Standing My Ground

After almost two decades, I finally stopped dancing and stood my ground. My husband is moving out on September 1st. Since he signed the lease, the house has already started shifting towards peace. After almost two years of pending separation, we only have to hold on a little bit longer. After a lifetime of walking on eggshells, I walk on solid ground, and the path is becoming clearer. I stand on my own, standing my ground. Surrounded by the love of friends, and of course, my boys. How did I finally do it? 

Not by being louder, more chaotic, or more forceful. But by being quieter, calmer, and more certain of myself. I knew I’d stayed longer than I should have because leaving felt impossible. And then I realized: I had to make it happen. Seeing my five-year-old standing up for me made me realize that I needed to stand my ground. 

The week before he signed the lease, the boys’ dad got upset with me and raised his voice. I told him calmly that he needed to lower his volume. “But you’re mad at me.” “No,” I replied. “That’s a projection. You’re angry, and it’s hard to sit with, so you’re projecting.” And then I walked away. There was no argument. It was a declaration. And my declaration landed, grounding the chaos into calm. The boys could feel that mom was safe. They were safe. Their world was safe. 

In the old pattern between their dad and me, I would entangle with him, trying to win the argument. The day he deflated, I had created calm. And his chaos had nothing to ensnare. For decades, I had fallen into an all too familiar dynamic, trying to help him see the effect of his behavior, and then took the bait when he made it about me. I matched his chaos with my own. It took two to tango, and I was willing to dance. Now, chaos wanted a partner, while calm was content to sit it out. 

Codependence is a relational pattern where one person’s sense of self, emotional wellbeing, or identity becomes organized around managing another person’s emotions, needs, or behavior - often at the expense of their own. After a lifetime of managing others’ emotions, I’m finally learning to manage my own. I’m learning to set down what isn’t mine to carry. And stand my ground. 

For me, breaking codependence hasn’t been a singular moment in time, but a slow, steady build. What do I feel? What do I believe? What is mine to hold and mine to set down? How do I stay rooted - in my body, in my being, withstanding the battering winds and barbs sent my way? 

By filtering what is true and using that to inform my growth, versus what is distortion and protection from others. Healing has meant rooting into who I am so firmly that projection no longer destabilizes me. 

When we stand our ground - in our bodies, our relationships, in the face of chaos, we create the very safety for our children that we didn’t have as children.

The day after the declaration, their dad started raising his voice to me when he was on the couch, and our five year old yelled “You don’t yell at my Mommy.” Their dad had no choice but to see his reflection mirrored in his son. I said nothing. I picked up our boy and took him outside. I asked him what he needed, and he said “I need to go on the tree swing Mommy. It makes my body feel better.” So I pushed him on the swing, and let his dad sit with his son’s reflection.

I thought back to when the eleven year old was one. It had been a long day of nursing, pumping, playing, reading, and running a business on the side. I said “We’re at the fourteen hour mark. Can I get some help?” To which our son’s dad replied “What have you got a timer?” Pushing our second son on the swing, I thought yeah I do. And time’s up. 

A couple of hours later, I found an apartment available down the street and told him to schedule a tour. 

A few days later, we toured it together. He didn’t want me to go, but I wanted to make sure to get the straight story, leaving no room for sabotage. 

We had been holding on, trying to stay together until their dad could generate some more income. Less than a week after he signed the lease, he got a raise. It was like the universe held back the blessing until I learned the lesson.

The other day two dogs charged at my dogs and me while we were coming out of the woods. They were off leash, and I had just put mine on their leashes. Growls, lunges, and snaps. I knew I needed to stand my ground. So I rooted into my body, took a leash in each hand, and walked backwards, stepping gingerly over the leashes while continuing to remove my dogs from the melee. I checked in with my body. I was indeed in it. In fact, I had become more present. My dogs shook off the encounter and wagged their tails for the walk home. Mom is safe. We are safe. The world is safe. 

Last night both boys crawled into bed with me. The older one had a stomachache, and the younger one had gotten cozy while reading. My older one laid an arm over his little brother, and I didn’t make them move. I just put my arm over them, took a deep breath, and whispered a prayer of gratitude. And then we drifted off to sleep, holding on to each other. 

I am becoming who they need me to be: their tree of life. Rooted. Sturdy. Strong. Something they can hold on to. Their solid ground. Mom is safe. We are safe. The world is safe.

And so it is.