Real Life Matters

“Is the best protection hiding who you are, or being who you are?” – D.H. Lawrence.

In the past, talking with me about any serious topic could sometimes feel like talking to a wall. I would be looking right at you, but you might get the sense that nothing was really getting through to me. You would be right. In times of stress, I have a tendency to overwhelm and simply shut down.

For adult children co-dependents, the inability to communicate openly and honestly is clearly the result of a long adherence to the “no talk” rules. These dysfunctional and oppressive rules in combination form an iron curtain behind which the real self is hidden. As a consequence, the adult child develops a pseudo-self, a self that consists of a set of sophisticated maneuvers and strategies that are designed to ensure survival.^[1]Subby, Robert C.. Lost In The Shuffle: The Co-Dependent Reality (pp. 66-67). Health Communications Inc. Kindle Edition.

Monument? What Monument?

When I was in high school, I visited the house of an acquaintance. After the visit, I got in my car and backed out of their driveway. It was cold and dark and the driveway was long. Suddenly, I heard a muffled crumpling sound. Going a little further, the headlights of my parents’ car revealed that I had backed over and completely destroyed a little brick monument marking the entrance to the driveway. I was too ashamed to get out of the car, knock on their front door and apologize.^[2]As they say, the simplest solution is almost always the best solution. I wish I had known that at the time. I turned on the radio and drove away. I never apologized or even acknowledged that the incident had happened. The thought of admitting my mistake was unbearable. So I kept my mouth shut.

The no-talk rule eventually causes us to avoid our problems or deny that we have any problems. It fosters a feeling of impending doom, typified by knots in the stomach, free-floating anxiety, headaches and sleeplessness. We become emotionally numbed. Since we’re not supposed to talk about our problems, we don’t. We think that if we do admit to having a problem, then we are also admitting that something is horribly wrong with us that is not wrong with other people. If we admit to having a problem, then we open ourselves up to be judged by others as being weak or unhealthy. Ultimately, this denial of our basic situation fosters a deep sense of personal shame. Shame about things which otherwise should be viewed as very normal responses to living in a troubled family. We lose our perspective — namely, that people, all people, have problems.^[3]Subby, Robert C.. Lost In The Shuffle: The Co-Dependent Reality (pp. 32-33). Health Communications Inc. Kindle Edition.

Don’t Talk or Over-react

Growing up, there were some exceptions to the no-talk rule in our house. The most common exception was our tendency to over-react in times of conflict. If anyone triggered our fragile egos, we would routinely have a hissy-fit, which was usually enough to shut everything down. It worked like a charm.

Over-reaction is a safe out because it indicates to others that in a sense you’re out of control, you’ve passed the point of no return, so they often retreat from the conflict. It’s safe because while you’re getting all caught up in your new reactive episode, you don’t have to be with yourself or the consequences. Under-reaction or passivity is safe because you can simply numb yourself to the conflict and by doing so manage to erect a facade of invulnerability and indifference that seems to say: “Nothing is bothering me.”^[4]Subby, Robert C.. Lost In The Shuffle: The Co-Dependent Reality (p. 88). Health Communications Inc. Kindle Edition.

Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes, we make big mistakes. No mistake is so bad, however, that it should be kept locked away in the dark. Indeed, we can choose to make friends with our mistakes, or at least not run away from them. After all, mistakes are the best teachers in life.

This afternoon, in my minds’ eye, I visited my friend’s house. I got out of the car, walked up to the front door, and rang the bell. A tall, familiar figure with kind eyes answered the door. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m really sorry, but I accidentally ran over the brick monument marking your driveway.” The figure smiled and offered me a hug, and I accepted.