charitable deeds, the biggest thing to note is that no matter how good one’s intentions are, one has to be in awareness of the local situation. Sending money is fine but where and who does it go? Building a school is great but are there better ways to provide or encourage education? Stating that genital mutilation is harmful may be true but do you have local support to help change the inherent beliefs behind the ritual?

As to who to send money to, Kristof and WuDunn suggest donating to microfinancing projects that target women. They write: “some of the most wretched suffering is caused not just by low incomes, but also by unwise spending —by men…Several studies suggest that when women gain control over spending, less family money is devoted to instant gratification [alcohol, prostitution and tobacco] and more for education and staring small businesses (p.192).” These microfinancing groups are peer monitored with local women supporting each other with wisdom learned while also guaranteeing each other’s loans.

The authors have many supportive things to say about education but emphasize that solutions do not have to be grandiose. “One of the most cost-effective ways to increase school attendance,” they say, “is to deworm students which affects children’s physical and intellectual growth. ... Increasing school attendance by building schools ends up costing about $100 per year for every addition student enrolled. Boosting attendance by deworming children costs $4 per year per additional student enrolled (p. 171).” Health programs such as deworming, iodine supplements and free lunches help, of course, all children but they specifically give girls a needed boost because in many families girls are the last to receive medical attention. Some regions have even resorted to paying families small stipends to keep their children in school—even bonuses in the form of food if the child is a girl. This is great incentive as girls tend to be the first pulled from school whether due to finances or early marriage.

Regarding the imposition of beliefs onto others, Kristof and WuDonn tell a story about genital cutting that underlines this problem. Molly is an American woman who moved to Senegal, married a Senegalese man and works with local education projects. When their daughter approached puberty she told her mom, “I want to be cut, I promise I wont cry (p. 225).” Although born of parents who disproved the procedure, the child was succumbing to peer pressure —she didn’t want to be left out. Cutting was an important coming of age right affecting, among other things, marital chances. The daughter changed her mind when she was fully informed of the process but it was made clear to her mother that attitudes cannot be easily changed from without, change must come from within.

The authors continually espouse education as the way to improve children’s health, decrease family size and increase societal justice but they are huge proponents to being flexible in the search for solutions. For example, they cite a study finding “that after cable television arrived in a [rural Indian] village, women gained more autonomy —such as the ability to leave the house without permission and the right to participate in household decisions. There was a drop in the number of births… wife beating became less acceptable, and families were more likely to send daughters to schools (p. 245).” Some of the more popular shows, ironically, were not educational in the traditional sense, they were soap operas set in middle class Indian families where women held jobs and had more freedom. These shows modeled a different and more attractive lifestyle that ultimately helped changed societal mores.

Once again, I encourage you to read the book. It contains fascinating and inspirational stories from women from all over the world who are working locally to help themselves and their communities thrive. For more http://www.halftheskymovement.org/ information on how to get involved go to

Gift Giving: Awareness and Responsibility continued

2010-12-16T15:39:00.000-08:00

Christmas is a time for giving. Although most of us would agree I also feel that to create mutual joy in giving it must be done with awareness and responsibility. Here’s an example: a few years ago I went to an annual gathering of friends and family that was traditionally gift free. However, that year, one of the party goers gave everyone a gift: a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates. I accepted it graciously, as we all did, but it did not give me joy. When I reflect back on it, I see that my enjoyment of the gift was diminished because there was a certain lack of awareness and responsibility on the gift givers part. Although I think she wanted to do the “right” or “nice” thing there was a lack of awareness and responsibility towards self: she could ill afford the cumulative price tag; towards others: several of the group did not drink alcohol; and towards community: the chocolate was not fair trade. What was behind this person’s gift giving? Was she giving to give joy to others or was she giving so she could somehow feel good about herself?

Perhaps I have just become jaded over the years from excessive commercialization of the holidays—guilt producing advertising that beseeches us to spend more to avoid disappointing others. Regardless, I do not appreciate gifts that one, create too large of an environmental footprint; two, are created by slave-wage labour; and three, create a financial burden on the giver. It does not give me joy.

Awareness and appropriate responsibility would take care of these issues but I have come to the conclusion that for some people, awareness and responsibility is next to impossible around Christmas because our codependent parts tend to move front and centre. Gift giving has the potential to be not so much about love or sharing but an exercise in negating one’s values/beliefs and feelings in favour of how we appear to the outside world.

And how can gift giving be codependent? To quote the poet, let me count the ways:

1. I give because it’s the “right” thing to do. I give lip service to what I actually want or am financially able to do. I do what society/family/community expects of me regardless of the consequences.

2. I give because the other person will be giving to me. This is about negating my needs and right to choose as I relinquish, to another, my responsibility to self. The giving becomes not so much about love than it does about appearances, guilt, and unrealistic expectations.

3. I give because I will look bad if I don’t. Once again, this puts too much control onto others. Only I know what I can give, how I can give, and to whom I want to give. Society/family/community truly has no say in this matter.

4. I give because I am generous. Beautiful, a lovely thing to be but generosity comes from the heart. I need to dig down deep and make sure this is a heartfelt giving and not a codependent longing.

5. I give so that the other will see me as generous/loving/gracious etc. Here I am basing my value on the opinions of others. As above, generosity is not so much about gift gifting, it is about sharing of the heart. If I am truly generous, my generosity will be apparent regardless of whether I give a gift or not.

6. I give so that the other will see/love/acknowledge me. If this is the case, I am on a losing battle. The only way to be seen/loved/acknowledged by others is to first see/love/acknowledge myself. A cliché statement but as true as it was when it was first coined.

7. I give because I will get something back. This thought, if true, is usually buried deep in the subconscious. There is hope that if I give enough of me, the other will see my need and give back to me. This is often the case of love, but can be seen in gift giving.

Christmas giving does not have to be about negating self, unrealistic expectations, controlling others or false appearances. When giving comes from the heart with awareness and responsibility it brings joy to all. So go out and give: give loved ones your time—go for a walk and tell them how much you appreciate them; make someone laugh; give to the food bank, volunteer for world peace or canvass for your favorite environmental charity. If you want to give something material, bake some cookies, create a beautiful card or cook a loved one dinner. And, if you absolutely must give something you bought at a store, research it first. Ask yourself if this gift will be appreciated and find out the environmental or humanitarian footprint used in it’s creation. This way, all can share in the joy of giving.

Awareness, Responsibility and Wikileaks

2010-12-10T12:35:00.000-08:00

In writing the last blog entry on awareness and responsibility, I couldn’t help but think of Wikileaks founder, Julian Assange. As written by Gordon Crovitz (Wall Street Journal), Mr. Assange told Time magazine, “It is not our goal to achieve a more transparent society; it’s our goal to achieve a more just society.” If leaks cause U.S. officials to “lock down internally and to balkanize,” they will “cease to be as efficient as they were.”

In reading the full article (and others), it would be easy to assume that Mr. Assange is aware of his feeling towards the matter: he doesn’t like the American government and feels they are an “authoritarian conspiracy.” Fine, we know where he stands. But in acting out in this way I question whether he is helping society become more just or is he just trading one, to use his words, authoritarian conspiracy for another. And, more to the point of this blog, is he taking appropriate responsibility for his actions? The answer, at least for me, is no as too many innocent people were adversely affected. In codependent language, one could say that Mr. Assange is a bully. He uses his knowledge and skill to control and manipulate and his version of justice is fear based.

Stephen Engelberg of Probublica wrote an informative piece on the issue in July.

For the past several decades, there has been an informal understanding between the reporters who uncovered newsworthy secrets and the government intelligence agencies, which tried to keep them from public view.

We would tell senior officials what we'd learned. And they would point out any unforeseen consequences that might arise from publication, such as the death of an American informant. Ultimately, the call on what appeared rested with editors. But it was a decision informed by more than our own guesswork.

My point in reprinting that quote is that the above mentioned editors did not act without careful in-house (and out-of-house) dialogue. They looked at potential repercussions and then printed what they felt would be responsible in terms of the public, the government and themselves. The editors made a decision that, in their minds, served all those concerned in a mutually respectful and, presumably “healthy” manner. Sure, it didn’t make for a perfect world. Perhaps it didn’t even make a more just world. But their decision could be considered interdependent. It was the best they could do so that the greatest number of people were being equally and respectfully served.

But don’t mistake me here, I am not a pollyanna believing that most large organizations and bureaucracies act or even believe in interdependence. The world isnt perfect but then again, neither is interdependence as a concept. However, let’s call Mr. Assange what he is… not a hero looking for a just society but a bully getting his needs met by hurting others.

Awareness and Responsibility continued...

2010-12-08T11:02:00.000-08:00

To carry on from the last blog entry I want to add on to my response to Kristen’s comment. I agree with her that while self awareness and self responsibility are important in the workplace “problem[s] can stem from the upper management of an organization and how well they are setting priorities and allocating their resources.” Part of that allocation, at least from my perspective, should be in providing a safe space for staff to speak about their feelings.

I know that sounds ideal but I recently started reading a PhD dissertation by Judith Martin called Relationships of Power: Exploring teacher’s emotions as experiences as interactions with their peers where she provided such a place for the research participants. A quick perusal of her study found her results quite positive. I’ll write more about that when I finish her paper but I’ve also seen the benefits when I teach my “Interdependence in the Workplace” workshop. Its empowering for people to know that their feelings of wanting to help (to the point of rescuing); wanting to be liked; feeling resentment and/or wanting to control others are part of being human. We all feel these things at one time or another with varying levels of intensity.

Each of us has a resentful part, a needy part, and a rescuing part. (I use these examples because they are aspects of the Karpman Drama Triangle — a model I use regularly to illuminate a certain relationship dynamic. See below for a quick summary of that dynamic.*) The question is not whether we have these parts but whether we are aware of them. In awareness we can look at each of these parts and notice when they are activated. In this state we also have the ability to choose whether we want to act on them. Without awareness, these parts can take over and lead us into dynamics like the Karpman Drama Triangle.

There is a quote by the amazing Jorge Borges in his short story The Immortal “No one is anyone, one single immortal man is all men… I am god, I am hero, I am philosopher, I am demon and I am world, which is a tedious way of saying that I do not exist.” As with all Borges wrote, no sentence has one definitive meaning but for me, taken in the context of his story, we are all capable of all things. Taken in the context of this essay, yes, we are all capable but if awareness is combined with responsibility we can direct our actions with integrity.

Awareness gives us more than self compassion and a choice in how we want to behave. It provides us with knowledge that each of our parts, whether it be the one that gets resentful or the one that feels self pity, has a wide range of skills. For example, while resentment can be somewhat devious and manipulative, it is also clever at seeing where injustices lie. It sees weaknesses in the system and calls out for correction. It wants change; it wants to be heard. These skills do not have to be used in passive-aggressive or bullying tactics but can be used to change the system, whether that be how we live or how we work, for the better.

In awareness, the first thing I need to ask myself when one of my parts are activated is what is the cause of this feeling? Am I feeling resentful because I am tired or is it because I am witnessing an injustice? Or am I feeling this way because of an imbalance in my life — I am working too hard or not seeing enough of my family? When I find the answer, which will be unique to the event and person, the second thing to ask is how can I use resentment to help rather than hinder the situation?

So, if I am feeling resentful because I feel I am doing more work and getting less recognition, I can use that resentment to motivate me to first reflect on the feeling and then act on it in a respectful manner. If this feeling is due to an injustice I can choose who to talk to about it— my union rep, my supervisor or someone in human resources. Perhaps the situation calls for me to get politically involved and try to change the system from without. If my resentment is due to a personal imbalance, for example, I overwork because of a need to be seen/appreciated/valued, maybe it is time to get counselling, change my priorities or, perhaps, leave my job.

I’ve written before that nothing of what we feel is bad or invalid. It is what we do with those feelings that counts. Having a safe place, whether that be in the workplace structure or with a private mentor/counsellor, to express these feeling helps us choose healthier paths. When we set the task of serving ourselves and our community in a mutually healthy and respectful manner, we live interdependently.

* The Karpman Drama Triangle is a dynamic that can arise when we try to rescue another (especially without their permission) and end of feeling used or taken advantaged of when the rewards are not up to expectation. Overtime the potential for resentment occurs, especially towards the person we were originally trying to help.

Selfishness or Healthy Self Care?

2010-12-02T17:43:00.000-08:00

I was talking with an acquaintance the other day about the difference between selfish behaviour and taking healthy care of self. She, a medical professional, was irritated by the lack of commitment some of her colleagues showed when overtime, or the extra “mile”, was called for. When asked to do extra, she said, the response was far too often, “no, I need to take care of myself, I am going home.” My friend called it selfish but was it? Could this not be called healthy boundaries? When is taking care of oneself selfish, and when is being selfish the best form of self care?

Of course, there is no pat answer, each event is unique onto itself. The more important question to be asked is not so much what action we end up doing but how much awareness we have in our actions. That is, what is our underlying motive and what is the consequence of the action? Do we leave work at our scheduled time, for example, because staying longer would erode our health, negatively affect our family life, or because we have better things to do, like go to a movie? Is going to a movie part of our self care or is it because we don’t care about our job? With regards to the action’s consequence, will leaving work on time negatively affect another person’s life? If we do stay longer, do we have plans to replenish our self or repair family relationships? Have we communicated our work commitments to loved ones and were we clear about our familial commitments when we took the job?

What about the person making the claim that the other is selfish? Are they feeling drained from overwork to the point of resenting another’s healthy care of self? Is their “going the extra mile” a genuine need to be in service or a desire to be recognized as heroic? Do they feel they have to do the job because “no one else can do it” and is that statement true?

Like I said, there is no easy answer but I feel we have the highest potential to live in integrity when we are self aware and when we take responsibility for that awareness. If, for example, we leave work early because we are bored or just don’t care, is there a way we can be responsible for those feelings? Is it time to leave our job? Should we ask for more (or less) responsibility? Can we talk to a mentor or counsellor? Feelings of boredom or not caring are not “bad” feelings but if we don’t take responsibility for them, our actions could negatively affect another or ourselves.

Self awareness is the basis for interdependent living. It allows us to respond to our needs and wants in healthy and respectful ways while keeping in vision how our response affects our community. Self awareness builds the foundation for strong but flexible boundaries and a more compassionate view towards self and others. In short, self awareness plus responsibility is what defines seemingly selfish behaviour into healthy self care.

I have a feeling I am going to be talking more about this as I just taught a workshop on Interdependence in the Workplace… stay tuned.

Party On... or not

2010-11-29T20:02:00.000-08:00

I must say, this past week was not the easiest I have ever had: self doubt, foul moods, crying jags… A friend suggested it was likely hormonal (yes, menopause looms just over the horizon) and, if I look at it objectively, there could be more than a little truth to that idea but I also have to acknowledge that my codependent parts were having a party at my expense. And, I cant even complain that they didn’t invite me… it was held in my head. It was a yukky experience with negative voices down calling my every move and interpreting all as doom and gloom. I knew I was losing control to these parts but I could not hold my centre long enough to tell them to take a hike—there was no enforcement of inner boundaries; no self compassion; no reality. All I could do was listen and crumble. Like I said, not too much fun.

Luckily, there was a trusted friend nearby who could stand in place of my centre and express the voice of reason. She stood fast, reminding me continually of what was truth, what was exaggeration and what was downright falsehood. She gave me space to express my fears and self doubt while storing up my inner resources. She was a rock.

Regardless of the stage of our recovery, our codependent parts tend to find us when we are not at our strongest whether it be ill health, financial burdens, or hormonal imbalance. Sometimes we can reason with these parts, set up boundaries or tell them in no uncertain terms to get lost but, at other times, the ability to regain some semblance of sanity flounders. When that happens, we need to have a trusted friend, mentor or counsellor to help us back into self leadership.

As we say at The ARC Institute, it is not so much how many times or how hard you fall it is how effective you are in getting back up and coming back to your centre. I can usually return to Self with the tools I have outlined in the many articles of this blog but sometimes, as I found out this weekend, you just need to reach out and ask for help. And so I did.

The Road

2010-11-20T10:13:00.000-08:00

Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermicular patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.

This is a quote, the last paragraph actually, in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. If you haven’t read this book I encourage you to do so. Yes, it is at times (okay, mostly) bleak and frightening but it is also a love story of a father and his son. It is a tale of hope and faith, and the brilliant flame within us, waiting to be ignited; waiting to free us from our fears. This flame is what connects us. It is a fiery bond that is shared between all that lives and when we acknowledge and respect that flame to it’s deepest extent we have no choice but to live in compassion and integrity. The whole book is haunting but the last paragraph reverberates throughout my whole being.

I thought of that quote after a conversation with a dear friend. We talked of our longtime friendship and I was able to see, more clearly, how over the years I have hurt her through my fears: how, in the effort to be safe, I pushed her away and had been unforgiving of her mistakes; how I betrayed her in small, seemingly insignificant ways. These were my codependent strategies for living: trust no one; use past traumas as guidelines for today; over extend myself to the place of resentment; avoid intimacy; and always expect the worst. We have talked about this many a time but this conversation was different, it was if the last veil was pushed aside. Perhaps it was because I finally saw how she never gave up on me: always spoke her truth and encouraged me to speak mine. She understood my codependent parts and, while not indulging them, infused our friendship with patience, space and boundaries so that my true self would eventually emerge.

Codependent behaviours can mimic the apocalyptic landscape of The Road. In hopes of a “better” life, our codependent parts can behave like those people in the story who hurt others in their desire to survive. These men and women were not essentially bad but, in fear of dying, they left unlit their internal flame and resorted to atrocities so that they may live. I, in fear of abandonment, dissolution and being hurt, fed off the negative and discounted the value of relationship. I was an island unto myself creating a false sense of security.

McCarthy wrote: "On their backs were vermicular patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again". Each of our lives is a map of the world becoming. Before, and in the first few years of recovery, I was too hurt and embittered by the past to see the beauty and power of this truth. I did not treasure it and lost my way: the map became an endless maze of accusations and angry recriminations.

With regards to my friendship, I know it suffered loss because of the fears of my codependent parts. And, I know it cannot be put back together again in the way it was once imagined. It can, however, begin anew, with faith and love and belief that all hurt can eventually find a safe place to heal. As I reflect on this friendship with open eyes and heart experiencing a deep sense of safety, I am more than ever aware of the mystery of life, of “all things … older than man”. I am thankful to my friend and her intrinsic understanding that there was more to me than what my fears manifested.

Coming soon...

2010-11-17T10:32:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to let you know that just because I had an anniversary, I havent given up on writing. Nope, the fact is I just got back from a week long retreat and my fingers are itching to start anew. I should have a new post up soon. So, until then, celebrate your "right to be": dance with joy; cry with full abandonment and indulge your love of whatever or whoever makes you tick with delight.

Anniversary Celebration

2010-11-05T13:25:00.000-07:00

Its my anniversary! One year ago today, well, actually, November 8 but I am celebrating early, I started my blog. I had committed to one year and, believe me, it was no small commitment. For one, I am terrible at committing to things. Commitment has this faint resonance that murmurs, forevvvvvver. I can still hear my mother’s voice talking despairingly about “quitters”. This is not to say I haven’t quit things in my life but, in the times I have, the guilt lives on. I remember working for six horrid weeks at Safeway (a story in its own) and in every one of those weeks, coaching myself with “give it another day, it’s not that bad, you can do it”. That was several years ago but there is still a small part of myself that wont let me off the hook for quitting: a commitment is a commitment and a job needs at least a year, you owe that to the employer, you owe it to yourself. Arrgghhhh! What I really owe to myself is living a life that respects me and those around me. But like I said, Safeway is a whole other story. The point is, when I commit to something these days, I take it very seriously. I go in with eyes wide open and say, I will give this a year, if I cannot give it a year, I wont do it. What this ultimately means is that I commit to very little but, when I do commit, I really commit.

And now I deserve a pat on the back. Not only did I successfully fulfill my commitment but I established a writing practice. I had serious doubts about that also: fears of boredom and capability; fears of ridicule and a non-existent muse, but the bottom line is, over 60 articles later, I completed both, I have no plans to stop, and I am immensely proud of myself.

My anniversary present? I am not writing an original blog this week… I am going to cite some of my more interesting articles from the last twelve months.

Thanks for reading and sharing your views…

December’s Climate Change

February’s Interdependent Challenge – note: I have since changed my slogan from Mutuality, Respect and Community to Mutuality, Respect and Leadership. More on that later.

May’s Trust and Safety: Chicken and the Egg series

June’s Hunger articles

September’s Bread series

Jack of the Petit Dumpling

2010-11-01T20:33:00.001-07:00

I carved myself a Hallowe’en pumpkin on Sunday. It’s been years since my hands have laid a knife to squash (for purely celebratory reasons, that is) and, you know, it felt good. I wasn’t planning on doing it. In fact, I told a friend a few days ago that I had no plans for Hallowe’en whether that be decorations, trick-or-treaters or crazy faced pumpkins. I live in an apartment, I said, no children live here. Besides, I am on the upper floor, decorations in my window would mean nothing. Jack-o’-laterns are for others to enjoy as they pass by your door, it would be for naught.

I didn’t think about what I had said until two days later, the eve of Hallowmas, when I realized that by saying “it would be for naught,” I was saying that I was unimportant: that my gaze upon a thing of beauty, well, sort of beauty, meant nothing. It was a subtle sort of self negation. Can I not create just for myself? Am I not worth it? Enough, I said, and got up from my comfy chair and walked to the store.

Now 5pm on Hallowe’en is not the time to start gathering pumpkins. We are all out, my local IGA man said. What, I exclaimed, no glossy jacinthe fruits of the vine? No, deeply painted nacarat or lurid shells to carve I asked? He started to back away. Oh come on, I said, what about saffron or even, yes, even a faded ochre husk that cries out to be cut (yet ever so creatively) open? Too late, he had inched his way back behind the boxes of Poptarts and Lucky Charms, lost forever in the land of pastel fantasies. They just don’t hire grocery clerks the way they used to.

I halfheartedly steered myself towards the root vegetables. Perhaps, I thought, maybe, I prayed, please I begged, let there be another form of marrow that will tickle my fancy. And, sure enough, there among the petit pan and carnival, the buttercup and golden acorn was my little wannabe Jack — a flavescent petit dumpling with splendid stripes of glaucus and a subtle croceate. I grabbed him by the nape of his stemmish neck, paid my $2, and ran home with visions of devilment dancing in my head.

It took less than five to perform the lobotomy and, after a few moments of decisive pondering I quickly slashed left, then right and scooped a bit there. An evil eye now watched me as I gave him a leer and pronounced him complete. With a strike of a match, my homunculus was born: a beautiful creation for a person of beauty (uhhh, that would be me) to perceive. Happy Hallowmas to you all!

Breaking the Contract

2010-10-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

I taught a Creative Codependence class a few weeks ago and the topic of “breaking the contract” arose. I’ve written about contracts before but, in short, codependent relationships are a contract between the codependent parts of two people. The needs of one fulfill the needs of the other; an implicit agreement is made and survival is based on maintaining the status quo: there is no rocking of the boat.

I remember when a good friend of mine decided to “break the contract” that we had between us. My codependent parts were not ready for this, that is, I was not in recovery and I went into survival mode. She told me she needed time apart to rethink our friendship; that she was feeling drained. I felt that she had cruelly pulled the plug out on me. A gamut of emotions coursed through me from fear and grief to anger and resentment: how dare she? The situation felt desperate and, at my most extreme, I felt that I would die without her friendship.

A bit melodramatic? Perhaps. But the truth of the matter is that our codependent parts feel the only means to survival is to get approval from another or, adversely, to control, bully and/or rescue another. There is no safety within, so they look to another to find some sort of validation that they have the right to be. My codependent parts needed my friend to play her part and when she pulled away (out of self preservation) I felt abandoned to the wilds.

The main problem for our codependent parts is that they are confused about how to satisfy the necessities of life. All of us need love, validation and safety but these parts look for it through external sources, much like we did as children. However, young children are by nature helpless; they have specific needs and these must be met by their caregivers. When these needs are adequately met children mature into adults that can take healthy care of self and have a sense of well-being and self worth. If these needs are insufficiently met children will mature with parts of themselves still looking to external sources for not only a sense of wellbeing but a means to survive. These are our codependent parts.

It took time but after the initial “abandonment” shock subsided, I started seeing the truth of the matter. I slowly got myself back into a place where I could look objectively at our relationship. I saw how desperate I had been for her approval and how she had, just as unconsciously, fed into this need for her own sense of validation. I also saw that she was not only taking care of herself by taking a step back but how her actions could only benefit me. I got serious about my own recovery and the seeds for Creative Codependence were sowed. But don’t let me fool you in thinking my recovery was based on this one “broken contract”, I had been through several before this event. One in particular was, in retrospect, quite funny. Many years ago, having just left a long term intimate relationship I swore to myself that men were off limits until I had a stronger sense of self — I would not again lose my identity in the arms of another. Very soon after those words were spoken I entered a platonic relationship with a woman that mirrored the exact same issues. It took three years for that partnership to end only to come full circle back into another codependent relationship.

This, however, is not a morality tale about the unique timing of one’s healing journey, although that is definitely true. With each relationship breakup I learned more about myself and, equally important, I started seeking help from healthier sources. I took workshops (ARC was instrumental in my growth); got private therapy and read many books Charles Whitfield’s Co-dependence: Healing the Human Condition was the first to lay out the facts for me in a calm, easily digested (at least for me) format. Through time I built up enough internal safety to stop looking for it through my friends, teachers and others so that when this last break came, I could truly step into recovery.

My friend and I eventually re-established a more respectful relationship but, unfortunately, this isn’t always the case. If I had stayed in denial about my codependence the healthiest thing she could have done was to cut her losses and keep her distance: it’s hard to maintain a healthy relationship with someone who is continually (consciously or not) asking for certain needs to be filled. If she had allowed herself to be pulled back in by my desperate emotions then her codependent parts would have taken over and her recovery would have lapsed. Fortunately for both of us, she took the first step in breaking the contract and I followed along, eventually seeing the contract for what it really was, a prison of unhealthy (and unrealistic) expectations.

The Simple Life

2010-10-25T12:07:00.000-07:00

I received a comment from “Frankie” on my last blog entry and, intrigued with her photo, I checked out her blog, Artisan Lifestyle. I was instantly a fan. I love her desire to lead a simpler life with a creative flair. It reminded me of a list that Charles Whitfield composed in his book, Codependence: Healing the Human Condition, in which he characterized the differences between the "True Self" and the "False Self". I renamed them the "Interdependent Self" and "Codependent Parts" but what I get most from this list is that when we try to complicated matters, there is a good chance our codependent parts are in charge. Any thoughts?

Interdependent Self vs Codependent Parts

Authentic Self vs a mask
Genuine vs ungenuine
Spontaneous vs plans and prods
Expansive, loving vs contracting, fearful
Giving, communicating vs withholding
Accepting of Self and others vs envious, critical, idealized,perfectionist
Loves unconditionally vs loves conditionally
Feels feelings, incl spontaneous anger vs denies or hides feelings
Assertive vs aggressive and or passive
Intuitive vs rational, logical
Ability to be child like vs may be childish
Needs to play and have fun vs avoids play and fun
Vulnerable vs pretends always to be strong
Trusting vs distrusting
Enjoys being nurtured vs avoids being nurtured
Surrenders vs controls
Self indulgent vs self righteous
Simplifies vs complicates
Wants to be real vs wants to be right
Wants to connect/experience/create/love vs wants to control and win
Non defensive vs defensive
Connected to higher power vs believes it is higher power
Open to the unconscious vs blocks unconscious material
Remembers our oneness vs feels separate

Authority and the Art of Bread Making

2010-10-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

I was making bread this morning and, once again, that familiar irritation arose. It comes half way through the kneading with unfortunate regularity— a tightening of my shoulders; a holding of breath. I slow down, rhythmically pushing and pulling the dough but now with intention rather than aggression. My mindfulness not only gets me breathing again but opens my awareness: it is not so much irritation I feel but self doubt. A part of me feels that I am failing again.

Doubt doesn’t stroll or whisper its way into these occasions; it barges in as the desire to make perfect bread becomes paramount. I am kneading and doubt shouts: The bread is too sticky, add more flour. I reach for the flour and doubt sneers, why are you doing that, you have already added twice, even three times what the recipe states. I pull my hand back and continue the seesaw motion while registering the building of inner tension. I’ve been here many a time in the last two months, this is nothing new, but today I’ve had enough — its time to break the cycle.

First off, I review the facts. I know enough (or think I know enough) about bread making to know what dough should look and feel like before the first and final rise. Moreover, there are pictures in my recipe book which I make valiant yet vain attempts to mimic: match the picture and my bread is dry and crumbly from too much flour; match the recipe and I am literally pouring the dough into the pan. These last two months, however, have been a lesson in trust. When I sink into mindfulness and truly feel the dough beneath my hands, I know how much flour is needed regardless of what the instructions demand. Unfortunately, despite this knowing, doubts can still arise at crucial times and throw me off centre.

In theory I know that bread making is never about following the recipe, at least for measurements of flour. It all depends on the kind of grain you are using, from what region it grows and the humidity in your kitchen. Furthermore, I am using new ingredients: sprouted rye berries and kamut flour. I am breaking the rules while still wanting my recipes to stand by me and lead me into certainty.

I ponder this as I transfer my molten dough into the pan. It’s too wet, doubt says, and too late to add more flour. You’ve screwed up again. I breathe into the tension and reassure myself that all will be fine. The bottom line is that no one needs to see, hear or taste this bread. If it’s a mistake, its mine alone.

Writing helps me be more self reflective and today is no different. While I wait for the final rising to be done, I sit at the keyboard exploring my feelings. The first thing I own is my desire for perfection, or at least, that is, my codependent part’s desire for perfection. These parts don’t want to fail. To fail is to solidify an age-old belief of low self worth — anything shy of perfect is just not good enough. But there is another part haunting me today: a seemingly bizarre desire for some authoritative leadership.

Authoritative leadership is one that doesn’t punish or shame (like the authoritarian kind) but guides with compassion, respect and acceptance. It encourages exploration and communication while providing boundaries for safety and space to grow. It’s the kind of leadership that most of us want in the ideal parent. With healthy parenting we can mature into adults who not only internalize a healthy sense of Self but actualize an authoritative style of Self leadership.

As a child my mother had, among other rather unhealthy mannerisms, an authoritarian bent (hairpin curve perhaps?). Without a functional role model, my internal leadership took many years to develop and I had little knowledge of healthy self care. Eventually I learned to reparent myself but even now, in times of high stress or change (didn’t summer just change into autumn?), I can fall back into default behaviours: I not only doubt, berate and/ or shame myself but look to others for some sort of leadership.

Now looking towards others is not such a bad thing if we look in the right places. An ARC therapist, for example, can help guide us back into an empowered state where healthy self parenting is part and parcel of the process. Other options include finding help in books (the Classics have served me well in this regard) or talking with a good friend. The cause of my tension today was looking for leadership in the wrong place. I wanted Peter Reinhart, the author of both the book and recipe I was following, to fill the place I had temporarily seceded— I was looking for a surrogate parent.

While I was kneading the dough and questioning my abilities, I wanted Mr. Reinhard to come through for me. I wanted him to reassure me and say: test it out, you’ll be fine, trust yourself. Instead I got pictures of perfection and exact measurements such as 2 ½ tsp of molasses. (That’s just shy of a tablespoon buster, stop being cute). I got information on why measuring out grams of flour as opposed to cups of flour was preferred and how filtered water was a necessity for perfect bread. He gave me strict guidelines and I followed them with high expectations only to be disappointed as I was in the past when another form of authority failed me. After several attempts to do it his way, I threw his suggestions out the door and did it, as Frank memorably sang, my way. And that, I finally realized, was the basis for my tension. I was trying to strike a balance along the fine line between trusting Self while trusting authority.

In the past, especially in times of stress, I forgot who I was. I relied too strongly on the advice and direction of others, relinquishing my power to those who I thought knew better. Times, thankfully, have changed. I now see who I am and value myself as one who has worth. I look to Self for leadership and find a wealth of experience, knowledge and good instincts to guide me. I also trust that I can listen and take the advice of others without losing my inner voice— my Self. Sometimes, however, I fall back and forget who I am and, for whatever reason, bread making has challenged me in this quarter. My only answer to this challenge is to keep going forth while quieting the doubts and trusting my hands. In time I know these doubtful parts will learn to trust me but until then, I will be my own ideal parent and be patient and compassionate with my fears and needs.

The bread is out of the oven now. It is chock full of flax, sunflower, pumpkin and sesame seeds and surrounded by sprouted kamut kernels. It is slightly moist, the way I like it, and delightfully chewy. It is, as my hands knew full well it would be, perfect.

Success!

2010-10-15T12:44:00.000-07:00

My thanksgiving bread was a success, thank you very much. It was a spelt sourdough loaf overflowing with flax, sunflower, sesame and pumpkin seeds. Even my taciturn and rather stern brother gruffly said, “good bread”. Thrilled me to the core … literally. I mean, I knew it was good bread, with or without my family’s acknowledgement, but it sure felt good to hear it from them. It’s like I say at my Creative Codependence workshops, it’s nice getting external validation. The point, however, is that it should be a bonus — a healthy complement to who I am and not a necessity in my life. And so it was.

Here’s another question:

What is the difference between being codependent with one’s career and just wanting to be seen and validated as a valuable employee?

With codependence, a part of us looks to another to get basic internal needs taken care of. These needs can include happiness, validation, and safety. Moreover, we can be codependent with anything: people, places, pets, hobbies… uhhh, even our homemade bread. This does not mean that when we receive satisfaction and fulfillment by being in service to another (or when we receive a promotion or a compliment) that we are codependent with that person, place or thing. Rather, as I said above, it adds to the quality of life. The question to be asked, however, is job satisfaction (or making good bread) the only reason we are fulfilled? If I was to leave my job tomorrow would I feel like I was no longer whole? Note: I am not talking about short term depression that quite often happens when we leave someone or something we love. What I am talking about is a fear that without this other person or thing in my life, I will be nothing. At the end, it comes down to balance. We need to feel fulfilled not just in our career and hobbies but in our relationships and quiet times alone. There needs to be places in our life that support us when we suffer loss in other areas, however that loss manifests. This helps us move on and realize that we are worthy and valuable as human beings, regardless of what we do, own or achieve.

Good Bread: The Hopeful Cure-All

2010-10-08T12:18:00.001-07:00

I made one tasty loaf of sprouted kamut and spelt sourdough bread yesterday. Sour, but not too sour; moist, but not like Betty Crocker’s infamous cake that squishes between the fork tongs moist; and sliceable so I can toast it with ease. Ahhh, the joy of basking in the light of perfection. Until at least Saturday, that is, when I bake a loaf for the family’s Thanksgiving dinner. Can I repeat this success? Am I a one-trick pony? What if I fail?

I am actually exaggerating these voices right now. Oh, my inner Doubting Thomasina is there alright but not loud enough to be too much of a distraction. It is just that she knows when I am most vulnerable and a family visit is high on that list.

Families tend to be a touchy point for most of us, especially when we are dealing with our codependent parts. After all, it is usually the place where they first came to be. I, for one, learned at an early age that if I wanted attention I needed to be someone different than who I was. I created a lot of different parts to achieve this attention: an entertainer and a sickly part, a tough and independent part and one that was good as gold, to name a few. I was protean in my abilities to get my needs met— reaching out towards others in however they needed me to be, or what I thought they needed me to be. There was always the hope that if I was funny, sick, hardy or quiet enough, I would be safer, more loved or just plain accepted. The result, of course, is that I negated my true self. I became a master at being anything but who I was.

Back to this coming weekend, I am going to be visiting people that I love but also people who tend to see only parts of myself — notably the parts I showed them in my early days of attention seeking. Some of my family see me as a bit too sensitive, others see me as not quite able while some view me as a bit of a show off (my entertainment sojourns tended to backfire). And, unfortunately, parts of me (uhhh, that would be my codependent parts) are seeing them through the eyes of my childhood. These parts still see members of my family as people I have to please somehow or risk abandonment. Huh. Seems like I am the one that has to change. “Bother,” as pooh would say.

Oh well, if the bread is bust, wont be the first less than worthy loaf of bread baked and besides, I have a contingency plan. If need be, there is a good bakery up the road that can provide.

Perfection and the Mother Starter

2010-10-05T20:35:00.000-07:00

I make bread every week now and have started noticing a few things about myself. Take this morning: while replenishing my Sourdough Starter (the “Mother starter”, they call it), I started to worry. My starter, you see, is a bit too sour for my taste. Not bad, mind you, but a little less of the sour would suffice just nicely. So, this morning I started changing it from a rye to a spelt starter and got thinking of experimenting with different consistencies— more liquid, less liquid, ect. While mixing in my seed culture with more flour and water I noticed how tense my shoulders were. Using ARC BodySpeak™ skills, I asked my shoulders what was up — why so tense? The answer was my age old nemesis, perfection. A part of me feels that I need (ha! no pun intended … maybe) to do this right —I mean really right. I need to bake perfect bread every time or my inabilities— my unworthiness—will be public knowledge. An inadequate loaf of bread is the equivalent to a neon sign blinking “failure, failure”.

The search for perfection, or the manifestation of perfection, is the trait of one of my more familiar codependent parts. If only I was perfect, this part bemoans, I, too, would be accepted, worthy, even loved. A bit dramatic but you got to love her, she keeps me entertained. At least she does now. In days gone by, she hounded me with threats of abandonment and rejection if I failed her.

I recently saw this dynamic at play during a community event. A couple of participants were demonstrating their unique skills and, despite being acknowledged and praised, could not see themselves in this light. It was frustrating but also embarrassing to witness. It was like looking at old funhouse mirror images of myself. In the past when my perfectionistic part was at the helm, I could not see myself in a positive light nor let the complimentary words of others penetrate. I saw myself as walking proof that no matter how hard I tried to be better, it would never be enough.

I sit here now at my computer typing furiously away, illuminating this perfectionistic part of myself. She needs to be seen for what she is: a codependent part that desperately wants to be found worthy. My job — me, my Self, the authority of who I am — needs to let her know, she already is.

The Light and Dark of It

2010-09-30T20:51:00.000-07:00

And now, the bread story. It is, alas, a tale of approval seeking but, without being too much of a spoiler, one with a happy ending.

I’ve been meaning to revisit bread making for fifteen years. Back then I was baking quite regularly. I co-owned a guiding outfit and, as such, I had clients and family to feed; bread making became second nature. Best of all, I developed a reputation for it, it was part of who I was. When I left the business (and my partner), however, to start again in the city, bread making died a natural death.

Last spring, the topic of bread, and the baking thereof, arose in a group in which I was participating. I stayed quiet but was almost overcome with this mad desire to be seen by this group, especially the leader, as a baker. I knew that I would have come across somewhat immature claiming a fifteen year old identity but inwardly I was yelling, “see me; see me. I, too, am a baker”. If I baked bread, this part of me argued, I would have their approval, perhaps even their respect. Funny how the seemingly innocuous can trigger larger than life desires. Baking bread became synonymous with identity, validation and recognition.

I didn’t act on this urge right away. There were two main reasons. For one, I had other matters to contend with like irrational fears that the thoughts of baking produced. These were, for the most part about control (safety), or lack of, and included: weight gain (I wouldn’t be able to stop eating), bug infestation (how to keep the kitchen free of flour dust), and the age old “there is not enough time” (I would be drained from overwork). The main reason, however, for not acting right away was that I took leadership over my parts — the needy and the fearful ones. I, in Self leadership, made time to get to know them better, acknowledge their truths (or what they perceived as truths) and reassure them that I could provide for their needs. I let them know I appreciated who they were and why they were so fierce in their beliefs while allowing them to see yet another perspective. The result was that I began seeing a more rounded picture of my parts, the good and the bad; how they served me in times of old and how they could yet do the same today, albeit in healthier ways.

I recently facilitated an evening presentation on interdependence. Interdependence, I suggested was the marriage of self care and harmonious community living: the healthy and respectful care for self results in the healthy and respectful care of others. I concluded by saying that one way to do this was to come into relationship with all of our internal parts. I stated that if we come to know each of our part’s unique characteristics — how they perceive and act upon life— we can not only serve ourselves better but ultimately serve our community to its highest good. It is about trust. If our parts feel heard and validated they are more apt to stop trying to take over — they learn to trust our Self leadership. This is the foundation for interdependence: trust in Self equals good self care; good self care equals healthier communities. In codependence, the opposite happens, our parts take leadership over Self, self care falters and communities suffer.

I have, as most of us do, a variety of parts both interdependent and codependent. Two of my favorite, in the latter department, are the ones that like to go into self pity and the ones that denies any self compassion, treating life with stoic precision. What I like most about these two parts are their unique characteristics or, as I like to call them, their skill sets. Take my stoic part. Sure she’s anal and controlling, rigid and a tad perfectionistic but she also gets the job done. She is disciplined and strong; knows the difference between right and wrong and is directed enough to act on her beliefs. My self pity part, on the other hand, can be whiny and dependent; a bit too self centred and tunnel visioned but she is also in touch with her feelings, recognizes injustices and is self compassionate. As such, she recognizes and is emphatic with those who are hurting. My stoic part is actually quite a leader and my self pity part is my strength, one who is not afraid to show her vulnerabilities or to reach out to others in need. The light and dark of it, I like to say.

In reviewing the skill set of this part of me that wants validation, I note that she is needy and demanding, a bit of a show-off and somewhat given to melodrama. However, she is also motivated, slides past irrational fears— as she did with my fears of fat, bugs and being drained— is not shy and can be quite entertaining. Most importantly, at least right now, is that this part of me that can still feel ignored, neglected and not up to snuff, and who sometimes does embarrassing things in order to get attention, got me making bread again, a hobby I quite enjoy. I, for one, am forever grateful. And, when the person who I was originally trying to impress eventually said, “hey, good bread” it was nice but not necessary. By slowing down and taking time with this part that needed to be seen; by taking care of and calming my fears, I was taking care of myself. I was not only taking leadership over my parts but baking helluva good bread. Creative Codependence at its best.

I'm Back...

2010-09-27T18:05:00.000-07:00

I’ve just had a kick in the butt. My friend, Kristen, someone who I very much admire and respect (check out her beauty speaks project) emailed me with a lovely comment about my blog. Damn it, I thought, if she isn’t being polite, I don’t know what polite is. I haven’t written anything in ages and of what I have written, wasn’t worth the comment. In other words, she jolted me (or perhaps it was my codependent parts) into action: there was approval to be had and writing to be done.

I started out this blog with a commitment to write weekly for one year. I made it until the end of July when, much to my surprise, my world fell apart. Okay, a little melodramatic but I discovered a truth about myself that not only hurt to the core but made me doubt much of who I was. Moreover, I knew the truth to be founded on codependent behaviour. It was, without exaggeration, devastating.

As soon as it happened, a part of me knew that I had to write about it but the shame, which I wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, was too big. Instead I lamely suggested in my submission on August 17 that I just needed a summer hiatus, that I was, “repeating things and, perhaps, not willing to go to the required depth”. True enough but not the complete picture. The real story is that my blog had become another codependent crutch: I was attempting to find self value in my writing.

I had been writing in a mad frenzy (note: a little hyperbole is good for the soul) all winter and spring in order that I could stand proud come November and say, see, I did it, I am great. I wrote (and published) an article every week. In retrospect, the goal had become my reason to be and the process was falling by the wayside. And there was more: I wanted, dreamed, fantasized about people responding on the comment page; the blog going viral and Meryl Streep playing me in my own version of Julia & Julia. When people didn’t respond or acknowledge my blog, I hit my personal self doubt button. When they did respond, I either hit the “I want more button” or declared myself undeserving. My avatar was a bunch of paragraphs strung together under the name Creative Codependence: I was codependent with my codependence blog — how embarrassing.

As I’ve described in previous articles, both responses of self doubt and “I want more” are codependent behaviours. With the former, it is fairly obvious. I was placing my self worth on what other people thought or what I perceived they were thinking. The latter response is a little more interesting in that with codependent parts, there is never enough. I could have been getting ten, no, one thousand comments a day, and it still wouldn’t have been enough. Oh sure, the first day would have been exciting but then there would have been this ultimate craving for two thousand, three and then four thousand comments increasing exponentially thereafter. I was the crack addict with open sores and vacant eyes, scratching and pleading for one more hit. But my hunger wasn’t for coke or another comment. Underneath is all was a desire for validation. But as I forever am saying (and yes, isn’t it about time I listened to my own teachings) you cant receive love, respect and acknowledgment, until you love, respect, and acknowledge yourself. A cliché but also a truism. We will always be wanting if we neglect our own self care.

So, as I wrote in Summer Hiatus, I needed time to refocus, regroup and, as also stated, time to bake bread. I now have an incredible sourdough mother starter living in my fridge and a repertoire of several sprouted whole grain breads with chewy mouthfuls of taste. But all that is for another story. I am back and watching (and even enjoying) my codependent parts as I maneuver around this latest learning experience.

Creative Codependence Workshop

2010-09-13T18:52:00.000-07:00

Creative Codependence:Getting More Out of Life

Saturday, October 16, 2010
10:00 – 6:00 pm, $95
Solace Centre, Nanaimo, BC
Note: Creative Codependence is CCA CEU Approved

Codependence is a label that many of us shy away from. The word conjures up images of helpless, needy souls pleading, begging to be liked.

But what if that wasn’t the entire picture?

What if being independent, strong and in control were also symptoms of codependence? What if codependence was simply a creative way we learned as children to get our needs met? And what if that same creativity could be used to meet those needs more effectively today?

Join Jo-Ann Svensson of The ARC Institute in this full day workshop as she compassionately explores codependence. Through discussion and exercises, she will demonstrate the idea that codependence is a unique and healing journey towards reclaiming our wholeness.

Check out the testimonials at www.creativecodependence.com
Register at earthandsky@telus.net or call 604 619-3904

More on Vulnerability

2010-09-08T21:25:00.000-07:00

This question came to my email...

What does it feel like to be vulnerable, how will I know?

The Oxford dictionary defines vulnerable as that which may be “wounded or harmed”. At first glance then, vulnerability appears as a weakness as in “my computer is vulnerable to viruses without adequate protection.” However, when used in the context of humans, admitting one’s vulnerabilities is actually a sign of strength.

Vulnerability begins with opening our heart — opening our heart to all our inner parts, the ones full of light and the ones mired in shadows. It is saying: “This is who I am. I may not be proud of all these parts but they are all a part of me.” For example, I have a part of me that goes into self pity ever so often. I am not proud of that but with an open heart I can acknowledge when I feel self pity and say: “A part of me needs attention right now. How can I give it the attention it needs in a healthy way?” With an open heart, pride steps aside for compassion to enter.

It can feel vulnerable to say we have needs, especially if those needs have been ignored, denied or judged in the past. To express our needs opens our self to the possibility of rejection. To avoid this, we often reject ourselves — we deny our needs — before another can do so. This may feel like we are protecting our self, or being “strong”, but, in reality, self rejection weakens us.

Ironically, when we deny our vulnerabilities we become more vulnerable to life’s challenges. Denial does not make the problems disappear, in fact, they usually increase. In denial, using the above example, the part of our self wanting attention will still try to get its needs met but will do so without our full awareness. We may end up doing unhealthy things to get attention or, alternatively, may try to drown our needs in addiction: drugs, alcohol, work and shopping, to name a few.

I feel most people feel safer, at first, in being vulnerable with another.. Many of us come from codependent backgrounds and, as such, we have come to rely on others for not only self validity but a sense of safety (I have written about self trust and inner safety in other blogs. Check out May blogs) Because of this, it sometimes requires another to help us open our heart to self compassion and to begin building the foundation for our own internal safety. We confide our worst fears to our best friend, therapist, spiritual advisor or even our pet before we can actually go within to explore. It is like testing the waters. If this person I trust accepts me without judgment, perhaps I, too, can accept myself and stop judging.

Being vulnerable with a trusted individual can eventually allow one to accept and love themselves regardless of what or who they have been. And this is not about evading responsibility. Being vulnerable includes admitting our wrongs and making amends where needed. It is vulnerable to admit how we have hurt another but only in acceptance of what we have done and the taking of appropriate responsibility can we transform guilt and shame into gifts from which we can learn.

And finally, it is a gift to ourselves to choose when and how to be vulnerable with others. If we are vulnerable to a person who is filled with self judgment it will be doubtful whether we will encounter an open heart. It is not that their judgment need necessarily hurt us — those with a strong sense of internal safety can withstand quite a lot of external judgment — but who needs it? Healthy vulnerability means having strong but flexible boundaries that help you choose when and how to express.

Here are some self reflective questions to help explore our more vulnerable parts:

• Do I judge myself for having a part of myself that feels/behaves/thinks a certain way?
• In judging this part am I denying my feelings but still acting on this part’s needs?
• What can this part teach me?
• Can I thank this part for perhaps getting me through a difficult time in life?
• Did this part hurt myself or others while trying to get its needs met?
• Can I forgive myself for these hurts and make appropriate amends?

Accepting our vulnerabilities is about coming out of denial and living life with an open heart. As such, it is a strength rather than a weakness. How will you know you are being vulnerable? For everyone it is different but for me, I can tell you when I am not being vulnerable. As soon as I pass judgment on another or myself, I have closed my heart. When I do that I ask: What is happening for you right now, Jo-Ann? And with that I am once more being vulnerable.

Questions

2010-08-30T13:21:00.000-07:00

If anyone wants to post an anonymous question, email me at earthandsky@telus.net.

Be writing soon, Jo-Ann

A Question of Vulnerability

2010-08-23T19:59:00.001-07:00

I did a workshop on boundaries the other day at Awakenings Book store in White Rock. The question was asked: how can I be vulnerable, live with an open heart, and not get walked on?

I think the root of the question here is not so much about being vulnerable but our belief in our intrinsic “right to be”.

I’ve printed this quote before but I find it is fitting once again:

When a rebel army took over a Korean town, all fled the Zen temple except the abbot. The rebel general burst into the temple and was incensed to find that the master refused to greet him, let alone receive him as a conqueror.
"Don’t you know," shouted the general, "that you are looking at one who can run you through without batting an eye?"
"And you," said the abbot, "are looking at one who can be run through without batting an eye!"
The general's scowl turned into a smile. He bowed and left the temple.

The abbot presents himself in all his vulnerability — no sword, no armour —and states who he is. He makes a conscious decision, stating to the general that he can try to walk all over him but he, the abbot, will not be affected. The abbot is basically saying that this bullying behaviour is about the general. It is his need to be in control and that he, the abbot, will not play the game. The general can try to run over, threaten or abuse the abbot but the abbot will not succumb. The abbot is putting up a boundary. He is standing tall and stating his truth — he believes in his right to be.

Let us use the more pedestrian example of love. Letting someone know you love them is a vulnerable act. The object of our love can respond in many ways from returning, abusing or rejecting it and, of course, the many variations between. The thing to note, however, is regardless of how the other person responds, their response is about them, not us. It is about their feelings and/or way of coping with life. If we have a right to state our love, then they have a right to state their feelings … even if it is hurtful to us. Their feelings, including defensive reactions spoken out of fear, is authentic for them at that moment.

It is essentially human that a negative response to open-heartedness adversely affects us. Its hurts to be rejected. However, if we allow that rejection to overwhelm our sense of who we are and to negate the authentic expression of our feelings, we have been overruled by our codependent parts. We are allowing another to walk over us because we are elevating their feelings above our own.

Said another way, it is about self trust. Self trust, as I have noted before, is contingent on an internal sense of safety (and vice versa). If we feel safe in who we are; and trust that our feelings are important, we are more apt to feel okay in our vulnerability. It is about knowing that whatever happens as a result of stating our deepest thoughts or feelings, it is secondary to the fact that we have been true to our self.

In codependence, we allow the feelings, thoughts or actions of another to supersede our own in value. We react to another’s negative response and judge it to be about us. In codependence, we let others not only walk over us but hurt us along the way. Let’s look at some simplified dialogues to explain further:

Ann: I love you
Bob: If you love me you will do this for me.

Bob is abusing Ann’s love. If Ann responds by saying, “okay”, her codependent parts are in control. She is stating that the only way she will gain Bob’s love is by bending to his will. If Ann sets up a boundary, however, she might say: “my love is not contingent on your conditions, my love is about how I feel towards you.”

Max: I love you
Sally: I don’t love you, you are not good enough

Sally is rejecting Max’s love and hurting him with abusive words. If Max believes these words, his codependent parts are in control. He is allowing another’s opinion to be more important than his own. Max could respond with boundaries and say: “that is your opinion. In expressing my love, I am stating my truth, not an invitation for you to abuse me.”

Sue: I am scared
Jim: I will take care of you

Here Sue is being vulnerable in stating her fear. If Sue allows Jim to take control her codependent parts have taken control of her. With strong boundaries Sue could respond: “I did not ask you to take over, I am only stating how I feel. If you want to help, ask me what I need right now.”

We cannot be walked over, abused, and/or controlled unless a part of ourselves, however small, deems we deserve it in some way. Or, said another way, that a part of us feels we are not worthy of respect. (And I am not talking about children or forced confinement in its myriad of physical, financial and emotional manifestations.) The act of putting up a boundary states we do not expect, want or deserve abuse and we will not stand for it.

The strongest boundary we have is the one that comes from the belief that says, unconditionally, we have the right to be. It allows us to be vulnerable, the purest manifestation of that belief. The more we practice it, the deeper we trust who we are and the more authentic our response to life. We may still get hurt by others but the hurt is temporary, and ultimately soothed by our belief in who we are and our right to be.

Summer Hiatus

2010-08-17T10:23:00.001-07:00

I’ve just come back from taking a few weeks hiatus from writing. I had come to an impasse; feeling a bit redundant, especially in my thoughts on codependence. I had decided to write a blog for two main reasons (and I quote from November 10): one, it would be a great way to establish a writing regime which all writing experts seem to say you must do and which concept I have eternally struggled with and two, I would learn more about codependence and my relationship to it. I did and continue to do both but, as I say, I find myself repeating things and, perhaps, not willing to go to the required depth. In other words, I need a break from this blog while I explore life (and codependence) through other means… bread making, for example.

That said, I do welcome comments and questions. I’ll check in every so often and answer what I can. Happy Summer to you all, Jo-Ann

Intimacy

2010-07-25T16:34:00.000-07:00

In a previous blog I briefly mentioned that codependence destroys intimacy. I need to restate that comment or, as Sarah Palin would say, “refudiate” it. While codependence can destroy intimacy, more likely it will just prevent intimacy from happening.

Intimacy, according to Harriet Lerner in The Dance of Intimacy, is when “we can be who we are in a relationship, and allow the other person to do the same.” An intimate relationship, “is one in which neither party silences, sacrifices, or betrays the self and each party expresses strength and vulnerability, weakness and competence in a balanced way”. Intimacy, therefore, requires a healthy dose of self care.

Codependent relationships, on the other hand, tend to negate self rather than care for it. It reminds me of the old Dusty Springfield song, Wishin’ and Hopin.’ “Show him that you care just for him; do the things he likes to do; wear your hair just for him, 'cause you won't get him thinkin' and a-prayin', wishin' and a-hopin'” Indeed. In codependence, a certain investment underlies our behaviours: we do things for (or to) another in hopes that the other will like, love, respect, care for, and/or, among other things, see us—we care for self by caring for the other. Within this investment there also lies an inherent self betrayal as our well-being is dependent not on what we feel about ourselves but what the other thinks or feels about us. By focusing on the other as an indirect form of self care, we lose sight of who we are. The relationship is no longer balanced and intimacy is constrained.

The question, however, is not so much what is intimacy but do we want it? Intimacy can be scary and challenging as it asks us to be open and vulnerable not only with our partners but, more importantly, with ourselves. To be loved by another, to share a deep form of shared intimacy, our biggest challenge lies in loving our self.

Self Protection

2010-07-16T14:06:00.000-07:00

How do we protect ourselves from the unwanted influence or pull of another? Is it through emotional or psychological walls, breathing in white light, or carrying a big stick? Is it locking oneself in the bathroom, taking self defense classes, or wearing a seatbelt? All can be valid depending on the situation and individual involved, but I find myself wondering if this is the main question we should be pursuing. Life, as The ARC Institute teaches, is made to challenge and help us grow. We come across such challenges everyday in people who try, for example, to control us or disregard our boundaries— sometimes in annoying ways, other times in a more threatening or physical manner. We can do our best to physically protect ourselves but an emotional component tends to piggyback on this unwanted influence—we take it personally, end up capitulating, or react in other ways that doesn’t quite serve us. For example, while we can avoid spending time with a “needy” friend who pulls on too much of our energy, do we suffer guilt as a result? Is it easier to have self anger than to say “no” for continually giving in to the financial requests of a family member, and do we end up taking on too much responsibility for another person’s emotions because we feel sorry for them?

How do we protect ourselves from taking on other people’s issues or ignoring our own needs in favour of another? How do we take care of our self in the face of challenging people and events? I feel the best way to care for one’s emotional self, whether through a boundary invasion or a pull on one’s energies, is less a wall, an infusion of white light or a defensive reaction than in nurturing a strong sense of Self.

When I think about a strong sense of Self, I reflect on the following:

When a rebel army took over a Korean town, all fled the Zen temple except the abbot. The rebel general burst into the temple and was incensed to find that the master refused to greet him, let alone receive him as a conqueror.
"Don’t you know," shouted the general, "that you are looking at one who can run you through without batting an eye?"
"And you," said the abbot, "are looking at one who can be run through without batting an eye!"
The general's scowl turned into a smile. He bowed and left the temple.*

We can look at this in esoteric terms and say that the abbot believes in an eternal soul but I don’t feel we have to take it that far. For me it is more a metaphoric tale of the abbot’s strong sense of Self. He doesn’t bow down to physical might or relinquish his power. Instead, he emanates a sense of Self that quietly states to the general, nothing you can do can take away my power.

Self is the core of who we are. The capacity to have a strong sense of Self resides in all of us, regardless of age, situation or mental capacity. It is our authentic being-ness—that which remains untouched through the countless traumas, big and small, that incur in life. It is what gets us through the tough times when brawn or brain can do no more: the metaphysical spinal fluid that courses through our body, illuminating our inner power.

When Self is strong, we are resilient to life challenges. We see them as gifts and as a way to understand ourselves better. For example, if a friend becomes too needy we can reflect on whether this need is temporary or chronic and how much time we are willing to give either way. We can delve deeper into our psyche and ask what needs of our own are being met (by giving too much) and how the friendship could be strengthened by making it a more mutual give and take. If we share space with an angry coworker we can state our boundaries and say, “enough”, letting them know it is not appropriate to be venting in such manner. In Self, we can be compassionate to others but firm in knowing where our responsibility begins and ends. As such, we can respect their position (or not) but have the boundaries to avoid taking their issues personally.

When our codependent parts are at play, our sense of Self is not as strong. We allow people to negatively affect us: we do things we don’t want to do; and expend energy in ways that do not serve us. In this state, we don’t feel entitled to personal boundaries or the expression of our feelings. Alternatively, we hide behind psychological walls or bully others to avoid showing our vulnerabilities. Rather than gifts, our codependent parts see challenges as an external force that requires drastic solutions: rigid control and reactive anger or isolation and capitulation.

Self, however, is like a muscle, one that needs to be exercised to be at its optimum. For Self to be strong, we must recognize, appreciate and listen to what our body tells us, and validate our emotions. In the practice of body awareness we know how our body feels when it is centred, and how it feels when it has been thrown off or affected by another. And, while a strong Self is compassion to the idea that it will be thrown off centre throughout the day, it is secure in the knowledge of how to regain a balanced state. Self is neither rigid, judgmental, nor afraid of change. These attributes allow a person with a strong sense of Self to creatively respond, rather than react to life, thus transforming challenges into the gifts they are.

Building a strong sense of Self is not a one-time goal but a life-long journey. I remember first feeling my own sense of Self many years before I ever heard of or understood the concept—many years before I even started building upon this inner power. I was on Mt. Baker’s Skyline Trail in Washington State. It was a drizzly, grey day, with low cloud and poor visibility. I was ahead of my hiking partner and decided to sit down on a rock and wait for her. As I sat, a feeling of primordial strength came over me: of being one with the rock, the moss; the fine droplets of mist. I felt calm and capable; unafraid and in charge of my life. Although the feeling did not last, over the years I was able to come back to that feeling in times of doubt and fear, when life challenges seemed to overwhelm and I felt only emptiness. It was that small glimpse of Self, so many years ago, that got me through and enabled me to begin practicing a lifetime of lessons in self awareness, self trust and an acceptance of who I am.

• Reprinted from Tricycle: The Buddhist Review, Summer 2002. From Zen Poems of China and Japan: The Crane’s Bill, by L. Stryk, T. Ikemoto & T. Takayama

The Power Give Away

2010-07-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

I have a pet peeve. It’s the statement: “well, nothing I can do about it,” usually given in response to news of government corruption or environmental disaster. For me it’s the ultimate of victimhood; it screams powerlessness. And, in terms of this blog’s nom de guerre, it allows another to take over thereby fulfilling the partnership requirements of codependence.

Codependence takes two to tangle. The partner can be a person, career, religion or a pet— anything outside of our self, that we instill hopes and dreams to fulfill some internal need. The following is an oversimplified example using the intrinsic need to feel self worth. “Sharon” does not feel loved or, shall we say, worthy of love. In search for a remedy she gives her love to “Bill” in hopes that he will love her back. Bill also has a sense of unworthiness but for him it manifests in terms of powerlessness and, because of his self-judged shortcomings, he rejects Sharon’s love. Sharon finds her love rejected and concludes it is because she hasn’t loved Bill “enough”. She works harder at loving him “better” and, ironically, finds a renewed sense of purpose – it increases her sense of self worth. Bill, on the other hand, finds a sense of power in Sharon’s behaviour — it makes him feel worthy: the more he rejects Sharon, the harder she tries and the more powerful he feels. The relationship becomes based on two people feeling unworthy but feeding each other in such a way that superficially fills, much like candy given to a hungry child will, each other’s needs. One gives; one takes: the codependent partnership is complete.

Let’s look at it from another perspective using the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico as an example. In 2001, BP did an internal review of their Alaska operations and “found that the company wasn't maintaining safety equipment and faced ‘a fundamental lack of trust’ among workers.” Six years later in a follow-up study, “[n]early 80 percent of the workers interviewed … said that gas and fire detection systems -- perhaps the most important equipment to saving lives and among the most critical in preventing an environmental disaster -- were either not functioning or were obsolete [and that] 50 percent of everything that was originally brought up was not fixed, it was ignored." http://www.propublica.org/series/gulf-oil-spill . The end result? We now have a disaster in the Gulf of Mexico.

In reading that, one could say, “well, nothing I can do about it. BP is a powerful company, they do what they want to do.” Sure enough, but who gives them that power? They have the power because we, North Americans as a whole, want oil. We want oil because it makes us feel indirectly powerful: we can drive a car; keep the house warm, use plastic in all its many conveniences, produce fertilizers and pesticides, and run our businesses. Oil helps us to live a life to which we have grown accustomed and in that we feel powerful. But it’s a false power. It is false because we have, in fact, given our power over to multinational cororations whose eminent concern is not our standard of living but of money. We give them the power for obvious and rational reasons: as individuals we do not have the ability to extract oil; its convenient to let someone else do it; they say they are going to be ethical and environmentally concerned; and, ultimately, we feel powerless with such overwhelming concerns.

Corporations, such as BP, take the power because power (and control) can exponentially produce more money. And, just as it’s a false sense of power that we feel when driving our cars, it’s a false sense of powerlessness that says we have no control over the inadequacies and failures of companies such as BP. We have given them that control, we have given them our power.

How can we take back that power?

We can take back our power by letting go or decreasing our need for oil. Ask yourself: am I really feeling empowered by having 20,000 to 50,000 barrels of oil spill into the Gulf of Mexico every day so that I can drive a car? Are thousands of dead birds really worth the convenience of plastic? Do I really need to create a dead zone in the Gulf so I can live with this false sense of power?

I am not saying here that we should be martyrs and give it all up. I am saying, however, that we can take back the power by being less needy. We can cut back on the driving: use a car pool, buy a bike; take transit. We can do without that new plastic doo-dah and buy oil free products. We can lobby our governments to find alternative fuel sources and monitor projects in our own back yard such as the Alberta Oil Sands. In short, we can be more conscious of how our false sense of power impacts the rest of the world.

Giving someone else power so that we, however indirectly, feel empowered has the potential to work quite well on a temporary basis. However, in the long term it only spells disaster. Power, like love, respect and safety, must first be directed towards self: if we feel empowered we wont need to look for power in commodities such as cars, other people or in corporations. Codependence relationships are based on looking outside ourselves for what we need most to give to our self. In people it destroys intimacy and within governments and corporations, it has the potential to destroy our environment.

The Hunger of Addiction

2010-07-02T18:38:00.000-07:00

Last week I suggested that often at the core of one’s hunger, there is a desire to be loved, accepted and validated; to be respected and seen as worthy. I also suggested that the hunger is often hidden by defensive behaviours, ones that seek, albeit in a dysfunctional way, to protect us. For example, one common defence against feeling one’s emotional hunger is, ironically, to overeat. We stuff ourselves with food to prevent us from experiencing our truth. In fact, any addiction is useful in distracting us in that way. Addiction may include work, internet surfing, anorexia (the addiction of food avoidance), sex, drugs, alcohol, exercise, shopping, reading and obsessive thoughts—anything that takes us away from the truth of what we need to feel. Another reason to distract our self from feeling this hunger is that there may be a part of us that actually believes we don’t deserve to have this hunger satiated. We may say we are unworthy and act as such but very few, if any, want to believe it is true. So addictions work in two ways: they try to feed the hunger (with the wrong food) and they also distract us from the belief that we don’t deserve to be emotionally fed in the first place.

To restate this, our core needs, as suggested above, include love, validation, safety, and acceptance. The reason we hunger for these is because some where along the way, whether through neglect, abuse or inadequate parenting, we didn’t get sufficiently “fed”. And, because we weren’t given this support, we not only judged ourselves to be unworthy of it but we did not learn how to self validate; to love and have self respect. Good role modeling, external validation and functional care teaches us how to do these things. As we could not find this support within our caregivers and hence, ourselves, we concluded that they must be outside ourselves. We look to get these intrinsic needs met through work, our partners, our careers, drugs, sex, food, and exercise to name a few. The search for these foundational needs is a driving force; there is innate knowledge that we cannot survive without them but also a false knowledge that they must be found in the external world. The result is an insatiable appetite for love and acceptance that is never fulfilled, and the need for work, drugs, food, sex, internet, etc, becomes all consuming but never enough. This is addiction.

Addictions, then, take us away from a valid internal search and also provide for a distraction. Addictions deceive us in to believing we can be fulfilled by them and they also provide an escape: to not feel or be in one’s body. Addictions, therefore, take us away from our emotional hunger.

What can we do?

First, of all, name the addiction. Ask yourself if there is anything in your life that you feel compelled to do and, more importantly, feel uneasy if obstructed from doing it? Do you need to check your email regularly? How do you feel if you cannot do that? Do you need that chocolate or glass of wine at the end of the day? Do you have a sense of uneasiness if you don’t get it? What happens when you don’t get to go for your run or kickboxing class? How do you feel if you don’t get to read your book at night, have sex or bring your work home with you? These are all normal and common activities: the question is not if and when you do them but how it feels if you cannot do them? Are you dependent on them for your sense of wellbeing? And, a note here about addictions such as exercise—a hard one to discern due to societal approval and the well-documented positive effects. I am not talking about feeling lethargic without your exercise, I am talking about an internal tension that, at its height, feels like an internal time bomb, a sense of doom, fear or madness.

When you identify your addiction, ask yourself what would happen if you didn’t do it. Notice how that feels inside even just to ask it. Then keep asking questions.

For example:

Q: What if you don’t check your email today?
A: I will get behind in work.
Q: But today is Saturday…
A: I don’t want to be bogged down with all these emails on Monday
Q: What happens if you get bogged down?
A: I wont finish my work
Q: What if you don’t finish your work?
A: It wont look good
Q: What if it doesn’t look good?
A: People will think I don’t know how to do my job
Q: And then?
A: I will lose my job … lose my identity … lose my house, car …. I would be nothing.

Look at the final result: I would be nothing if I don’t check my email today. Ask yourself if this is rational. If not, then sit with the tension of not looking at your email and see what happens internally. This is the most difficult part of working through our addictions… the discomfort. It can be a physical tension, like the withdraw from heroin; or an emotional one, like the withdraw from working but both will still, at times, feel unbearable.

I guarantee that the tension, if allowed just to be, will eventually decrease. Some of you will need the support of a good therapist through this but when the tension decreases, the true hunger will reveal itself. Perhaps the need to exercise is a distraction from feeling lonely or not loved. Maybe the need to work overtime hides your hunger for safety, distancing you from intimate relationships. It takes time and courage to name the hunger behind the addiction and more so to feed it with what it actually needs. But like the small tortoise in the Bantu tale (June 18) who, despite all the odds against her, travelled though the dark jungle to find the name of her hunger you, too, will find abundance if you undertake the journey. The abundance to be found is our only true wealth: a love and acceptance and trust in self.

Codependence underlies all addictions. It is the need to look outside of our self to find fulfillment in life. The journey of recovery begins when we start to look within.

The Hunger of Codependence

2010-06-25T11:04:00.000-07:00

The act of naming, exploring and validating our feelings is primal in the recovery from codependence. As Charles Whitfield says, we need to “get down on the floor and wrestle with each feeling. … Until we can recognize, feel, experience and work through a feeling ... we cannot use it and then let it go.” The same can be said for the hunger that often feeds these feelings. Until we recognize, experience and satisfy it’s yearning, the hunger will remain and may manifest in addictions such as drug dependence, eating disorders, workaholism and codependence or in mental states such as depression and anxiety.

In the Bantu tale of last week, a hunger lay beneath the varying emotions each animal expressed. The gazelle and the elephant, hungry to be seen as worthy and important, were at first arrogant, but then angry and embarrassed when found lacking. The other animals hungered for strong leadership but it was hidden behind false hopes, frustration and, eventually, cynicism. Only the young tortoise, the one “too young, too small, and too slow” found a means to satisfy the collective hunger. She did not listen to the animal’s judgment but humbly trusted herself and her innate wisdom to bring abundance to the community. She alone, was able to complete the journey and name the tree.

Trees, such as the one in this story, are symbolic to many cultures, representing, among other things, our interconnectedness and oneness of spirit. When we “name the tree,” our metaphoric hunger, we culminate a powerful inner journey where our deepest desire for connection, recognition and love is spoken out loud. Like the tortoise, we must not only speak it but keep it alive in our consciousness, courageously exposing ourselves to the fears of being unworthy, not enough or too needy. And, like the tortoise, when we commit to naming our hunger, we can ignore the judgments of others, redirecting our external search for authority to that which comes from within.

For many of us, our hunger to be loved, accepted and validated lies beneath our codependent behaviours. We overextend ourselves to others in the hopes of being loved; we deny our feelings in the desire for acceptance; and we bully or try to control others to feel safe and validated. These methods, however, will never satisfy the hunger. Instead, as Anita Johnston writes, we “must journey back into the past from where [one] came, cross the great empty plains of … life, travel deep into the jungle of [the] mind, find the place near [the] river of feelings where [one’s] inner authority rules, and ask ‘What is the name of my hunger?’”

By boldly stating our hunger, whatever it may be, we start a new journey that seeks to nourish our soul from within rather than from without. In this journey we find that we can only be loved, if we love our self; can only be seen, if we see ourselves; and can only feel secure if we trust ourselves.

Naming our hunger begins the journey of recovery from codependence.

Name Your Hunger

2010-06-18T14:20:00.000-07:00

In the entry below, I’ve copied an old Bantu tale called “The Name of the Tree” from Anita Johnston’s book, Eating in the Light of the Moon. She describes it a metaphor for naming your spiritual hunger or inner famine. Although Johnston writes about disordered eating, I feel it can pertain to anytime we lose our sense of self — who we are—starving ourselves for a relationship with our inner spirit. Johnston writes : “To learn the name of … hunger, [one] must journey back into the past from where [one] came, cross the great empty plains of … life, travel deep into the jungle of [the] mind, find the place near [the] river of feelings where [one’s] inner authority rules, and ask ‘What is the name of my hunger?’”

Naming your hunger is a powerful tool of healing. It asks us to name what we really need to sustain our life. Is it power, money and success or is it love, family, and trust in life’s process? When we are sick, is it that we suffering from a disease or a dis-ease of spirit? When we feel lonely, is it because we are alone or is it because we have deserted ourselves? I will talk more of this next week, especially how it relates to codependence but till then, let me know what you feel when you read this magical tale…

An African Folk Tale

2010-06-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

This old Bantu folk tale is about a great hunger a long, long time ago in Africa. A drought had left the land dry and fallow and no food could easily be found for the animals. One day, all the animals, except the lion, decided to leave the jungle to scour the landscape in search of something to eat. The lion, who was king of the jungle, chose to remain behind and rule over his kingdom. And so, the elephants, the giraffe, the rabbit, the tortoise, the monkey, the zebra, and the gazelle set out together to scour the landscape for food to eat. They crossed the great river, and walked and walked across the flat land for many days, not knowing where their journey would take them.

After some time, as they approached the edge of the plain, the animals began to make out the figure of what appeared to be a tall tree, the only one that stood for miles around. And as their journey drew them closer to this tree they saw that it was laden with the most luscious fruit they had ever seen! Fruit as red as pomegranates, and orange as mangoes, as yellow as bananas, as purple as plums, and as fragrant as all the fruits of the world.

But, for all its beauty and promise, the tree left the animals crying in frustration and despair. For it was so tall and its branches so high off the ground that even the neck of the giant giraffe was not long enough to reach even the bottom-most fruit. And the trunk of the tree was so smooth that even the agile monkey could not climb it.

The famished animals collapsed on the ground beneath the tree. “What are we going to do?” they lamented. An old tortoise spoke: “My great-great-grandmother once told me about a tree such as this one, with beautiful and delicious fruit. But only those who knew the name of the tree could reach the fruit.”

“How can we find the name of the tree?” the animals asked in unison.

The old tortoise answered, “The lion knows the name. Someone must travel back to the jungle to ask him.”

It was decided that the gazelle, who was the fastest runner of all, should go. The gazelle, proud of his swiftness, raced to the jungle and to the place near the river that the lion king called home. “What do you want?” questioned the lion when the gazelle arrived.

“Great King,” said the gazelle, “all the animals are so very hungry. We have been searching for days for something to eat. We have finally found the most beautiful tree, filled with wondrous, colourful fruit. But until we find the name of the tree, the fruit will remain out of our reach, and all the animals will continue to starve.”
The lion thought quietly for a moment and then said, “I will tell you what you need to know. I do not wish to see the animals of my kingdom suffer amy more. But I will only tell you once, for I do not wish to repeat myself or to tell anyone else this special name. You must listen carefully and remember. The name of the tree is Ungalli.”

“Ungalli,” said the gazelle. He thanked the lion and ran through the jungle and then back across the flat land thinking about how clever the other animals were to send an animal as swift as he and how happy and grateful they would be when he returned with the name of the tree. Lost in his thoughts, he did not see the rabbit hole that was near to where the animals lay waiting. He stepped in the hole and flipped head over hoof through the air until he landed with a thud at the foot of the tree.
The animals gathered around him. “What is the name of the tree?” they shouted with great hope and expectation.

But the gazelle just stared at the animals with a dazed look in his eyes. “What is the name of the tree?” the desperate animals shouted again and again.

“I cant remember,” he uttered, in a voice barely above a whisper. “I cant remember.”

The animals moaned. “We have no choice. We will just have to send someone else, someone who will remember no matter what,” they said.

It was decided that the elephant should go since it was well known that she did not forget anything. And so the elephant strode off across the flat, empty plain, feeling quite proud of her excellent memory. When the elephant arrived at the place near the river where the lion king lived, the lion growled, “What do you want?”
“Oh, king,” said the elephant, “the animals are all so hungry and I ... ”
“I know, I know,” said the lion impatiently. “I will tell you the name of the tree with the wonderful fruit, but don’t you forget because I absolutely will not tell anyone else. The name of the tree is Ungalli.”

“I will not forget,” said the elephant with arrogance, “I never forget anything.”

She made her way out of the jungle and across the plain thinking to herself, “How could I forget! I can remember the names of all the trees in this jungle.” And she began to name them. Quite impressed with her memory, she began naming all the trees in Africa and then began to recall the names of all the trees in the world. Lost in her thoughts, she carelessly stepped in the same hole in the ground that had spoiled the gazelle’s journey just the day before. But unlike the gazelle, the elephant’s foot was so big and fit so tightly in to the hole that she could not so easily get it out.

The elephant pulled and tugged but her foot wouldn’t budge. Those animals who were not too weak from hunger ran toward the elephant shouting, “What is the name of the tree?”

Angrily, she pulled and tugged at her foot again and again until at last she was able to free it from the hole. “What is the name of the tree?” the animals shouted again.

“I cant remember,” she said crossly, as she rubbed her sore foot, “and I don’t care.”
The animals were too tired and too hungry to complain. Some began to cry. They didn’t know what to do. Then a very young tortoise said, “I will go and find the name of the tree.”

“You are too young, too small, and too slow,” replied the animals.

“Yes,” said the very young tortoise, “but my great-great-great-grandmother, the one who knew about the tree, taught me how to remember.”

Without waiting for the animals to respond, the little tortoise headed out slowly across the great plain. Step by step she made her way to the place near the river in the jungle where the lion king lived.

The king was not at all pleased to see the tortoise and roared, “If you have come for the name of the tree, forget it! I’ve told it twice before. And I warned the gazelle and the elephant that I would not tell anyone else the name of the tree is Ungalli so I will not tell you.”

The young tortoise politely thanked the lion for his time. As she walked out of the jungle she repeated to herself over and over, “Ungalli, Ungalli, the name of the tree is Ungalli.” She crossed the great plain, saying over and over, “Ungalli, Ungalli, the name of the tree is Ungalli. Ungalli, Ungalli, the name of the tree is Ungalli.”

Even when feeling tired and thirsty, the young tortoise never stopped saying, “Ungalli, Ungalli, the name of the tree is Ungalli,” because great-great-great-grandmother has said this was what one should do to remember. Falling to the bottom the same rabbit hole that had tripped the gazelle and trapped the elephant, the young tortoise just climbed out saying, “Ungalli, Ungalli, the name of the tree is Ungalli.”

None of the animals noticed as the young tortoise approached them. They were lying under the tree preoccupied with their great misfortune when she walked straight up to them and announced in a loud voice, ” Ungalli, Ungalli, the name of the tree is Ungalli.”

The startled animals looked up. They saw the branches of the tree bend down so low that they could reach the wonderful fruit that was as red as pomegranates, and orange as mangoes, as yellow as bananas, as purple as plums, and as fragrant as all the fruits of the world.

The animals ate until their bellies were full. With great joy and merriment, they lifted the very young tortoise high up in the air. They paraded around and around the tree singing and chanting, over and over, “Ungalli, Ungalli, the name of the tree is Ungalli” because they did not want to forget. And they never did.
Transcribed from Anita Johnston’s book on eating disorders, Eating in the Light of the Moon.

Centre Stage

2010-06-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

I recently misunderstood a friend’s email communication and, without checking in with her, took it as a personal affront. The next time I saw her, I reacted quite defensively and she asked what was wrong. When the truth finally came out (amazing how the truth can hide behind self righteousness) and the misunderstanding was cleared she asked, “you know that’s a sign of codependency, don’t you?” As I looked up in surprise with not a little chagrin she continued, “you were making it all about you.”

Well, besides the fact that the world does revolve around me (… doesn’t it?) she had a point. In centre stage, our codependent parts seek the spotlight for both our own and other people’s dramas. They take responsibility for things that have nothing to do with them and try to fix people and situations that are out of their control. Our codependent parts make us believe that we have more power than we do, not in our life, but in other people’s lives. With our own life we feel powerless and we try to gain some control by either taking an over interest in others or believing, as I did above, they have an over interest in us. The rescuing and martyring codependent parts take more blame than they should – it is my fault that the situation is as it is – and the bullying codependent parts take not enough blame and see it as their duty to remedy the situation by making others change. It comes down to boundaries: knowledge of where we begin and where we end. As Charles Whitfield says, the codependent “cannot see the other as separate from self; [or does not see] self as separate from the other”. In the former, the rescuer/martyr come through and takes responsibility for others; in the latter, the bully takes over, trying to control others. Both are codependent, both take centre stage.

With this recent misunderstanding, I took a friend’s authentic concern about me to be a statement about my abilities or lack thereof. I did this because of my own self doubt: I believe that I am not good enough, therefore everyone else must also agree. In other words, I was not seeing the other as separate from myself. My codependent parts are always on the look out for conspirators in this endeavor and will tap into the subtlest remark and make it a critique about me.

How could I have handled it differently? Well, it started with my friend stating concern about me. I could have responded with: “thank you for caring about me but I am okay. However, when you state your concern in that way, I feel you don’t trust me to handle the situation”. Simple, eh? I give my friend the benefit of the doubt, that is, she is a caring and not judgmental person, and then name how I feel when she shows care in that way. There is no judgment, nor blame, as in “you made me feel bad,” and I take responsibility for my feelings by expressing them in a healthy manner. In this way I don’t create stories about what she believes: I respect myself, I respect my friend and my codependent parts get to experience another, more healthy, reality that shares centre stage with other people and perspectives.

Boredom

2010-06-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

I was at a party the other day. It was an eclectic mix of young and old, environmentalists and writers; health practitioners and organic farmers. Waiting to pour myself some refreshments, I started up a conversation with a petite, young woman with large brown eyes. The talk came around, as it does, to what fuels our life and I told her I wrote a weekly blog on codependence. Her eyes grew yet larger. “Every week?” she asked incredulously. I looked at her and paused, not knowing quite how to answer. A part of me felt defensive to be sure, but most of me just found it funny. Finally, I responded with a laugh, “Yeah, every week, pretty boring, huh?”

Although I truly thought it amusing, I think I set myself up for the following week because once named, boredom decided to stick around. Every word I wrote, action initiated, and thought completed was boring. I was at an utter loss of what to do as restlessness wrestled with all I did: when I wrote, I wanted to read; if I stood, I wanted to sit; when I talked, I bemoaned its futility. All was useless, all was boring.

Boredom is the sealed carton confining fermenting milk on a hot day; restlessness is the milk. My restlessness wanted release but boredom kept a cap on it, denying any satisfaction. In this state I flitted and fluttered from one thing to another, never happy; never content. I was trying to write up an outline for a new workshop and I was being stymied at every point. I needed to be still so to allow my creativity to come forth but restlessness overrode this option. I felt overwhelmed, unhappy and dissatisfied with life. What was really happening, however, was that boredom and restlessness had hired out as the henchman for my codependent parts.

Codependent parts do not like to be still. To be still invites inner reflection and these parts fear that the sight will not be pretty. To them, there is nothing worthy to be found within and so they urge an outward gaze to find life fulfillment. My codependent parts deny I have any creativity. Moreover, they fear that if I try to express it (despite continuous proof otherwise) I will be criticized and found wanting.

I have fought against these beliefs before (and won) but this time their tactics had changed and I was unprepared for boredom to be the manifesting adversary. Thankfully, I had enough sense of my own self worth that I kept pushing through, despite the challenges, to write down tidbits of ideas in the few moments of space I could find. I wanted to give up on many occasions and, actually did surrender several times, only to pick up the fight again a few hours later.

It wasn’t until I was forced into stillness on a long bus ride that I could finally identify what was happening. I realized that my codependent parts were doing everything possible to keep me from expressing my inner power. In their selective memory of times past, they were scared that if my creativity came out, I would be shut down by some external force. They were, in a dysfunctional way, trying to protect me from being hurt. When I saw that, I was able to voluntarily sit in stillness and reassure these parts that it was okay. That I wouldn’t be shut down and, if I was, I could handle it. I sat with my parts just like a parent would for a small child and listened to their story. And, just like a child with a chance to express and someone there to listen to their fears, the restless parts calmed down. In the space that was created, my truth came forth: as in all human beings, I was infinitely creative and that creativity could not only bring ideas to fruition but adapt and learn from potential disappointments and external criticism.

I am reminded as I write this of Marianne Williamson’s quote: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure…”. Our codependence parts fear that power because it has been denied and/or crushed too many times in the past. It is up to us, that is, our core self, to remind these parts that things have changed, that we are no longer powerless children. As creative adults we have capable skills to deal with external oppression and that we will survive despite the misgivings of our codependent parts.

Trust and Safety: The Story Continues

2010-05-28T18:16:00.001-07:00

Trust and safety. Ever since I started writing on this subject two weeks ago, I have been dogged by these words. Are they synonymous or does one lead to the other? Here is another example.

In January, as many of you know, I was hit by a car. Now, being hit in such a way is a near death experience. I was incredibly lucky—barely injured —but had the driver been going faster, or failed to stop when she did, I could have been seriously hurt or even killed. It is enough to make one doubt their safety …

So, not one to miss a chance to doubt, for the first few months after the incident, I began experiencing my age-old nemesis: generalized, amorphous anxiety, a sure sign that safety was lacking. Interestingly, I didn’t recognize it at first. It took a close friend to open my eyes and even then, I denied it. “I am over it,” I said, “I had some fear, but its gone now.” Despite the denial, a part of me did hear her, enough that is, to ever so slightly open the door and let me see what was really happening. Sure enough, I wasn’t “over it”. Not only was I feeling anxious but I was losing trust in myself. (With no safety, can there be trust?) I began questioning my career path, my appearances and my writing abilities. I didn’t recognize it at first. Losing trust is like the insidious seepage of toxic waste — before you know it, one’s sense of safety is a crumbling edifice.

More importantly, however, than how I lost it, is how did I get it back?

Well, the first step was acknowledgement. That went a long way towards recovery. By stating “a part of me feels anxious” I could separate myself (my Self) out from that amorphous state and start dealing with it. In separation, I became the witness to my feelings rather than being overwhelmed by them. Bearing witness to one’s feelings is somewhat akin to being the ideal parent to a young child. The parent helps the child express their feelings while maintaining a safe environment. They help the child establish healthy boundaries (how, when and where to express) and model healthy expression back to the child. Moreover, they are authoritative rather than authoritarian, offering strong but compassionate leadership that the child can respect and look up to. When we act as a witness to our parts, whether these parts reflect our feelings, thoughts or behaviours, it is like we are reparenting ourselves. And, in that reparenting, we reestablish inner trust and safety.

The second thing I did was to deepen the relationship with this anxious part. I did this by exploring where it lived in my body (solar plexus) and then seeing if there were any images or sensations related to this part. For me it felt like a crazy spiral of swirling fingers mixing up a bad stew… gotta love these images. Ironically, the more I noticed the safer I felt. The safer I felt, the calmer I was which increased my trust. It is like waking up from a nightmare: the darkness at first disorientates and scares but the more you tune in to your surroundings, the calmer you feel. Same with my parts. With deepening trust and safety, I could then listen to what my anxious part was trying to tell me: it was scared of losing out, not being worthy, being alone, and disappearing. If I took each to its natural conclusion, it was really scared of dying. This part was acting just like a child would after any big scare.

With this information, I slowed down and began reassuring this part of myself. I did this by some self talk but also through reconnecting to my body: I noticed my breath and its natural flow; noticed how it felt to sit on a chair and to lie on the floor and walk across the room. I breathed into these feelings, validating them, grounding myself in the process. In turn, my anxious part felt safer —she (my part) was “part” of a bigger picture, she was not alone.

I then confided in friends and told them of my anxiety. I wasn’t looking for answers or sympathy, just a supportive audience and it worked. It took a few days, perhaps a couple of weeks, and the anxiety completely subsided. Self trust and inner safety not only returned to pre-incident levels but gained a stronger foundation.

So, back to the question of what comes first, I feel they (safety and trust) are two sides of the same coin. In this story I lost my sense of safety because I lost trust in my ability to keep safe. In recovery, I had to enough internal safety to trust (and work with) what my friend suggested but, then again, I wouldn’t have been able to go with any of it unless I trusted myself and the process. It’s becomes a circular argument: the more trust we have, the safer we feel; the safer we feel, the more trust we have. And, if I can add one more point, we can only trust another to the degree that we trust ourselves; we can only feel safe in our external environment if we feel safe within ourselves.

So, I end this discussion for now, but as always, I welcome your comments.

The Chicken and the Egg

2010-05-23T20:08:00.001-07:00

Last week we continued our exploration of how trust relates to codependence. We saw how a lack of self trust decreases one’s sense of safety and opens the door for codependent behaviours. The question I want to keep afloat is how do we promote a trust in one self? There are many ways, of course, each individually proscribed to the uniqueness of who we are but what I am curious about is what comes first, trust or safety? Or is this just another version of the chicken and egg question? Without safety, how can one trust and without trust, is there safety?

I think the first conscious step I took towards recovery from codependence was acknowledging that my sense of safety was dependent on my environment. At first this did not translate in terms such as safety (or trust), it was more of a noting where I felt, or did not feel, comfortable. In groups, for example, I didn’t feel comfortable and, hence, not safe. Conversely, I felt most safe when I was out hiking, especially when alone. The combination of movement and solitude provided for my safest environment.

If questioned I would not have been able to tell you what inner sensations made me feel either way. When I felt unsafe, there was a generalized and amorphous state of anxiety that told me to get out of there. This was absent when I felt safe. However, I was unable to break that feeling down— I could not tell you what part of me felt anxious or why I felt that way. I only knew that when I felt anxious, I looked for ways to escape that feeling.

The inability to discern and fine tune what we feel (or think) is typical of codependence. When codependent parts are at play, it is difficult to identify our own thoughts and feelings—we may rely on others to tell us what we feel and think. This sabotages our ability to trust ourselves. When we trust ourselves we have the ability to look closer at our anxieties and judge the validity of them for ourselves. Trusting ourselves helps us respond to life rather than react.

Back to me,I never consciously concluded that I felt safer when I was both moving and in solitude. I just found that I spent most of my time alone in the forest. Therapy and courses at The ARC Institute, however, helped me challenge myself to find other ways to be safe. Could I feel safe when I wasn’t being physically active? Could I feel comfortable when I was alone but still?

Following the adage that if you want change, do the opposite, I started the challenge on my next solo hike. Midway through the day I stopped and sat down on a rock in stillness. The discomfort was immediate. The age old anxiety returned urging me to keep moving, eat something, write in my journal or busy my mind—anything to keep from being still. At first I gave in to the impulses distracting myself from the stillness that invited an inward gaze. When I finally did manage to sit for longer periods another distraction took over. Instead of physically escaping by movement, I left my body

“Leaving one’s body” is an attempt to find safety. Ironically, it is not safe to do so but we usually learn to do it in childhood as a way to escape certain situations that are too painful or uncomfortable to experience. Symptoms of leaving one’s body include numbing out and not feeling to daydreaming and dissociation. It is also a symptom of codependence. Our codependent parts seldom feel safe and will do anything to distract us from feeling what is going on inside, whether that be difficult memories or thoughts of unworthiness. Physical movement was my primary distraction. When I stopped moving I needed another way to escape: I left my body in an attempt to stop feeling.

When my numbness became apparent I simplified the exercise. As it was too scary to look within, I focused instead on how it physically felt to sit on a rock. Did the rock feel hard? Was it warm or cool? Were there edges or rounded curves? What colour was it? I then looked at my feet on the ground and asked similar questions. I moved my focus to my hands clasped on my lap and my shoulders feeling the pull of the knapsack. Each time I asked straight forward questions about texture, colour and temperature such as you might ask a young child. Yes, it was basic, but if performed a miraculous feat: not only did I begin to notice more but I began to feel.

Over time, I started hearing the distinct sounds of different birds and the wind rustling through the leaves. I noticed more of the colours around me: the dirt, the sky; the greenery covering the ground. Venturing inwards I was finally able to detect different emotions like sadness and joy; grief and anger. I expressed them and felt validated in the process.

By challenging myself to slow down in what I considered to be a safe place, I created space for my inner world to match up with my outer one. I began to feel safe inside. Within that safety, I could begin trusting what I experienced: the feel of the rock, the song of birds, and the deep greens of the cedars; anger towards the past and grief at my losses. In my forest sanctuary I took the first steps towards trusting myself and what I experienced. I began a journey of self discovery, self care and self respect that allowed me to carry forth this experiment to groups and other “unsafe” places. I created a foundation for internal safety so that I no longer depended on my environment for safety. I could be safe in whatever conditions I found myself because I trusted myself to do what was right for me.

So, in answer to my question about what comes first, it seems that I needed to create an internal sense of safety before I could begin the process of self trust. Then again, did I not have to have a certain amount of trust to create space for that safety? Hmm, how was it for you?

The Codependency of Distrust

2010-05-14T13:48:00.000-07:00

In last week’s blog, I somewhat belatedly noticed that there were no explicit references to codependency. Perhaps because, at least in my mind, it is an assumed thing: trust, or to be more specific, self distrust is one of the core components of codependence. Lack of self trust sabotages intimacy and healthy boundaries; promotes cynicism and hijacks innovation and creativity. It underlies a poverty of spirit that defeats us at its more primal level, eroding our will to live: we lose our sense of self and a basic trust in life. We live in fear rather than safety. Charles Whitfield wrote: “Codependence is a disease of lost selfhood. It can mimic, be associated with, aggravate and even lead to many of the physical, mental, emotional or spiritual conditions that befall us in daily life.” If codependence is the disease of lost selfhood, lack of self trust is the virus.

Last week we also discussed how, as a community, we can support the maturation of children into competent adults by just believing in them—instilling in these children some semblance of self trust. Self trust enables us to feel safe in our environment and strong in who we are. Self trust, however, is not a black and white issue. We can, for example, feel that sense of trust (or safety) when we are with animals but feel unsafe, or distrustful, when at work or with certain people. The deeper we trust ourselves, the father afield our sense of safety goes. Moreover, the safer we feel, the less our codependent parts feel the need to take over.

The question to ask yourself then, is when and where do you feel most safe and when and where do you feel unsafe? Who are you when you don’t feel safe? How do you behave, think and feel? What codependent parts are activated when you do not feel safe? And, most importantly, how can you support yourself to feel a stronger sense of inner safety?

By first identifying when and where we don’t feel safe, we can start isolating the codependent parts that tend to take over. In this way we can then communicate with them, much the same as we would any small child. For therein lies the truth, codependent parts are generally formed in childhood and therefore behave and respond like children. So, as with children, we reassure them while providing safe but firm boundaries. I’ve spoken to this subject several times over the past few months but here is another example.

For most of my life, I didn’t feel comfortable or, in other words safe, in groups. I didn’t trust myself enough to feel okay with whom I was in the face of others. Because I didn’t feel good enough, it felt unsafe to let others come close. To let others in would reveal my unworthiness. To protect myself, I either made myself small, as if to disappear, or made myself large and aggressive to keep others away. This was an unconscious response or a reaction to my fears. However, when I took the time to examine where I felt unsafe in life, I was soon able to discover this codependent behaviour. With that, I could then isolate and communicate with the part of me that felt unworthy. I could visualize her (a little girl) and felt her in my shoulders where I curled inwards in attempts to shrink down or tensed up in preparation to fight. I could hear her telling me she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t pretty or smart enough. The more I noticed about her, the more I could gently communicate with her, letting her know she was safe and that if it wasn’t safe, I would get us both out of there. With this burgeoning relationship I started attending different groups, at first with friends and later by myself, pushing the boundaries while continuing to reassure and comfort my little girl. In time the little girl grew to trust my words allowing me to lead, instead of me being dictated by her fears. The trust of this little girl was a metaphor for self trust and in that self trust, I began to feel safer in groups. With increased safety the need to exercise codependent behaviours decreased.

I’ve just given a snapshot of a process that can help create inner safety. It is only one example and a frugal one at that. The process is rarely so linear. My main point, however, is to say that for those of us who didn’t learn self trust as children, we can still learn it today as adults. Moreover, we can share this knowledge with the children that share our lives. Staye tuned for more thoughts and exercises on learning to trust one self.

Trust

2010-05-07T21:02:00.000-07:00

Last week I started a discussion about trust. More specifically, how grounding and centring can promote self trust. I wrote: “[In being centred, grounded and aware —mindful] I know that whatever happens in life, my response is all that matters.” I wrote with confidence. I know that when I am in a state of mindfulness, I can trust my response to life as a creative and authentic reflection of who I am. The question is, if being mindful can build or renew this sense of self trust, how do we lose it in the first place?

Self trust is an interesting concept: widely assumed, yet unfortunately, not so widely practiced. It is also the foundation for leading competent and fulfilling lives. Self distrust (or self doubt), on the other hand, feels more prevalent. It piggybacks on the feeling that there is no safety, external or internal, and can manifest in several ways from overdependence on others to ϋber independence. The over dependent person looks towards others for safety, or a means in which to trust life. They cannon find it within so they look for it in others: a Sisyphean task. In over independence, rigid walls are erected to protect one self from the outside world. Flexible boundaries are scary for the overly independent. With no trust in self to feel safe in the presence of another they ask, "What will happen to me if I let another in, let another help me or be kind to me?" Trust in self is the first step in feeling safe but it is also imperative in creating a fulfilling lives and satisfying relationships.

Loss of self trust can occur at anytime: we lose our job, fail an exam or end a relationship, and a period of self distrust follows. However, a persistent lack of self distrust will have its roots in childhood, a time when our survival is dependent on our caregiver’s thoughts, actions and emotions. In that dependency, we have to trust our primary caregivers and in turn, our caregiver’s job is teach us to start trusting ourselves. Abuse and neglect can corrupt a child’s sense of trust but abuse of power doesn’t have to be so extreme. Parenting is a fine balancing act between “taking care of” and “taking over” in times of need. How many times have you been at a play ground and seen a caregiver prioritizing caution over a child’s physical initiative, or overheard an adult telling the child how they should feel, what they should think, or who they should befriend? Self distrust does not necessarily come from chronic physical or sexual abuse, it can be a slow corroding of a child’s confidence through the most mundane events.

Parenting is a difficult profession; there are no exact rules or right methods. Children come into this world with different temperaments, strengths and vulnerabilities. They come into families with different temperaments, strengths and vulnerabilities, and sometimes that match isn’t great. So what can we, as a community, do about it?

In 1955, a thirty year longitudinal study began with the birth of 698 infants on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. One of the goals was to document how early family conditions affect children in later years. The researchers compiled case studies; conducting extensive interviews from professional and lay caregivers and, later, the adult children themselves. One of the study’s main findings came from a sub-group of these infants that were ultimately exposed to several risk factors before the age of two. These risk factors included: perinatal stress, chronic poverty, poorly educated parents (less than grade 8), and family discord (alcoholism, divorce, mental illness, etc.). The researchers found that in this sub-group (129 children), one third of them grew into competent young adults despite their family’s situation. The author concluded that these 72 “resilient” children thrived because all “had at least one person [relative, babysitter, sports coach, teacher etc.] in their lives who accepted them unconditionally, regardless of temperamental idiosyncracies or physical or mental handicaps.”

In other words, there was at least one person who was able to instill enough self trust in these children by just believing in them. Food for thought for anytime there is the opportunity to spend time with a child.

For more info see Werner, E. E. Children of the Garden Island. Scientific American, April, 1989: 106-11.

A Muse on Life

2010-04-29T09:55:00.000-07:00

I am taking a break this week. My weekends have been full of workshops and another looms in the near distance… I wrote this article last year for The ARC Institute's newsletter (of which you can subscribe for free – see the right hand column of ARC’s home page) but find it fitting in our ongoing discussion on codependence. It is an article on trust, see what you think…

I sit here trying to write something meaningful for ARC's newsletter. Futile effort: my mind is blank. Nothing comes forth. You would think that in as many days (17, 235 in fact) I have lived on earth that something must have happened to be of interest to write about, but nothing comes. I try and I try, pushing, well forcing ideas out that do nothing but fall flat, face forward, in the light of day.

John Milton didn’t have that trouble, he had a muse, visited him most nights if truth be known. She allowed him to compose beautiful verses upon awakening, like this passage in Paradise Lost:

T’whom thus the portress of Hell gate replied;
Hast thou forgot me then, and do I seem
Now in thine eye so foul, once deemed so fair…

Well, okay, that wasn’t one of his more beautiful lines but it is one of my favorites. “Sin”, the portress of the gate as well as the past and, so we see, spurned lover of Satan has just confronted Satan: “Has thou forgot me then?” And what spurned lover has not felt those same feelings … even at the gates of Hell or maybe that is the gates of Hell. Milton’s muse was not only talented but wonderfully ironic. To have a muse like that would be a thing to behold. But she’s taken I am sure and besides, her rates are probably out of this world (just had to say that).

I lay myself down the other night asking a muse (any would do, I was becoming quite desperate) to come and visit me while I slept. I mean, what does Milton have that I don’t? I thought I made a nice offer but who knows, maybe all the unemployed muses out there have certain regulations about visits to prospective client’s bedrooms… who wants to get in trouble with one’s union? Not I. So I awoke with naught in my head but a melancholic longing for words to write.

I can get this way in ARC sessions too. My client has just said something meaty (or not) and my mind goes blank. I have nothing to say. The seconds tick. The pause, at first disguised as a therapeutic moment, begins to feel ten months pregnant. Action is necessary, but what? My mind goes into overdrive. What used to be empty is now full of thought. What do I do now? I have to say something. I don’t know what to say. What did she say last? How long left in the session? Why cant I do this? Why am I so inept?” In this triggered state, I force words out, trying to be creative. Similar to what happens in writing, however, they miss the mark and it is now the client’s turn to look blankly at me.

The core issue in both these examples of blankness is not so much that I am trying too hard but that I am ungrounded: I am no longer deeply connected to the earth, I am in my head. Trying too hard is only a symptom of that state which includes, among other note worthies: doubt, self-negation, tunnel vision, extremism, fear, irrationality and lack of coordination.

When I was in high school, I played field hockey. I was a star full back with a powerful hit – I could place the ball on the five yard line and shoot it through many an opponent back down into the other end. That is, until I began to think about it. I thought about how important it was for the team for me to play well and how important it was for me to play well. I liked the attention and the increasing notoriety so that each time I played, a measure of my self worth was put at risk. Hitting the ball far became a test of who I was and so the value of those shots increased with every game. In other words, I left the game on the ground and entered the world of head games: I was no longer grounded. My body knew how to connect with the ball, knew how to hit it hard and knew how to play skillfully but my mind didn’t trust it. Thereafter, I could barely play let alone scare the opposing team. I was like a clumsy novice in a game I loved. I soon dropped out. If only my coach had said, “Jo-Ann, stop thinking”; “Jo-Ann get grounded” or best of all, “trust yourself” maybe my skill and innate coordination would have returned .

So now we have a third component to the equation: trust. When blankness happens, in writing or session work, can I trust that’s its none other than perfect timing? That perhaps I am not supposed to write or say anything. That perhaps silence is the answer to all I seek. How can I know if it’s the answer? I reconnect to the earth – I ground.

Grounding is rather a simple thing yet a cure for what often ails us in our daily lives. If only I was grounded when he said that, I wouldn’t have reacted that way. If only I was grounded when I left the house this morning, I wouldn’t have forgotten my lunch; and if only I was grounded, my natural rhythm and coordination would return. What a strategy to life: ground and life becomes manageable. With this in mind, I have looked into creating my own muse, one that will remind me to ground. Naming her was a bit of a problem at first as “ground” is not very feminine but she would not have it any other way. I tried luring her with “CC”, centred and connected that is, but she said no, too cute, I like the simplicity of ground. Whatever, I replied, just be there when I call.

And so it is, whenever words elude me or when I get attacked by doubts, find myself being irrational, clumsy or extreme, I call on my muse. “Ground” I silently call, and ground I do. She stands besides me and helps me sink down. She allows my central channel, my core, to sink deep within the earth, finding safety in situations that would normally cause panic. I feel the earth beneath my feet, the outline of my body, the feelings within. I call her to go deeper and my awareness opens: I become mindful. I sink into who I am and nurture awareness of where I am. A comfortable silence enfolds me. In this silence, my muse says trust, if words are to come, they will come; if nothing comes forth, silence is the answer. In writing she brings knowledge that when no words are there I am cultivating and relaxing into ideas that have not yet time to bud. In session work she reminds me that silence is health giving with no need of quick fixes. With Ground as my muse, I know that whatever happens in life, my response is all that matters.

Milton’s muse may not be mine and I am probably not destined to writing lyrical poetry famous several centuries hence. I have a feeling, however, he would have been quite comfortable (and familiar) listening to the techniques and advice of my new but rather aged and wise muse, Ground.

Sunshine

2010-04-23T21:41:00.000-07:00

I walked outside today into take-your-shoes-off-and-wriggle-your-toes-in-the-grass sunshine. Feeling the spring air infuse life into my wintery cells I exclaimed: how could anyone feel bad today! God, its so embarrassing when I am so facile. I mean truly, how many times have I ignored my outside reality in favour of the turmoil that is within: colouring the clear blue skies, the blushing cherry blossoms and bright lemon tulips with a filmy miasma of doubt, pessimism and sadness. I have done it so many times now, I actually have to laugh after such declarations. Yes, Jo-Ann, you have, and probably will again, feel bad on such days.

One of the symptoms of codependence that Pia Mellody talks about in her book, Facing Codependence, is a “difficulty [in] experiencing … reality moderately”. As in feeling depressed on a sunny day, codependent parts can create the same scenario by taking a relatively minor event, like a mistake, and elevating it to catastrophe. The result is that life looks bleak where seconds earlier it was full of hope. Rather than saying, for example, that a part of me feels bad about making a mistake and can learn something from it, the codependent part says: I am such an idiot for making a mistake, nothing changes, I am such a loser. These parts ignore context, moderating factors, and both historical and current reality, and have the ability to overwhelm one’s emotional system so that it is difficult to see the bigger picture.

Codependent parts negate the fact that they are only a part of the whole person and try to reassert themselves as the ones, the only ones, who know the truth. In other words, despite the fact that after a mistake is made, the sun still shines, life carries on and that no one is a “loser”, codependent parts force moderation out the window and see nothing good about them selves or their environment. They express reality in extremes rather than in relative terms and are very talented in colouring the world with a dim film.

So, the next time you find yourself beating yourself up for making a mistake (or anything else that derives fault), remember that this is just one part of you that made the mistake. That you are composed of many parts and that mistakes are just that, mistakes, nothing more, nothing less: something to be learned from, corrected if necessary and put into proper perspective.

Another thing I do when I find my codependent parts (in however they choose to manifest) taking over is a meditation by an Eriksonian Psychotherapist, Yvonne Dolan. She calls it the Sights, Sounds, and Sensations meditation.

This meditation allows one to become aware of both their inner and outer environment. It is helpful in coming back to the present, where mistakes are viewed in relative terms and self-compassion and self-forgiveness is more easily found. It can be especially helpful for those who have suffered trauma in their lives, for it takes the coping mechanism of hyper-alertness and uses it as a grounding tool. It can be even used as a way to relax into sleep.

My suggestion is to spend a couple of seconds with each sight, sound or sensation before moving on to the next one

Sights, Sounds, and Sensations Meditation – Yvonne Dolan

Name (aloud or to yourself):
Five things that you see.
Five things that you hear.
Five sensations that you feel.

Now, four things that you see, hear, feel
Then, three things that you see, hear, feel,
Two things …
One thing …

Start over again with five, and keep going until you feel relaxed.

If you only notice one sound or sensation, you can repeat the same one.

Vulnerability

2010-04-16T08:38:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning quite bedraggled: tired, listless, unwilling to start the day. As my first commitments were not until the afternoon, I sank into the lethargy, hoping a few more minutes would suffice. Within a half hour of futile indulgence, not only was I still tired but there was fear also: why was I so tired? I had just slept nine hours, shouldn’t that be enough? Why did I feel so weak…was I sick? Allowing fear to run amok in my (now)chaotic mind, thoughts of devastating but unrealistic illness—chronic fatigue and cancer— bulldozed through my psyche increasing the ante. I finally surrendered to this onslaught, stopped thinking and just felt the fear. I let it shiver over me and I hugged myself in the face of its vulnerability. Eventually the irrational gave way to my truth. I wasn’t so much tired (or sick) as I was avoiding, through obsessive and irrational thinking, what was really bothering me, that is, the mundane day-to-day fears that can cloud one’s horizon ever so often. So, voicing these seemingly minor worries, I reassured myself while comforting the fearful parts within me. Feeling better and somewhat more energized I got up and went for a walk.

The sunshine was brilliant, as only a long awaited April sun can be and spring flowers smiled in the promise of longer days and bluer skies. I walked along, feeling less tired and no longer fearful when a silent and insidious critique of others, close friends and strangers, crept over me. The inner harangue went on for some time before the beauty around me made me stop and ask, “Jo-Ann, what it is? This anger is irrational, what are you really feeling?” And, once again, I realized it was fear, although this time it was masked by anger. I voiced my fears again, giving them more expression and more reassurance. I went deeper with my self care this time around, coming to the realization that these “minor” fears were more potent than I had initially judged.

Emotions, especially ones that frighten us, are easily masked by other, shall we say, more convenient ones. People will cry when they are really angry or joke when sadness overwhelms them. For me, feeling tired, expressing irrational fears of disease, and/or angry thoughts are ways to avoid the everyday fears of, for example, social anxieties and financial concerns. Feeling fear is an exercise in vulnerability and, no pun intended, it is not my strong side. I put up masks or defenses to hide from this feeling and, in doing so, deny a part of myself that wants expression. The ironic thing about these masks is that the more one tries to deny or repress the feelings beneath them, the harder the feelings will work to express themselves. The result is that the mask has to become harsher, more extreme; more irrational. Just like this morning: I was incredibly tired, had unrealistic fears of sickness and was unjustly critical of my friends; all in the attempt to distract myself from feeling the normal vulnerabilities of everyday life.

In codependence, a part of us feels we don’t have the right to express. That expression could be anger, sadness, fear or even love, and we feel we lose that right because there is either a lack of safety or we judge ourselves as “lesser than”. When my codependent parts go to these extreme lengths to distract myself from feeling vulnerable, I deny myself a chance to be authentic and open to life. I am creating a false self that not only hides from fears but in doing so, hides from joy. You cannot have one without the other: if we fear dying, for example, can we really enjoy living? If I hide from anger (my own or others), can I fully express love?

Charles Whitfield says that in the recovery of codependence you have to “get down on the floor and wrestle with each feeling”. You have to “recognize it, feel it, experience it, work it through, use it, [to finally be able to] let go of it”. It was not until I gave my vulnerable parts enough space and time to express their fears, could I truly let go of them and enjoy the beauty and abundance the day had to offer.

The Wind

2010-04-09T13:10:00.000-07:00

Funny how the wind can take it out of you. I woke up this morning, my windows blown wide open; swaying trees beckoning. I could almost hear the waves crashing against the seawall, compelling me to witness the creative forces of nature. I ate a quick breakfast and headed out. It was enough, as they say, to take your breath away. All senses ignited: seagulls calling, laughing, rejoicing; rocks tumbling underneath as waves sorted and tumbled; salty brine in the air, on my face, in my lungs; wind, pushing, pulling, pure, unadulterated play making: rough and tumble kids, searching out every nook and cranny, seeking adventure. And sights! The multihued blues of the ocean: steel grey, aqua, teal, midnight, cerulean, sapphire, deep purple and ultramarine; capped with snowy froths, a waving, rollicking sea of grapes and blueberries and plums, crushed and slurping in a wine makers heaven. I want to drink it all and gloriously suffer the consequences yet the wind restrains me. I push against it, forcing my way forward as its forces it way back into me, ‘neath scarves and collars, zippers and flaps. I want to go forward, isn’t that what we do? Move forward, push through, consequences be damned?

I had a dream the other night. I was fighting with the Grim Reaper. We were in this mountainous region of huge granite cliffs and boulders, towering peaks and unimaginable abysses. It was like being in an ancient Chinese water colour where rugged terrain holds vast beauty, grey green mists, leafy trees tenuously holding on to their rocky mantle and perhaps a butterfly, easily floating above the canyons below. The Grim Reaper wanted me to let go of the rock I was desperately holding onto. He was pushing me off so I would fall, perhaps ever more through the chasm below, perhaps to my death. I was petrified yet I knew that no one, especially I, could defeat this portent. My fate seemed sealed, yet the method, I realized, was yet to be determined. Shall I be pushed to death or shall I go on my own? Pride made me favour the latter and the decision to let go of the rock became my new foe. Just let go, I said, just let go. The hardest part is letting go. But I held on, fear keeping me strong in its grip. Then a distraction came: some men were fighting over on a near by cliff and the Grim Reaper, hearing duty call, scooted over. As soon as he left, the ground closed up beneath me and the abyss was no more. I was safe.

I woke up from this dream, some what disgruntled. Why cant I ever let go? All I had to do was let go and be free. I knew the imagery of death was but symbolic of change, rebirth; new beginnings. Why was I so scared? But then another question came to me, why must I always go for the extreme? Does change always have to be so drastic? Do I always have to force through making life and death decisions; pushing against the forces of nature? Struggling?

Codependence can be a lot like the initial part of this dream in terms of perceiving life as a constant struggle; one of defending rigid boundaries to the death and being for ever on guard. Stillness, allowing and just being are foreign words to our codependent parts. These words denote flexibility and gentleness; acceptance and openness. In my dream I eventually chose to be still, to not struggle nor let go. I chose the middle ground of just being and the ground beneath closed up, encompassing me in calm.

This morning, after fighting the wind for awhile, I realized that life doesn’t have to be that hard. I turned around and let the force propel me (with ease) in another direction.

Heroes

2010-04-03T11:36:00.000-07:00

I was talking with a friend the other day about heroes. People like Mahatmas Ghandi and Martin Luther King who stood up against oppression, put others before themselves, and who ultimately died for their beliefs. Steeped, as per usual, in the hows and whys of codependence, my radar went up. Putting others before one self? Sacrificial behaviour ? Martyrdom? Aren’t these symptoms of codpendence? Were King and Ghandi codependent?

The answer, of course, is yes, or rather, because they were human, they had codependent parts. But was their martyrdom codependent?

One of my favorite examples of codependent martyrdom is that of the (Stephen B.) Karpman Drama Triangle. It’s a graphic example of how someone can be a rescuer, victim and abuser— sometimes all at the same time— martyring themselves in the process.

Let’s say I am the protagonist of this story. I work in an office with my colleague, Sally. I notice that Sally is not fulfilling all her responsibilities. I worry that the boss will notice and Sally will get in trouble. So, without first checking in with Sally, I start doing some of her work. I rescue Sally.

There are plenty of reasons why I might do this and most of them tend to be unconscious. On the surface I might say: “I’m just trying to help” but underneath I might hope that Sally will like me better; or that my heroic work ethic gets noticed and others will value me more; or that I will become indispensible to Sally and/or the boss thereby fulfilling my “need” to be needed. Any of those reasons underline the belief that I am “lesser than”, that I have to earn my value in what I do and not in who I am.

Sally has her own reasons for not doing her work. Perhaps she is not feeling well or is bored, or maybe she just doesn’t care. The point is, I don’t know because I haven’t asked. I don’t know if Sally needs help or if she even wants my help.
Sally may or may not notice I am doing her work. She may or may not thank me but regardless, she does not change her habits. I start getting resentful. I am not quite sure what I want from my rescuing behaviour—my real needs are unconscious—all I know is that I am bending over backwards to help Sally and there isn’t enough reward. So, instead of backing off, I begin feeling resentful. I become a victim. I start berating Sally with such infamous martyr-like lines such as: “After all I do for you.” I may start spreading rumours about her or telling her to her face that she is good-for-nothing. Hence, I become the abuser. But the abuse is unconscious because it all seems justified: Sally owes me something. In fact, it feels like a lot of people owe me something.

These three roles of rescuer, victim and abuser, can be played out instantaneously or take years to manifest. I could, for example, be doing Sally’s job while feeling like an exploited hero and, at the same time, telling Sally how lazy she is. Or, I could play the rescuer for years before the resentment kicks in and then start acting passive-aggressive towards Sally. This is codependent martyrdom. We’ve all seen it or experienced it – not a pretty sight.

Codependent martyrdom is then sacrificing your self for some inner need or want that is not, for the most part, aligned with the stated goal. For example, I say I am doing Sally’s work because I want to help but the truth is I just want Sally to like me. The problem, however, is that this true desire will never be fulfilled. Even if Sally starts liking me, the relationship will be based, at least in my mind, on my doing things for Sally so that she will continue liking me. It becomes an addiction: never ending; always hungry. I will always be in fear that I’m not doing enough in order for Sally to like me. Said another way, I may just not believe her due to low self-esteem— how could anyone like a “loser” like me? So I work harder, sacrificing myself in hopes that I will eventually do (and be) enough. It eventually leads to resentment and, for some, abusive behaviour.

Heroic martyrdom is different. A hero sees how they can make a difference in the world and strives to manifest that difference. They put their principals above themselves not because they do not place value on their own lives but because they do see their value. Their principals are a guiding light in showing the world that each and everyone of us has value and that we all deserve respect. Heroes don’t rescue others for some inner need but empower themselves and others out of love for all.

So, while Ghandi and King had, more likely than not, codependent parts, their actions were interdependent. They believed in mutuality, respect and community. Tragically, they were also martyred for their beliefs.

To close I give you a quote from Jane Goodall, another hero, although thankfully, not martyred. No longer living with and documenting the lives of chimpanzees in Tanzania, she “tours the globe preaching the need for sustainability, harmony and respect for the natural world.” She states: “You can kill yourself saving forests and chimps, but if new generations aren’t going to be better stewards there’s no point.” (The Guardian Weekly, Feb. 26.10, p.29)

The Triple C

2010-03-26T14:29:00.000-07:00

In my last entry (Risky Investments - March 19) I explored possible origins for the early childhood perception that one must earn their value. Today I want to issue a challenge. How can we redirect those childhood tools, that is, the ones we used to “earn” external validation and that later developed into codependent behaviours, towards our self? How can we invest in the relationship we have with ourselves in the same way we invest in the relationships we have with others?

We all have codependent parts, it is, as Charles Whitfield states, the “human condition”. Although we don’t manifest them every day, even a person in recovery is bound to show off a few, at least, and I am being generous here, once a week. I, on the other hand, have been known to entertain them with a nice cuppa, at least once a day. As I’ve said before, we live in a codependent society, its like swimming upstream to avoid not contemplating codependence on a fairly regular basis. Yesterday, for example, sitting on the lee side of a minor bout with depression, I ambiguously waited for someone to either save me while at the same time praying everyone would just leave me alone. This is typical of my codependent parts and the hallmark for my occasional sojourns into darkness. When these parts are in control, I tend to base my emotional wellbeing on the actions or beliefs of another. I either look for a rescuer or avoid human contact altogether in a misguided attempt to find self worth in the former and safety in the latter. In both scenarios, my gaze is turned outwards, rather than within.

Today, however, I did something different. I woke up, and while a part of me wanted the sun to go find some other victim to drag out of bed, another part said, practice what you preach. And so, rather reluctantly, I started the Creative Codependent Challenge (The Triple C). I knew my codependent parts had been at the helm for the last week, I examined my behaviour and said, okay, enough. I realized that one more week of isolation alternating between Giles Blunt (murder and mayhem) and Goethe’s Faust (redemption of the soul); drinking tea (Tazo Awake); soaking in long, hot baths; and ignoring phone messages, and those belittling internal voices labeling me a failure, become a reality—its hard to make money when your life is held betwixt a book and a bathtub.

Creative Codependence, as I teach in my workshops is about incorporating those ingenious childhood tools—the ones that got our needs met—into healthy adult behaviours. Most of us do this naturally, especially those youthful tools that were successful in getting our needs met. For example, as a little girl, I created an entertainer part of myself to get positive attention. Because it was successful, I subconsciously carried it forth into adulthood: I write, teach and give presentations, sometimes in outrageous ways. I am also impulsive and, on occasion, stick a foot or two into my mouth. This part served me as a child and, for the most part, serves me today as an adult.

As a child I was also tough, independent and adventurous, or at least I pretended I was. It got me a certain amount of validation. That role also stayed with me and manifests today in several ways: I prefer to do things alone and I rarely ask for help—“I can do it myself… thank you very much”. That part can also be a self-righteous and autocratic disciplinarian that creates strict rules and, at times, unhealthy guidelines in diet and exercise.

Other successful tools included the part of me that learned to take care of others (in hopes that others took care of me) and the part of me who learned that being sick was another effective attention getting tool.

Reeling ourselves back to the sleepy haze of this morning and the burgeoning Triple C, I asked myself how I could use one of my childhood tools to get me out of this depressing miasma? I didn’t have long to wait. As soon as I asked, my tough part rather sternly said:

“Get out of bed, go for a walk.”

Trying to ignore it, only made it louder: “pull yourself together,” she said, “you’re starting to believe that negative self talk. Move!”

My caretaker quickly came in and admonished Ms Tough. She softly stated that I had needed the downtime; that it was good for me. Not wanting to be left out, my old sicky part squeaked: “yes, she did, she did.”

I let them ramble on for a bit and then, before it escalated into fisticuffs, I interjected. “Listen,” I said, “I hear you all and, in fact, agree with some of it. You have good points but,” adding dramatic pause, for greater effect, “how can I take better care of myself right now?”

“By walking,” insisted tough part.

I gave her response some thought— excess exercise can be an unhealthy coping mechanism for me. So I consulted with my caretaker parts and, after some hesitation, finally agreed. “Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”

During the walk some of my parts had a good cry with my caretaker, turning her skills inward, gently encouraging me to get it all out. (Ms Tough wisely stayed mute during this time). By the end of the walk my entertainer parts felt energized enough to sense the seeds of an article and Ms Tough, unable to withhold her tongue any longer, demanded: “Well, what are you waiting for then?” I shushed her up, somewhat fearful the cycle would begin again, and encouraged my entertainer part to show me what she could do.

The result? Not only did I feel better but I got this week’s blog written. Success on all fronts.

Now I am not going to say that’s its always this easy. Timing is an important element in these things and I truly don’t think I could have done this before today— it was just too damn dark. Then again, as my caretaker part assures me, I needed the downtime: a little bit of melancholy and quiet, intertwined with some Faustian logic. I needed to isolate so to reflect, regroup and finally, rejuvenate. I could say then, that even my few weeks of isolating was just taking care of myself using yet another childhood part. I was taking the Creative Codependent Challenge… incognito.

So, now I issue the challenge to you:

How can you redirect your childhood tools, that is, the ones you used to “earn” external validation, towards your self? How can you invest in the relationship you have with your self in the same way you invest in the relationships you have with others today?

Risky Investments

2010-03-19T11:15:00.000-07:00

I recently gave a presentation on Creative Codependence to the Solution Focused Coaches Association. It was a dynamic evening, full of ideas and a willingness by all to explore the inner facets of life. One of the things we discussed was the loss of energy that can occur in codependent relationships.

Pietro Abela of The ARC Institute likens codependent relationships to risky investments, ones that are based on hope rather than reality, and tend to expend more energy than is received. With codependency, there is a certain expectancy that if I do “this”, I will get “that” back, but rarely does “that” fulfill the expectation. These investments have an early start, usually in childhood, and are based on the perception (real or not) that the best, and perhaps the only way, to get needs met is to do or be something for another. This could mean anything from getting good grades at school to being a bully, if that’s what gets attention, love ,validation or even safety—basic needs that prove we, as children, have the right to be.

For a child then, this is a matter of survival. This perception may not be based on reality, but if a child does not get the external validation that proves to them that they have the right to be they will feel , at some level, their survival is at stake. They will begin seeing relationships as investments: I must do or be this (whatever “this” is) to get my needs met.

The inherent error in this situation is that the child perceives that they themselves are at the root of the problem. It is not the caregiver that is negligent (however relative this is) but that the child is not up to snuff. The child begins feeling that they need to earn their value rather than that their value is a given. This earning power is analogous to that of employment: stop working and the job security that enables you to live a certain lifestyle ends; cease “earning your value” and your survival chances decrease.

Without a solid conviction that they have a right to be, children can mature into adults that feel that they have to continue proving that they are inherently okay. The irony in this, is that the same lack of inner conviction, or self-validation, will inhibit the person from accepting external love and positive attention, or demand that it come in some unattainable way. Without a basic belief in one’s “okay-ness”, no amount of external validation will be enough, making these relationship investments not only risky but shaky, indeed. We end up losing energy because the amount we expend in trying to show others that we are okay and that we have the right to be, will never balance with what we receive in return. In other words, by primarily looking for self value outside ourselves (rather than within) we lose out. Or, said another way, the depth of love that can be accepted is directly proportionate to how much we love ourselves.

The key then, and the basis for Creative Codependence, is how can we redirect the childhood tools of gaining external validation, love and acceptance, towards our self? How can we invest in the relationship we have with ourselves in the same way we invest in the relationship with others?

Olympics

2010-03-10T11:55:00.001-08:00

Okay, I admit it, I had fun at the Olympics. I didn’t want them, didn’t vote for them and thought they were a bad idea but, having been through them, I’ve changed my mind. This is not to say that we couldn’t have spent the money, perhaps more wisely, on things like health care, education and social housing but, with all due respect to these issues, Vancouverites, at the very least, experienced a morale booster – even if just to chase away the February blues. In fact, I have never seen so many happy people in one place for so long a period. And that is something to be celebrated.

When I talk about codependence, whether in presentations or workshops, I use the Olympics as an example that we live in a codependent society. I suggest that all levels of society tell us to get our needs met by looking outside ourselves. It is not whether we feel good, but whether we look good, get the good grades or promotion, and, in the case of government, did the Olympics come to our city? Remember when Vancouver was “going for the bid”? We were bombarded with images of hope that implied we would be a world class city if we got the Olympics.

My question is, weren’t we already a world class city? Didn’t Expo 86 already prove that? How many events do we need under our belt until we gain “international respect”? Do we really have to look outside ourselves for validation to respect and feel good about who we are? Wouldn’t it be better to gain this respect through prioritizing the care of our citizens: promoting health and welfare, local art and culture, and being a responsible custodian to the environment? In other words, whether we are talking about the identity of a city or an individual, shouldn’t one look first within; practice good self care and be satisfied with the internal or self-validation that the manifestation of this self care provides?

While I still agree with these sediments, Olympics 2010 taught me something about the extremism that codependence can sometimes manifest. One of the main default patterns my codependent parts fall into is to look at things in black and white terms. In respect to the above commentary, one could narrow that perspective down to the following: Any acceptance or reliance on external validation is a sign of codependent behaviour. Self-validation should be complete in itself. But is that true?

Self validation – feeling intrinsically good because of who we are and not what we do—is a healthy aspect of interdependent living. While we should not rely on external validation and recognition, these aspects are a complement to a healthy lifestyle. Before the Olympics, I felt good, internationally speaking, about who I am as a Vancouverite. I was not arrogant or shy about it; but I knew and appreciated Vancouver’s strengths and vulnerabilities and its role as a Canadian city. The Olympics, however, helped me see some of the things I was missing in my self-evaluation. I saw my city, and the people within it, through the objective eyes of the world and felt pride. Yes, we have many things to improve but I went away from those two weeks with a greater appreciation of my Vancouver-self: I feel stronger, more cabable and have a deeper sense of my role as a global citizen.

Codependent or not, the Olympics may have been little more than a morale booster but that little external validation went a long way.

Facebook

2010-03-03T12:02:00.000-08:00

Creative Codependence just joined Facebook. I welcome you to join me as a ... eeks, I hate this term, but a fan. How 'bout joining me as an interested bystander instead? I can handle that. I'll keep you informed of upcoming events and blog entries that may interest you.

Day 7/7 The Interdependent Challenge

2010-02-28T22:10:00.000-08:00

I have a love-hate relationship with the Olympics. I love the thrill of skilled competition, the prowess of the athletes, and the excitement of the crowd. I don’t, however, love the quest of medals and the disappointment expressed by government and media when the medal collection is low. Is it really that important when coming in 5th or 10th still means you are an incredible, world class athlete? Does athleticism really equate to whose country is better than another or should we not have another standard of measurement like compassion, egalitarianism and/or fair government. I could go on and might still in a future blog but on this last day of the 2010 Winter Olympics, hosted by my hometown of Vancouver, and on the last day of the Interdependent Challenge, I will only talk of the positive: the examples I saw of true Olympic interdependent spirit.

There was the international admiration and support of Joannie Rochette, who went on to compete two days after the sudden death of her mother; the camaraderie between the Slovakian and Canadian men’s hockey teams after a hard fought battle in the semi-finals; the good natured gesture from the Norwegian Men’s curling coach to the winning Canadian team; and the quote from a Slovakian Woman Hockey player that basically said she didn’t care they lost 18-0 against Canada, they were just thrilled to play. I saw respect for athleticism that went beyond international borders and a mutual love of sport and competition. And on this final day I saw a community of athletes celebrate together in a party of goodwill and fun.

The world came to Vancouver and, in the few times I ventured downtown, felt only a warm sensation of goodwill and cheer. We maintained our identity while spreading the welcome mat to all who came.

Mutuality, Respect, Community: Interdependence

Day 6/7 The Interdependent Challenge

2010-02-27T22:11:00.000-08:00

The challenge was met today on-line. A long-distance friend emailed me to say I hurt him in a recent conversation. He went on to explain the nature of it from his perspective: naming certain things that he felt were going on with me. This irritated me somewhat because it is an old story that while true in the past, has lost its meaning today. I responded by acknowledging his feelings and then told my story without blaming or laying on new irritations. I ended by acknowledging certain aspects of my personality that, while I am working on them, may have led him to feel hurt.

I didn’t allow my codependent parts to rush in and correct his version of the story, I actually let it stay in my inbox for two days. I didn’t bring in new stories of how he hurt me in a tit for tat game nor ask for forgiveness for something that I have nothing for which to feel guilt. Instead, in mutuality, I respected both his and my boundaries by keeping blame and guilt out of the picture and did my best to clarify and take responsibility for my part in why the misunderstanding occurred.

Mutuality, Respect and Community: Interdependence

Day 6/7 The Interdependence Challenge

2010-02-26T16:06:00.000-08:00

Day 6 and I am going to schleff off for the day. (I dont even know if that is a word but what I mean is that I am going to play hookey.) I am out at Unbridled Potential getting to know the four-legged therapists (yes, the horses) a bit better, the ones that are going to be co-teaching The Essence of ARC workshop on May 14-16 out here in Abbotsford. So, back to you tomorrow, in the meantime, happy interdependence to you.

Day 5/7 The Interdependent Challenge

2010-02-25T21:25:00.000-08:00

Today I stated my boundaries and got through another 24 hours of (trumpet sounds, please) The Interdependent Challenge.

At 9:30 this morning, I hopped on the bus for a half hour ride to my bodywork session. I got there at the scheduled time only to find the door locked. I waited ten more minutes, left a polite message on their v-mail, and went home. A few hours later, the receptionist called back to state I had made a mistake, my appointment was next Thursday. “No,” I said, “I have been coming every week, why would I skip this week?” “But your practitioner isn’t here this morning, I wouldn’t have booked you in.” “Well, you did,” I said, “I wrote it in my book.” I finally elicited an apology from her but it was without any sense of responsibility. She had made a mistake and I was the one paying for it through time and energy. There was no offer of compensation just a question if I was going to come next week. I told her I would think about it and call back.

I needed time to sort through all the different parts that were coming up. Although I was definitely irritated, especially for her “you made a mistake” comment, I was also somewhat softened by her apology. I was angry, however, that there was no acknowledgement of my time and energy and knew that if I had made the mistake and missed an appointment, I would have been charged the full amount. I even signed a clause stating I agreed to this. Even if I had sincerely said, “sorry” I would still have had to take financial responsibility for it. So, why shouldn’t they?

What was holding me back from demanding compensation was the “nice” part—the part of me that doesn’t like to rock the boat: I wanted good session work; I didn’t want bad feelings; I wanted to be the good client. In other words, the nice part is my codependent part that felt that I had to do things their way to get respect and good service.

I emailed a friend with my dilemma and she responded perfectly: “What would your interdependent self do?”

With that reinforcement, I called the practitioner, stated my case and got what I wanted: 50% discount off on my next session. I was respectful and compassionate to her receptionist’s mistake while being respectful to my boundaries and needs. In asking for just 50%, I acknowledged that mistakes happen but that the consequences need not be extreme or revenging. Finally, I feel we both gained: I felt stronger in who I was and the practitioner earned more of my respect and some client loyalty.

Mutuality, Respect and Community: Interdependence.

Day 4/7 The Interdependent Challenge

2010-02-24T20:31:00.000-08:00

I must admit, I wasn’t very interdependent today but, on the positive side, I wasn’t very codependent either. However, I did witness a lovely act which shall suffice to fill in for the day’s challenge.

I was over at a friend’s house when the teenage son came in and, grabbing a plate out of the cupboard, gathered an afternoon snack. As his fingers touched the back side of the plate they slid against some leftover grease. “Ewwww,” he said, “why is this plate so dirty?”

The mother, who has designated dishwashing as one of his chores, casually replied, “That’s what happens when you don’t wash dishes properly.” She didn’t get up and offer to clean the dish, nor take over his duties so that it would be done right, she just told it like it was. In a calm, rather benign manner, she held space for her son so he could witness the consequences of his negligence.

It was perfect. My friend manifested appropriate boundaries without shaming or bailing out her child. He learned, or at least started learning a lesson, about house maintenance and responsibility that would ultimately be a bonus for the family if not his future partners and, while no one was particularly energized, no one loss energy either. Mutuality, respect and community: Interdependence.

Day 3/7 The Interdependent Challenge

2010-02-23T22:47:00.000-08:00

Codependence can be as much about rigid boundaries as having no boundaries or vague ones. Tonight, while not specifically interdependent, I went against my codependent part’s desires and felt energized because of it.

I met up with a friend after work for some tea and a walk. I planned it to be a short evening with an hour or two of work on my return and early to bed. Instead we ended up at her place for dinner and some Olympic skating on TV. Several times during the evening, hearing my codependent parts calling me home, I would tell my friend that I was catching the next bus. Half an hour later, I would still be there because another part of me didn’t want to go, I was enjoying myself.

At different times in my life I have set up rigid boundaries telling me how to run my social life: where, when and what to eat; how long to socialize; strict bed times. Although I could justify these rules with a certain amount of (and, at times, illogical) rationalization, what I was really doing was trying to find ways to keep safe. Without a solid foundation of internal safety, I needed external rules to do the job for me. I wont go into details as I have written about this in previous entries but needless to say, tonight, for whatever reason, I fell back into default mode and tried to deny myself some fun by setting up some rigid boundaries: no dinner, short visit, early to bed.

Thankfully, I was more present than in the past and could see what was happening; so could my friend. She kept the invitation open while I silently worked with this part of me that wasn’t feeling comfortable. I ate the dinner I said I wasn’t going to and watched the skating that I had “no time” for. And, like I said, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

So, yes, in an interdependent way, I took care of myself by stretching my boundaries. I created a sense of internal safety through self talk while accepting the unobtrusive and welcome invitation of my friend (an external safety). Moreover, I felt quite happy, in fact, energized by night end and trust that my friend, if not energized, enjoyed the company.

Mutuality, respect and community: Interdependence.

Day 2/7 The Interdependence Challenge

2010-02-22T19:31:00.000-08:00

(See the February 20 entry for an introduction to the Challenge).

I had a conversation today with another helping professional. Although we want the same for our clients—an emotional and physical space where they can respond to life and live their passion—we go about our work from different perspectives. We were discussing the possibility of me doing a presentation at one of her association’s monthly meetings. It was an excellent discussion. And, while I can only speak for myself, the feeling was that neither of us compromised on our respective philosophies, we both clarified our positions but looked for commonalities, and went away with a certain respect for each other. Our boundaries were flexible rather than rigid (no “my way or the highway”) and we reached an agreement that worked for both of us without loss of energy. In fact, I felt energized by this interdependent interaction.

Day 1/7 My Interdependent Action for Today

2010-02-21T22:47:00.000-08:00

(See the February 20 entry for an introduction of “Interdependence”. If February 20 doesn’t show beneath the video, check out the earlier blog entries on the lower left side bar.)

Noticing an art supply store had a clearance sale, I walked in to check out the goods. I was feeling rather low due to an earlier event and wanted a distraction. It was more than I hoped for—the shop was chock full of miscellanea from Christmas doo-dads to bizarre erasers and stuffed animals, not to mention the paper, paint and charcoals you come to expect. It was a bit overwhelming so I asked the tired and rather aged lady behind the cash how long the sale would last.

“ ‘Til its gone,” she said, “but hopefully not longer than two more weeks. My husband died and I’m selling. I’m closing out ...”

Although my heart went out to her and wanted to comfort, I was also feeling quite low myself; I had little energy for another. Still, I weighed those feelings against the need of community and in the sharing of story and thought, a few sentences wont hurt. I also questioned, maybe she didn’t want comfort, perhaps she was tired of telling her story. So, I asked instead, “how’s that for you?”

She told me a little more of her life and, although tragic in many ways, I didn’t get overly involved. I heard and validated her, then thanked her for telling me. It seemed enough for both of us. I didn’t drain myself in trying to fix someone who not only didn’t want to be fixed but just needed to be heard and I didn’t overextend my stay. And, while I do not know her thoughts, I feel she felt heard and perhaps somewhat less burdened with another to share her load. I, as a result, felt less troubled with my own issues and more a part of my community. I feel we both gained by that transaction.

Upcoming Workshop March 20 For more information go to www.creativecodependence.com

2010-02-21T19:06:00.000-08:00

Interdependence

2010-02-20T09:56:00.000-08:00

One of my fascinations with codependence is its versatility. You can manifest your codependent parts at work, rest or play; black tie or casual, codependence is accepted in more places than MasterCard.

Its versatility comes from the fact that while ubiquitous, it is, at the same time, absolutely unique to the person that manifests it. There is no set way of “seeking fulfillment outside yourself,” no manual or standard set: each codependent event is a creative individual action. One may do it by helping another in hopes of being liked, while another may do it by bullying somebody in hopes that their self-esteem gets a much needed boost. In this way, relationships become, as Pietro Abela of The ARC Institute states, an investment: If I do this, I will get that. To be more specific, if I care for you, my hope is that you will care for me or, in the other scenario, if I scare or demean you, you will (hopefully) give me what I want. Even those scenarios are subject to numerous and subtle variations.

While codependence is versatile it is, in the vast majority of times, unconscious. You may even be reading this now thinking that those examples don’t apply to you. And, probably they dont. But without analyzing life in microscopic detail, was there anytime today you were not true to yourself? Was there anytime you did something that you would rather not have done but did so with the hope that it would have some intrinsic benefit for you? And I am not talking about driving the kids to hockey practice in hopes of being the next Gretzky mom. I am talking about the “yes, I will drive over town every day while you are on vacation and walk your dog” times where you end up feeling tired and drained because the output far exceeded any desired gain (conscious or not) in being helpful or nice. How about the time you did someone else’s work for them because “somebody had to do it” and ended up feeling resentful or when you went for the promotion you really didn’t want just for the status. Or the time when you kept your opinions to yourself so your friends would still like you. There are countless examples but the real question is:

Is there a different way of being?

Yes, there is: interdependence.

Interdependence is the opposite of codependence. With codependence, there is an energy loss for at least one of the participants. In interdependence, there is energy gain (or at least neutrality) for all persons involved. Where codependence is about looking to someone else or some thing as a source of validation, acceptance, or safety; an interdependent person looks within themselves first but welcomes external sources as a healthy complement to life. And, while our codependent parts view relationships as investments: if I do this, I will get that; our interdependent parts invest in relationships. In interdependence we know that relationships are alive and require nurturance, boundaries and, above all, a healthy dose of self respect.

I define interdependence as staying true to one self while living harmoniously in community; having flexible boundaries that are firm yet flexible; and knowing when and how to give help but also knowing when to say no. It is also about the occasional sacrifices where you do over extend yourself to another (i.e. taking care of a sick friend) but do so with consciousness and compassion (not martyrdom) with the knowledge of when to pull back before it negatively affects your own health, family or financial state.

Interdependence is a creative and conscious response to life that energizes and fulfills. Codependence is an unconscious (yet creative) reaction that ultimately drains and frustrates.

Presumably, we can all relate to some degree of codependence. Look over the last few months of blog entries for my own admissions. But here is the challenge: what did you do today that was interdependent? For the next seven days, I invite you to write down something you did that was interdependent and why you felt it was so. I will post my responses and I welcome you to post yours in the comment section. I would love to hear your stories.

The Essence of ARC Workshop

2010-02-14T10:01:00.000-08:00

Just a reminder that I am teaching The Essence of ARC workshop on February 27-28 in Nanaimo. I really enjoy teaching this class, its fun, experiential and chock full of learning. Here’s a few things you will learn:

· How to recognize states of internal balance: when we are centred and grounded and when we are not
· Why a state of internal balance is desirable and how to return to this state in the most efficient way possible
· How to open up to the feminine within to expand sensory (kinesthetic, audio and visual) reception
· How to read unconscious body language for more effective open-hearted communication
· Effective hands-on healing techniques

For more information or to register contact me at 604 619-3904 or earthandsky@telus.net

Of Being Human

2010-02-13T18:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, after the tragic death of the Luger, Nodar Kumaritashvili, I found myself watching over and over again the video clip of his fatal crash. It wasn’t this extra need for pathos in my life or a sensationalistic voyeurism that made me revisit his death. It was as if by watching it I could somehow understand the transformation: a vital, young man jumping onto a piece of metal, morphed into a torpedo, becoming human again only when he crumpled. The dissonance of that is obsessing me.

Where was he; who was he before the crash? Was he feeling anything as he slid down the track at 140km/hr? What was he thinking? Seeing it on TV was like watching a plastic Barbie doll sliding down a tunnel one’s brother might compose to irritate his little sister: sit the doll on a coaster, shoot her down the Hotwheels track and hope the inevitable crash will be spectacular. But this was no Barbie doll, nor child’s play.

I know and appreciate that this young man chose and understood the high risks of his sport but his death touched me deeply. The metaphoric image, perhaps, even more. Mr. Kumaritashvili seemed an automaton as he careened down the slope. I only saw his humanness after his death. Was this some sort of metaphor for who we are as people? Hurtling towards some inevitable end, not recognizable as humans until its too late?

Let us remember Mr. Kumaritashvili’s death in sorrow for his family and friends. But let his death also remind us to look into the eyes of loved ones and strangers alike and see their humanness— their strengths and weaknesses; fears and courage. Let us see them at all times, whether they are racing around, seemingly out of control, or when they are still and can blessedly see us back. Let us open our hearts and truly feel the wondrous thing it is to be human.

The Girl Cell

2010-02-12T14:30:00.000-08:00

I just watched a short (TED Talks) presentation by Eve Ensler (Vagina Monologues). I was in awe at the raw power of her speech. http://www.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/02/02/ensler.TED.talk.girl.power/index.html?iref=allsearch She speaks to the “girl cell” in all of us— men and women, boys and girls. She states:

“Imagine that ‘girl’ is the part of each of us that feels compassion, empathy, passion, intensity, association, relationship, emotion, play, resistance, vulnerability, intuitive intelligence, vision.

Imagine that compassion informs wisdom. That vulnerability is our greatest strength. That emotions have inherent logic and lead to radical saving action.”

“… Now imagine that a few powerful people, invested in owning this world, understood that the oppression of this cell was key to retaining their power, so they reinterpreted this cell, undermining its value and making us believe that it is weak. They initiated a process to crush, eradicate, annihilate, humiliate, belittle, censor, reduce and kill off the girl cell.”

Ensler passionately connects the suppression of the girl cell to the exploitation and violence against girls and young women worldwide. She states we exploit others when we disconnect with our girl cell and, more specifically, our emotions.

Exploitation is about disrespecting another’s boundary. One of the reasons this happens is that we lose connection with our emotions. Without that connection our ability to express safely and appropriately is negatively affected. Plus, in losing the ability to relate to our own emotions, we cannot relate to another’s. Disconnection to our emotions can incite us to 1) project onto others; 2) overreact to minor events; 3) become over or under reliant on others; 4) hurt others; and/or 5) experience aches, pains and disease.

Projection

A common way to express unwanted or disconnected feelings is to “give” them to another. We tell someone they are angry (or sad or ashamed) when, in fact, it is really our own emotion – an emotion we don’t feel safe enough to express. Another way is to incite others to express our hidden or forbidden emotions. When we project on to others we disrespect who they are and what they authentically feel. We infringe upon their boundaries.

Overreaction to minor events

When the emotions inside us want to express and are stymied, they will look for any excuse to manifest. Misinterpreted signals are treated as aggressive actions or, benignly, we find ourselves more sensitive to life’s mundane events. An example of the former is road rage: a minor or unintentional mistake by one driver sets off uncontrollable and dangerous rage in another. In the latter case, we find ourselves crying over a laundry soap commercial, one that strikes, in some subtle way, a hidden chord of emotion that we hadn’t given ourselves permission to express.

Over or under reliance on others

Without an adequate relationship with our emotions there is a lack of inner trust. If we cannot console own our sadness, expiate our shame or safely express our anger we will look to others to do it for us. We become overly dependent on others to take care of us. Alternatively, that lack of inner trust can express itself with rigid boundaries. If we don’t validate or support ourselves on our personal journey, we will not expect validation and support from others. We become overly independent. We hide our feelings because it is too vulnerable to express, we don’t reach out to others for help and we put up walls that alienate us from our community.

We Hurt others

In the cutting ourselves off from our feelings we are more apt to hurt others. We need to fully accept our own emotions, past and present, to appreciate the depth of feeling in another. Without that relationship it will be difficult to express empathy and compassion and it will be easier to discount another’s perspective. It will also be easier to hurt another physically.

Body aches and pains

If unexpressed emotions do not find an outlet in the above means, they will ultimately express themselves through the body with disease, aches and pain.

Emotions want to be expressed and, in most cases, will not be denied.

I hand it over to Ensler to conclude this piece:

"The girl cell is our greatest resource, a renewable, untapped energy field like the wind. It is there for us, if we activate it and allow it to resist, dare, challenge, feel and connect".

Self Responsibility

2010-02-05T12:41:00.000-08:00

There is a world of difference between knowing things and really knowing things — embodying them so you integrate them as a full body knowing. For example, I have “known” for years that children can personalize events, take responsibility for things, especially bad things that are outside their influence. I have explored how I did the same and worked hard at devolving that responsibility. But now that knowledge has a deeper resonance.

As anyone who has been following my blog knows, I was hit by a car in early January. What I haven’t admitted is that I never claimed insurance on it. I had lots of reasons ranging from compassion and empathy for the driver: “I could have been that driver”, to protection of her: “I don’t want her insurance rates to go up”. In retrospect, it was all about the driver’s sensitivities and experiences. I focused my attention on her except, that is, for one major point: I was taking all of the responsibility.

In the days following, I questioned if I was daydreaming when the car hit me or if I was wearing bright enough clothing. As time wore on and my aches and pains remained, I questioned whether I was exercising too soon and not resting properly—it was my fault that I was not healing fast enough. Then fantasy came in and I wondered if it was payback time for some judgmental thoughts I was having. I was declining down a hill that ended in a confused but deadly mire of “not only was it my fault but I deserved to be hurt”.

I didn’t realize this until recently when I was assisting at an ARC class. We were talking about the state of grace with which forgiveness falls— that we cant plan forgiveness or make our self forgive another. We explored how it comes with self awareness, self responsibility and a deep seated love of self and how, once it arrives, can still leave room for anger or boundaries around the affronting behaviour. Moreover, it is about forgiving ourselves first through unveiling and healing our own shame that often happens in traumatic events, the shame that believes it was somehow our fault.

I was sitting there, listening to the lecture, when I realized I had taken on too much responsibility for the car hitting me. It was a replay of times past when in my shame, I took the responsibility for my abuse. Somehow, it was all about me, that I was deficient in some way; that I caused both the abuse and the accident to happen—I was responsible.

With codependence we can take on too much responsibility for things. Charles Whitfield suggests that it is a boundary issue: one does not see the other as separate from themselves or does not see themselves as separate from the other. It can play out in many ways but a typical one is the classic victim/abuser relationship. The “victim” does not see them selves as separate from the abuser: If only I had done better (cleaned the house; got better grades; earned the promotion), the “abuser” would not have to hit me/ drink/ have extra-marital affairs. The “abuser”, on the other hand, cannot see the other as separate from themselves: it is because they did this (didn’t clean the house, etc), it reflects badly on me and I have to punish them. In either case, each person is confusing boundaries and not respecting what belongs to them or what belongs to the other.

Interestingly, the driver of the car was more than willing to make amends and talk to the insurance company once I made my decision to claim. She wisely did not take on my deep seated issues of guilt but took care of herself while respecting my boundaries. She didn’t need my protection nor ask for it, and perhaps my protection would have done more harm than good. We don’t know these things.

What I do know is that the better I take care of myself, the better it is for those around me.

Rules (Part Two)

2010-01-28T21:14:00.000-08:00

I am trying to break another rule this week, that of exercise. I am still recovering from being hit by a car but the mental process of recovery and the physical one is still somewhat estranged. Theoretically, I know my body needs rest but then, perversely, my clever mind conjures up all sorts of reasons to say that physical rest should be limited. You need to exercise, it says. It is an old rule from the days when regular and strenuous exercise was the antidote to feeling vulnerable, and the metaphoric bar that prevented me from dissolving into nothingness. And while it is true that exercise is beneficial – builds strength and flexibility among other things – when accompanied by extreme beliefs, it can be detrimental rather than health giving.

My desire to exercise at this time is a perfect example of my codependent parts trying to wrest control of the show. They do this most often when I feel fearful and unsafe. When I feel that way it scares them, reminding them of times when the vulnerability of youth was a liability. Being hit by a car profoundly scared me. Although immediately after the event I felt my power through expression, at the moment of impact I felt power-less and threatened. No matter what I did or said at that moment was moot: I was going to be hit whether I liked it or not. It was a symbolic replay of times past.

As a child, with many imagined and real fears, I developed rituals to feel safe. My usual one was to touch things. I touched the bus as it moved away from the curb and the vase in the dining room; the walls as I passed byand my face as I sat. Sometimes just once, other times there was a rhythm needing to be followed. It felt uncomfortable if I didn’t touch things, like something bad would happen. As I grew older this and other rituals morphed into rules of living: rules around eating, exercise, sleeping and housekeeping. As long as I kept to the rules, I would be safe. I would have denied this, of course, stating most fervently that it was all about good nutrition, health and life skills. But, on an unconscious level, as long as I kept to my rules, I had the illusion of safety – I was forestalling bad events.

The truth is that no matter how “safe” or controlled one’s environment is, we cannot truly feel safe until we feel it within. Our codependent parts love rules because they lack trust in that internal safety. They believe safety can only come from external sources. Even people who hold others at bay — isolating to keep safe — are still referencing the other: I am only safe because I keep others away. Safety is about finding a balance in life: trusting ourselves and learning who, outside ourselves, to trust and how to trust them.

When I was hit by the car, the foundation of my internal safety cracked. It threw me off balance, both literally and metaphorically, and I resorted back to rules in an attempt to reestablish equilibrium. I exercised before my body was ready and strained weakened muscles; I isolated, limiting contact with friends who could have supported my healing. As my fears subsided, however, I was able to listen to both my internal sources (my body) and trusted external sources (friends) who could see what was happening. The light came on and the irony of my rules was once more revealed: the illusory safety net of childhood was hurting rather than helping.

So, this week, I continue my recovery. I do so with more self compassion and patience, one broken rule at a time.

Rules (part one)

2010-01-21T21:24:00.000-08:00

I am having trouble writing this week’s blog. Great ideas come forth only to stop when they reach my fingertips, empty. So, I’ve decided to break my unspoken rule of writing one entry per week. I am just not going to do it. It’s a little scary for me because rules have played a large role in my life. Too much so in fact, for while rules can enhance one’s experience they have generally limited mine. I’ve made rules about exercise, eating, sleeping, housekeeping, hair washing (yes, hair washing); meditating, reading … you name it, all in the effort to enforce some control over my life.

Somewhere, not so deep inside, is a feeling that if I stick to a rule or ritual, nothing will go wrong. I will be safe. In fact, it’s more magical thinking than anything. I probably inherited that from my mom, a woman bound by superstition. She had these beautiful hand carved stone elephants from India given to her when she was a young woman in the 1940’s. Thirty years later after a string of bad luck, she gave them away. She had heard somewhere that carved elephants with their trunks pointing down (or was it up?) were bad luck. As she couldn’t remember the exact rule, she decided to be safe and give them away regardless. Sally Ann inherited its own magic that day.

When I made the rule about writing one blog entry a week, I saw it as a commitment to the writing process, which is good. However, commitments and rules are two different things and when the former turns into the latter, it becomes an albatross rather than a healthy challenge. Moreover, there is a fear just beneath the surface, that if I break my commitment there will be dire consequences.

And what will happen if I don’t write? My worst fear is that I will give in to being lazy; that I will never achieve anything and that I am indeed a failure. Whew! What a rule, thank god I at least wrote a little bit.

With irony fully intact, I am not writing this week … so there!

Atonement

2010-01-15T08:53:00.000-08:00

Mark Twain said that “truth is stranger than fiction…”. What reads as contrived in a novel is often the stuff of real life, and so it seems with me. My last blog started exploring the relationship between boundaries and codependence. Well, as if to highlight my exploration, a few days ago I underwent an extreme boundary violation – I was hit by a car. And not only did I survive relatively unscathed but learned a valuable lesson: It is never too late for the disrespected boundaries of youth to be atoned.

It was early evening, rainy and very dark when I stepped across a narrow one way street. The street is adjacent to the main drag where I live. But on a Sunday night in what I like to think of as BC’s elder enclave, not many people are up and about, let alone on the main road. I was half way across when it happened.

As the car bore down– I saw it a split second before it hit – rage poured through me. It wasn’t towards the driver but this unfeeling, automaton that had no respect for my boundaries, a force that was too big, too powerful to stop. Upon impact I flew in the air, landing on my rear. I was furious.

I immediately got up, letting my “attacker” know how I felt about it. The rage boiled over and I yelled: “I am so angry”. I don’t how many times I repeated it or the variations I used, I only know that I scared the witnesses with my adrenalin powered fury. The outrage was soon replaced by terror as I sat with the shaken driver, tears running down both our cheeks.

As a child, my boundaries were disrespected. Without proper role modeling, I was vague on what was mine and what belonged to another. As an adult this confusion manifested in various ways: I let others guide me with little or no self reflection; it was difficult to hold confidences; and I did not understand self containment nor have respect for my body. I grew up rigid in some areas: exercise and food discipline to the point of ill-heath; and vague in others. I was the epitome of codependence in that I did not know who I was, and held all my value in the reflection of those around me.

Over the years I have worked hard on creating appropriate and healthy boundaries and in reassuring my young internal parts that I am no longer defenseless. When I was hit, witnesses say I flew. In retrospect, I’d like to think I jumped. I reacted as I couldn’t do as a child and did the best I could to remove myself from the situation. Moreover, I got up immediately and fought back verbally, another impossibility of childhood. It was incredibly empowering to embody the feeling of action against injustice, to feel my voice sing out how angry I was. It was the anger of a child finally able to express. It was the anger of atonement.

Horses, Boundaries and Dr. Suess

2010-01-08T09:43:00.000-08:00

I am sitting here contemplating the relationship between codependence and horses. My friend, Carla Webb, is an Equine Guided Development™ facilitator and I am wondering how we can combine our talents to create a Creative Codependence™ à la horse workshop. It shouldn’t be too hard actually, horses are excellent teachers about boundaries and what does Charles Whitfield say about boundaries? "Co-dependence cannot develop without distortions in personal boundaries and a person cannot recover from any disorder, including co-dependence, without forming healthy boundaries." Well, guess I need wonder no more.

I visited Carla at her farm last August to get a better feel of the horses before my colleague, Heather Faris, and I taught The Essence of ARC class at her farm. Then to we were combining horses with the subject matter… energy and mindfulness. I described the outcome of that meeting in my article Making the Invisible, Visible. Here is an excerpt from that experience:

In the next exercise,… [I wanted to see] how sensitive [the horses] were to changes in my energy field. I chose Babs, a beautiful, small in stature, Palamino. Standing in the centre, I grounded deeply and expanded my energy field while she cruised the inside perimeter of the round pen. Babs’ ears (the horse’s radar) constantly orientated towards me despite distractions from other horses, people sounds from afar and general life on the farm. I then called in my energy, pulling it down, deep within the earth, inviting her to approach me. When the invitation proved irresistible she walked the five meters towards me stopping about a body length away. Directly in front of me, I continued to pull in my energy, inviting her to come closer. She did not come forth. I ended the exercise and in talking with Carla was reminded that when horses respect you, they respect your boundaries. I wanted to argue the point stating that regardless of Bab’s respect for me, I had been inviting her to come closer. Then it hit me – the invisible had become visible. The defensive energetic boundary I had used for years to feel safe by keeping people away; the same boundary I had worked for years to be more flexible and conscious, was still yielding some power. In making that defence visible, Babs had opened up a door that I had not known was still closed.

Boundaries come in all forms: strong ones, rigid ones, vague and non-existent ones. Or, as Dr. Suess might say: short ones, fat ones, blue ones, red ones… or is that just fishes? Anyway, my point is, because horses are so sensitive to our inner states they also tend to fish out our boundaries, finding out where we really stand.

Case in point: In my first meeting with May, a rather “I’m here, whether you like it or not” kinda gal, I mean mare, she started rubbing her two-foot long nose against my body. It felt kind of nice, like a cat pushing against one’s leg wanting attention. The gesture went immediately to my soft spot and I went, ahhh, she likes me. Not so, said Carla, trashing my fantasy. “She is treating you like a fence post, her nose is itchy. Moreover, she knows you are not a fence post and this is her way of telling you who’s boss.” Oh, I said.

We quickly remedied the situation by having me push her away when she tried it again. By physically stating my boundaries, I told May that not only was I not a fence post but that my space was to be respected. May responded immediately – she stopped doing it. If I had been half-hearted about it her response would not have been so favorable, she would have kept pushing my boundaries. And there’s one of the beauties of working with horses: these 1000lb, long, tall and wide, enormously big, four legged animals respond to our assertions for space. They respect our boundaries if we respect our own need for them.

Christmas

2010-01-02T11:04:00.000-08:00

I had a lovely Christmas with family. Every year I do (well, at least the more recent ones) and each year its always a surprise. It usually unfolds as follows: I do fine as the season approaches but then, a few days before the Big Day, I start feeling melancholy. Anxiety creeps around the corner and then downright fear barges in. A part of me shouts: I don’t want to go. I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to spend time with loved ones, just leave me alone. And, while I have my reasons, its strange how every year I go through the same thing with the same conclusion: its quite okay to be with family for an extended period of time. I guess I need a few more Christmases under my belt to satisfy my disbelieving parts.

In retrospect, I think one of the main reasons Christmas started being okay for me was because I started taking better care of myself especially during the holidays. Unfortunately, I have to admit it wasn’t by design. As all great ideas seem to germinate, it was by accident. It happened about six years ago on Christmas Eve. As per usual I was dreading the season and the concomitant family obligations when my nose started to tickle. I was cleaning a friend’s house (taking in some extra cash) when this warning bell rang. I carried on, scrubbing the toilet and bathroom tiles but as the day progressed, so did the symptoms. By late afternoon on the bus ride home, the dreaded post nasal drip had begun. Christmas Eve was looking dreary. So, talking to my private “chauffer” – no one else was on the bus – I whined about my oncoming cold. He suggested I go home, take a hot bath and drink some hot honey lemon tea. “You want to be well for tomorrow, don’t you?” I grunted. A good Christmas Eve meant spending time alone with a trashy romance, a bottle of red and some delightful food, sweet and savory. Tea and hot baths had no place in this girl’s plans. Nevertheless we playfully argued the merits of each until we reached my stop. I gathered my belongings and, lowering myself down the stairs, felt suddenly quite old, decrepit and sick. I turned to say goodbye and admit he has won the argument when I collided with his parting words: “Don’t forget now, tea and honey. Have a nice Christmas!” My reaction was visceral. “NO! Forget that, I am having wine.” His words had startled me out of my downtrodden mindset. If I was going to take care of myself that night, I was going to Take Care of My Self at that Moment in Time and not for my family who expected to see me the next day.

And so I did. Between bouts of sneezing and nose blowing, I toasted my life, my desires and my dreams with wine, dined on delightful food and read to my heart’s content. The next day I was sicker than a dog but felt tremendous. I called in sick to the family and spent the rest of Christmas day resting, finishing up the wine and reading more trash. It was great.

Now I am not going to conclude that wine and rich foods are ideal ways of self care but it is worthy to know that not only did I have a great day but the family dinner went on schedule. I was missed but there was no great calamity. Moreover, it taught me that I don’t have to get sick to take care of myself – I can take care of my needs with conscious awareness. And so I do. I attend (and enjoy) family celebrations but only after I have taken care of my own needs, whatever they may be: quiet time, a good book, wine and good food, or a walk in the woods … whatever. Consequently I am happier and much able to deal with the standard and not so standard issues that haunt any return to the roost.

May your New Year be sparkling with lots of light and laughter!

Climate Change

2009-12-21T13:16:00.000-08:00

When I read about the Copenhagen talks on climate change I am not only reminded of the trouble we are in but of my favorite topic, codependence. Take Prime Minster Harper’s most recent comment on reducing carbon emissions: “If the Americans don’t act, it will severely limit our ability to act. But if the Americans do act, it is essential that we act in concert with them.” Okay, omitting the fact that we are economically tied with our southern neighbour and its important to forge agreements, when did we forgo our independence? When did we start basing our actions on the policy of another? Well, probably too long ago but my point is that with climate change a codependent policy like that is only a hindrance.

Codependency is about searching for self value, love and acceptance in another rather than from within. It is using others as a guiding force rather than trusting our internal leadership. It is also as entrenched in our institutions as it is in human behaviour. As within; so without: if we allow our codependent parts to lead us, we will no doubt allow our codependent institutions to act accordingly. Canada and other countries are too focused in looking for others to make things better when the ability to act can only come from within.

The good news is that a multitude of cities, the internal parts of countries, are doing just that. As reported by the Globe and Mail (Dec 5) cities as diverse as Mumbai and Edmonton are improving their track record on environmental issues. Mumbai is overhauling its lighting system and Edmonton is “on track to divert 90% of residential waste from landfills by 2011”. Mexico City restricts driving within city limits while promoting public transit and Seattle, whose “electricity production leaves virtually no carbon footprint” has committed itself to the original Kyoto agreement leading more than 1000 US cities with the same pledge.

So let us follow our municipalities’ lead and be the leader for our own codependent parts. Let us teach these parts that most of the answers lie within and that if we could only acknowledge how resourceful and creative we are, we would be in a much healthier place. Let us reduce our own energy consumption at home, drive less and take transit more; turn off lights and use a clothes line; take our cloth bags to shop and wrap presents in used wrapping or newspaper and, above all, reduce first; recycle second. Moreover, let us listen to the words of the late and great anthropologist, Margaret Mead: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

Self Care

2009-12-18T11:53:00.000-08:00

My body is telling me to rest today. It actually started its whispering campaign yesterday morning, slyly tickling my ears as I woke before dawn. It is the voice that warns of forced rest – illness – if not adhered to so I listened, agreed and half-heartedly promised I would rest the rest of the day after, that is, my morning hike. And so today, I wake up and the whispers are louder, irritating my throat with their incessant whines. Rest, they say, rest. I hear them, agree once more but still ponder how much I can do within the confines of “rest”.

I am fortunate in that I work from home. Moreover, I have no clients today so rest could be easy but then again, there is my volunteer job tonight… I really should go. They count on me, don’t they? I am well enough to go, truly, I am only tired, that’s all. But then that voice comes back, gnawing my lower back … shouldn’t you rest? Do you really want to get sick?

Although I am much better than I was a few years back, the temptation to ignore my body and follow the dictates of my mind is ingrained in my persona. The desire to push through, stagger on, blindly go where I will is a default philosophy that has, in fact, served me well. Sort of. I have done miraculous things on nothing but sheer will. A few years ago I was an avid hiker, runner, energy worker and wannabe vegan (you just eat veggies, yes?). I was also on the verge of emotional, physical and spiritual burnout because I wasn’t quite in touch with my body as I professed to be. I was so out of touch or shall I say, my willful parts were so strong that I completed a two-day solo hiking trip on what I later found to be minimal blood levels of B12 and iron. Hmmm… and I just thought it was normal to be so lightheaded and tired.

It is amazing what we do when our body screams no but our mind says yes. We eat food to which we have an intolerance; help friends move house when our back gives us trouble; and stay out all night when we have to work the next day. We are gluttons for punishment, or at least that is how our body must feel at times. Take today, for example. Why would I make myself go to work when my body says no? It is not so much that it is my mind who is taking charge but my codependent parts. And, as a person with a whack of recovering codependent parts, let me count the reasons why I should work today.

They need me
One of my more classic codependent responses: they need me. Uh huh. Need me for what? As soon as I start thinking myself indispensable, I am in trouble. I am feeding into the codependent parts that base my value on the needs of others. The only person that truly needs me in the full sense of the word is myself. I need me to listen to my body’s cry for rest, and to take time and space when I need it. I need me to be there for myself. And the ironic thing is that the better I take care of my needs, the more I can be there for others.

What will the staff think?
Yes, well, important as their opinions are, what others think of me is not always relevant. Once again, if I guide my actions on the basis of another’s beliefs I am falling into codependent territory. If another chooses to believe that I am a slacker for taking care of my health needs, then it is more about them than me – or rather their codependent parts that are unwilling to be self compassionate when they themselves need rest. I would rather have the staff think that I am a person who takes good self care rather than a martyr who comes to work and makes everyone else sick.

Which segues nicely into this one…

If I get sick they will see how dedicated I am
I love this one, the martyr in me sings out in praise at such a statement. I will sacrifice myself for the good of the cause! Jo(Ann) of ARC is my name and I suffer gladly for your sake. You gotta love it (and me). For that is what my codependent parts believe: I will only be loved, accepted, wanted and/or respected if I do for others. The truth, however, is that people generally dislike working alongside martyrs as they tend to promote such feelings as irritation and anger with some, and guilt and shame with others. What my codependent parts do not realize is that the more I take care of, love and accept myself, the more people will be attracted to me out of respect. They will see me as someone who will not drain them of energy but be capable of a healthy and fulfilling relationship. Moreover, in terms of dedication to my career or work, dedication, like love, respect and compassion, always begins with self. If I dedicate myself to a balanced and healthy lifestyle, my path, what ever that may be, will flourish regardless of any sick days I take.

I am such a wimp if I stay home
Being sick, tired and not up to snuff is the antithesis for what I have too long considered the goal of a strong and self sufficient lifestyle. To show my vulnerable side is to show weakness and to be weak is scary for my codependent parts. Growing up in a family that ridiculed signs of vulnerability I hid my vulnerable parts behind a façade of strength. While that protected me to some degree, it also hid my authenticity. My true self is a composite of all my parts: tired, strong, weak, sick, sad, happy, angry and so on. To be truly strong is to embrace the whole kit and caboodle.

And finally, I need the money
While this didn’t apply to me in this situation, it is true that we all need money and missing work can put a dent on finances. But how many times have I gone to work tired and on the verge of being sick only to have to stay home twice as long with a nasty cold or flu because I didn’t take care of myself on that one day? And how many other people have I infected with a virus because I needed the money? And was I really knocking on financial disaster or was there another reason I went to work?

So, instead of going to work tonight I stayed inside, had a hot bath and cup of tea ….and wrote this article. In other words, I gently reeducated my codependent parts that life doesn’t just go on when I practice good self care but travels on in a healthier and happier way for all involved.

The Power of No

2009-12-11T09:23:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about the word “no” the other day. That is, the no you use to set up boundaries … but then again, is there any other way to use it? No to more ice cream, no to unwelcome advances and no to I just don’t wanna moments. I especially love the NO that comes from toddlers. They are emphatic, making every letter count in that heavily invested word. (Of course I am not a mother of a two year old so I can say that with complete sincerity). Anyhow, without getting into the “no means no” campaign of unwelcome sexual advances, of which I stand behind 100%, I want to talk about the nos that are not so heavily invested. The nos that come from our codependent parts.

For years, when I would say no, a part of me, the codependent part that is, was really thinking, I am saying no but the truth is, I don’t really have the right to say no. In fact, that part of me would sometimes feel better when others didn’t honour my no. I was used to that response and hence it was more comfortable in a familiar sort of way. As a result, many people would unconsciously not respect my boundaries. I was sending out mixed messages.

I’ll give you an example: About 10 years ago, I worked for a bully. Well, she didn’t call herself a bully, her official title was manager but bully will do. I held what is called a casual part time job with some regular shifts and some optional on-call shifts. One day, after finishing my regular hours the bully called me into the office asking if I would work the next day. I said no. Although I didn’t say why, the fact was I hated the job, wasn’t desperate for money that week and was tired; no seemed appropriate. My boss didn’t accept it. She “made” me stay in her office while she looked for someone to fill the shift. The implicit threat was that if she couldn’t find someone else I would take the shift or be without a job. It was a most uncomfortable ten minutes listening to her phone the on-call list. She, glaring at me while looking for someone to work and me, hoping, praying, someone would come to my rescue. Thankfully, someone eventually did say yes and I was “free” to go.

An interesting scenario: the manager had no legal authority to hold me there; demand that I work; or fire me if I didn’t, but I stayed in her office out of some feeling that perhaps she did. My initial no meant nothing because I wasn’t backing myself up. It was a no with no substance. A part of me felt I had no rights, so instead of giving her an undeniable NO I sat waiting for another employee to come to my rescue. Worse, in retrospect, I know that if I had worked the shift, I would have later cached in with sympathy votes from my friends. I was the perfect codependent partner for my bully boss: she used me to feel powerful and hence valid in who she was; I used her to get social support, another form of validity.

To say no and mean it we have to fully believe in our right to be: the right to exist here and now in safety; to believe and feel what we want; to laugh, sing, dance, express anger and sadness; to love and to maintain the right to silence and personal space. When we feel the right to be we feel a validity in who we are. Without a belief in this intrinsic right, we end up looking towards others for validation. In the above story, neither my boss or I felt we had the intrinsic right to be. Unconsciously, my manager was relying on her power over me, to give her validity and I was relying on her to validate my victimhood, an unconscious way to get people to care for and love me.

Becoming conscious of our less than adamant nos is embarrassing when we first see our complicity. However all is not lost. Regardless of the past, when we do stand up and say no with all intent, people stand up and listen. Only the true abuser will attempt to tread over that sacred ground because they sense their power diminishing in the face of such conviction. When we say no and mean it we are assuring our codependent parts that we have every right to be. And with that assurance our power is unshakable.

Creativity

2009-12-04T10:00:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, I met an artist with an interesting attitude towards art and, by extension, life. Although his art was beautiful and, in my opinion, valuable, he tended towards giving it (at least his smaller pieces) away or selling it at a low price. This wasn’t in anyway a reflection of how he felt about his art (or himself) – he appreciated his art; respected it and even enjoyed it – he just had no need to hang on to it or sell it at a price that society expected . Art was to be enjoyed by all; he wanted to share it. The attitude, and the man, at first confounded me.

I understood how art should be available to all but to give away pieces or to sell yourself short…? What if the creative process comes to a halt? What if you are giving away something that is limited? Or, more to the point, how will you survive if you have given away all of your value.

My reaction was codependent in at least three ways. First, I was scared of depletion. Having grown up with the idea that I had to somehow earn my value, I was used to giving too much of myself in hopes of getting my needs met. I felt I needed to protect my energy less it be drained from yet another source.

Secondly, I was coming from a scarcity belief that there is never enough and, by extension, I was not enough. The artist was coming from a philosophy that creativity springs eternal: that humans are inherently creative and therefore the creative expression is infinite and, by extension, so is human worth.

And finally, I felt that giving away one’s art was like giving away one’s source of value. Because I felt unworthy (not enough) I placed my source of value in what I did rather than who I was. If I gave away all my art and the creativity ran out (which it surely would because of my scarcity beliefs) … who would I be then?

Now I don’t want to get into a debate about the value of art. Aside from my codependent parts I do believe one’s creation should receive monetary respect. So take this as a metaphor because the truth is that many of us live in scarcity, a belief there is not enough to go around. Scarcity can be reflected in both hoarding and excessive behaviour – two sides of the coin. For example, a scarcity belief with food may result in eating less (must make the food last) or overeating with wolf-like avarice because it might not be available tomorrow. Scarcity beliefs might also have someone fall into apathy or, alternatively, do too much because of the perception of not enough time. It is not a conscious thought but an unconscious drive that believes wealth, joy, beauty, sinfully sweet cookies and of course, are own worthiness, is scarce.

Self worth, however, is only scarce in our minds. Like creativity our worth holds no bounds… we only have to acknowledge it.

Contracts

2009-11-26T09:39:00.000-08:00

Contracts are made every day. They are most familiar in business transactions but we also make implicit contracts with friends, family and even strangers.

I once had an unspoken contract with a neighbour due to “untidy” feelings towards each other. We tacitly agreed never to be in the apartment hall at the same time. It was rather easy to achieve as the walls were thin enough and as a result, we lived in relative harmony. I had another contract with family that said never talk about how a certain relative died. I broke it on occasion, enduring the uncomfortable silence – the penalty for broken contracts – until it was ever so carefully reconstructed and “harmony” could once more return.

I recall a relationship I had a few years ago. Although my friend and I had times of mutual sharing, for the most part, I was the listener; she the talker – that was our contract. It seemed there was always something dramatic going on in her life with which she needed support . Our time together became mostly about her. Then one day she said to me: I know the balance is skewed between us. I don’t feel good about it but I really need and appreciate your support. How do you feel about our friendship?

It was a courageous move on her part. I hadn’t complained nor made any moves to change the dynamics but here she was, the seemingly main beneficiary of our friendship, asking if I wanted or needed something different. The contract was up for negotiation. I had to think about that.

I got off the phone and began questioning what I got from our friendship. I knew that I enjoyed listening to her stories – they were alive, colourful and dramatic. I felt a part of her life which is an important part of friendship. However, I also know a part of me liked the aspect of being needed. When I felt needed, I felt more whole. The friendship was definitely fulfilling that part of me. And, a little deeper within, was a part of me that was scared. If I spoke up, expressed my needs, would she listen? What if she listened and then rejected what I had to say? Beneath the surface of listening to my friend’s stories was the fear that if I expressed myself, she would hold my vulnerabilities against me and leave the friendship.

In codependent relationships we try to get our internal needs of love, validation and/or safety met by looking anywhere but within. We do things to or for others in hopes that they will fulfill what is missing inside. I was missing an internal sense of validity and safety. I was looking to my friend to fulfill both needs. The problem, however, is that those needs can never be fully satisfied in that way. The gnawing emptiness within will always return.

We could have gone on for some time like that: me pulling on her for safety; she pulling on me for support but sooner or later, that internal emptiness would demand more and one of us would start resenting the other for not fulfilling the contract. Fortunately for me, my friend intuited what was happening and spoke up.

We ultimately explored the issue and because of that not only did our friendship strengthen but ironically, in expression, I felt safer. In committing to be more honest about our needs, wants and fears we renegotiated a contract that fed, rather than pulled on our relationship.

Global Codependency

2009-11-22T11:38:00.000-08:00

As a teacher and writer on the subject of codependence I often question its relationship to global issues. What, if anything, does codependence have to do with poverty, violence, corruption, hunger …? How important is the study of codependence in alleviating these conditions?

My answer, briefly stated, is very. Everyone in this world exhibits some aspect of codependent behaviour so it should go without saying that the structures we build (and the devastating conditions that sometimes result from these) will have at least a whiff of this human state. Moreover, it is a general truism that external states mirror our inner ones. Therefore, if we tend to let our internal codependent parts make choices for us, the implication is that we will be more comfortable with schools, work places or government that also make codependent choices.

Codependency, as Charles Whitfield (1991) states, is the act or “addiction to looking elsewhere … we believe that something outside of ourselves … can give us happiness and fulfillment.” This something can be a person, animal or even one’s career or belief system. If we were to put this definition on to any of the aforementioned institutions we could see that often it is not whether we feel good about ourselves but whether we get the good grade, earn a promotion or, on a governmental level, have the Olympics come to our city. As a resident of Vancouver I was told repeatedly how hosting the Olympics would make us a world class city. Were we not already up to standards before we put in the bid? And were we not told the same thing with Expo 86?

So how can the realization of codependency’s external manifestations alleviate poverty, violence and corruption?

Whitfield (1991) suggests that codependents do not see themselves as separate from others or do not see the other as separate from themselves: boundaries become blurred if not tramped upon. To illuminate this, let’s use a stereotype codependent partnership that involves a “victim” and an “abuser”. The victim does not see themselves as separate from the abuser: if only I had cleaned the house; made more money; not embarrassed them, they (the abuser) would not have hurt me. The abuser does not see the victim as separate from themselves: its only because they did this action that I am driven to drink; hit them; or have extramarital affairs.

It all comes down to how we relate to one another. If we see in the “other” an opportunity to fulfill our internal needs, we wont see the other as human – we will objectify them and disrespect their boundaries. On a global level, if the sweat shop owner looked at their employees as less of an opportunity to make money and more of a human relationship, would they not treat them accordingly? The owner, however, cannot look at the employee as human if he or she is determined that making lots of money through their employee’s labour is the road to happiness. The institution of capitalism, if left unchecked, can breed abuse and poverty.

Same as unbridled nationalism, an institution for many countries. If we put more value on our country than the people who inhabit it do we not lose some of our humanity? And in that loss, is that not how wars begin?

The road to happiness (or love, validation, safety) can only be found if we direct our first steps inward. If we recreate these conditions within ourselves we will more likely to create those same conditions in our external environment . We then build institutions of governments, commerce and education that respect boundaries and value the individual as well as the community. By coming into recovery of our codependent parts we not only take the first steps into healthier living but progress towards making this world a better place in which to live.