Together We Rise: Towards Wholeness through Separation
A few months ago, our nine-year-old put taco powder in the chilli. It was a delicious touch, but he was afraid his dad would get mad. “Dad gets mad easily mom; he’s not like you.” Through my son’s eyes, I see how much I’ve healed. Over the last year, as I have healed emotionally, I’ve discovered a crucial piece of my puzzle: childhood abandonment wounds caused me to become codependent.
Our attachment wounds determine why we choose the partners we do, how we’ll behave, and what we’ll tolerate. If you are among the 50% that grew up with a secure attachment, you are fortunate. You have inherited a form of generational wealth not often talked about. Indeed, your brain was wired to look for “green flags.” Because of the trauma I experienced, red flags felt familiar. For those with an insecure attachment, love can be a battlefield. My work has been learning to put down my swords and put up boundaries. It’s made me decide to walk away from my marriage.
I now realize that I developed a disorganized, fearful avoidant attachment style in childhood, desperately craving connection, but also believing I could only rely on myself. It most likely started with developing failure to thrive after five months in the NICU and continued through thirty surgeries in childhood. Mix in the mental health issues in the household, and I can see now that chaos, or the threat of it, was my constant companion. As adolescence arrived, this carried over into my romantic relationships. I would rush in, completely lose myself, and then just as quickly, create conflict in an effort to retrieve my sense of self. It was a push, pull cycle. This caused me to sabotage relationships with all green flags. My subconscious mind craved chaos and conflict. So when I met my husband, I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. “You don’t have to do this,” my mother had said, just before my brother walked me down the aisle. But each step down that aisle felt fated. There were lessons to learn and patterns to repeat.
When we first got married, I was just as combative as he was, swords up all the time. I was easily triggered, quick to anger, and as one of my brothers said at our wedding, “Had a really nasty temper.” A few months into our marriage, he had an explosive episode. I promptly took him to Chapel Hill for a diagnosis: Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Not wanting to accept the diagnosis, the acronym of which is IED, the human version of a ticking time bomb, I took him to the Mayo clinic. The diagnosis was Bipolar 2. It was then that I realized that diagnosis was a subjective craft, influenced not by statistical manuals as much as by the perspective of the professional. Meds were prescribed, and they helped somewhat, so we soldiered on. Looking back, I also had a mental health diagnosis: CPTSD, or chronic post traumatic stress disorder. And this is where the lines get blurred: we have no way of knowing if symptoms are caused by genetic biological dysfunction, trauma, or both. A few years into our marriage, I discovered Reiki healing. It healed me physically, giving me children after being told I couldnt, and my rage began to dissipate. It was then that I realized: If mental health symptoms are caused by trauma, meds are just a band aid. They don't get to the root cause of the symptoms. Reiki got to the root cause, giving me a tool to remove the layers of anger and sadness.
When we grow up in dysfunction, we may become the one who tries to fix everyone around us. Who holds the house of cards together. As adults, we pick people to fix, sacrificing our wellbeing in hopes that we can help them heal, that we can subconsciously rewrite history. Instead, we recreate it, and then we watch in horror as the house collapses. After a particularly explosive episode last October, I told my husband I wanted to separate. Since then, he has worked to change his behavior, but he still slips up. My father used to say that a relationship either evolves or it dies. When two people are both committed to the healing process, they can grow together. When a partner will not, or cannot change their harmful behavior, we have to regain sovereignty over ourselves. In walking away from my marriage, I am reclaiming my crown.
When we carry the weight of someone else’s dysfunction, trying to fix them, heal them, and put up with behavior that we shouldn't, we do so to our own detriment. And the detriment of our children. Not only that, but we actually enable the other person, and this prevents them from doing the work of healing. That is the essence of codependency: it keeps both parties in chains. I am setting my husband free in hopes that we will break this generational cycle, and that means more to me than my children growing up in a broken home. Yes, my husband is mentally ill, but like the first eighteen years of my life, I’ve spent our eighteen years together walking on eggshells. And it's time to stop tip-toeing around and put my foot down. When one person in a codependent dynamic begins to heal, there is often an attempt by the other person to draw them back into the dysfunctional dynamic.
These days, my prayer is “Help me see what I need to see and be what I need to be.” I can see now that our marriage was a trauma bond. I’m not a victim. I fully acknowledge my role and responsibility in this relationship. I had just as much to heal as he did. But I have long since healed to the point that I no longer crave chaos. Istead, I pray for peace. And I will put the pieces back together for my boys. Last week, I ran down to the river and meditated on the shore. In my mind, I was drawn to a stone abbey in the water. It looked like Mont Saint Michel in France. I felt guided to walk up a set of stone steps. When I got to the top, I saw all of those I have lost: my sister, my three brothers, their wives, my father, my stepfather, my grandparents, my aunt, and my younger cousin. I hugged them all, and then they pointed to the water. I saw a large ship coming in. Suddenly, I opened my eyes, and I saw a giant cargo ship coming up the Cape Fear river in front of where I was sitting on the shore. I understood what my loved ones and the universe were showing me: It is safe to journey forward. My ship is coming in.
Over the next nine months, as we birth this new beginning for our family, we’ll be focused on healing while we figure out the financials. In making this move, literally and figuratively, we’re turning our family’s emotional lead into generational gold. We’re burning down the life we built, but we’re creating fertile soil for new growth on our family tree. From the ashes of our old life, the boys and I will rise as we grow together. I am grateful for the blessings that came out of my marriage. My husband supported me through school and building my career. I’m grateful that despite his challenges, he is a devoted dad and a good man. I’m most grateful for our boys. As we navigate this transition, their wellbeing is my top priority. Now I know that mine matters too. Their peace comes from our peace. The other day I played Hungry Hippo with them. I won three times in a row, prompting our nine-year-old to say “See mom, you’re happy, so the universe is rewarding you with winning. That’s how it works.” Yes, son, that’s exactly how it works.
