January 18, 2024
Dear Leland and Everett,
After your summer break I wrote to you about coming into awareness that I am a codependent. Much has evolved since then, and I thought it worth providing a (hopefully) brief follow-up.
The first breakthrough came a couple months ago, when I learned to separate my action from the outcome my action produced. We codependents tend to blame ourselves when we say something that isn’t well received; we assume that our action of speaking was to blame. To be very clear, we humans say lots of nasty things to each other; things that are meant to hurt and wound. What I have learned to study is my intent: did I speak from a place of fear or hurt, from a desire to wound? If so, then I try to hold myself accountable for those actions. But if I can honestly assess that my words came from a place of love and authenticity, I am coming to accept that I am not responsible for how those words are received. Honestly surveying intent is challenging and takes practice. And I find that difficult conversations require advanced preparation, where I work myself into a state of authenticity and love, so that I can speak honestly and be prepared to accept the outcome of the tough conversation. I’m learning that people intuitively recognize authenticity (and the lack thereof): when I speak authentically my message is generally received in good faith. Turns out it was my fears layered on top that often created conflict, more than the ideas themselves.
Sadly, this one breakthrough did not solve all my problems. I noticed with some celebration that I was increasingly able to approach my interactions with others without bringing my fears and sadness into the discussion. I was learning to notice when my fears and sadness (which I sometimes just refer to collectively as ‘baggage’) showed up in a conversation, and choose to take those emotions into my next meditation rather that bring them into conversations with loved ones. Somehow I expected that taking ownership of my own negative emotions would create an example whereby everyone around me would do the same, and we would suddenly have healthier conversations. If only humans worked this way.
Others continued bringing their own negative emotions into conversation with me. I found myself able to maintain presence of mind not to respond; I didn’t take the bait, as it were, and fall into my old codependent arguments (or at least occasionally I didn’t). It’s amazing how often we fall into the same arguments with loved ones over and over again. What I’m coming to realize is that we fall into the same arguments at least partly because we are still carrying the unprocessed hurt from some previous interaction, and that something in the conversation triggers us to relive unhealed experiences over and over again. Sadly I’m already seeing the two of you fall into repetitive disagreement, suggesting that you are already carrying some hurt; we’ll work on helping you let go of your pains, but this is something you will want to watch, especially in your interactions with each other, as you grow up.
What surprised me was how unpleasant I found some of those interactions to be. Whether it was with family or friends, I found it deeply uncomfortable when someone was pointing their negativity toward me in barbed language. What confused me: if I was no longer bringing my negativity into the conversation, and I was willing to detach from the behaviors of others, why would should I feel such strong emotions when others directed their negativity toward me? After much introspection, and resisting enormous temptation to try to control others (in this case, resisting the temptation to try to convince them not to direct negativity toward me), I noticed that the energy surges I felt were associated with some message I wanted to convey. (Note: I talked more about this here.)
This discovery shocked me a bit, as it helped me unwind a consistent pattern in my life that led to interpersonal conflict. See, I’ve had these messages (and corresponding energy surges) all my life. Because I’ve been so determined to be rational, I would ignore the energy surge and that the source of the idea seemed external. Instead I would instantly begin to translate the message into something I could comprehend more clearly (something that made sense to me). Typically this meant coming to some sort of conclusion regarding what someone else should do. From there I proceeded to come up with the rhetoric meant to convince that other person why they should do the thing I had now convinced myself they should do. Hopefully you can already intuit why this would go badly. What I will add is that I am learning that people know when others are behaving inauthentically, and are instinctively repulsed. Put another way: I’ve spent my life attempting to persuade others using logic to accept ideas whose source has been anything but rational thought.
In my finer moments (typically at church, or with my spiritual group), I am learning to recognize the energy surges when they come, honor the associated thought, and resist the temptation to clutter the message. That last part isn’t easy: sometimes the thought doesn’t mean anything to me; other times I can’t imagine that the message will mean anything to the intended audience; invariably I am tempted to layer in extra language and interpretation. So far, when I’ve been willing to resist the temptation, I’ve been surprised by the results. One time I wrote a message down (it was too long for me to remember), and handed to a woman at church: she stared at it, then stared at me and simply said “can I keep this?” as if it contained some deep wisdom and weren’t hastily scrawled on the back of a church worship handout. Another time, I approached a woman who shared that she had been going through difficult times and simply said “may you find the gift”; I honestly expected her to express either confusion or anger, instead her eyes welled up. A third time the recipient looked at me wide-eyed, with almost a “how did you know?” expression. In all three instances I was prepared to accept whatever outcome, and appreciate that I was honoring the thought that wanted to be expressed by sharing it; and yet I can appreciate that God seems to be giving me positive reinforcement by giving me practice with receptive audiences as I build this new capability.
My not-so-fine moments occur in my more intimate relationships. Precisely because those relationships come with history, they come with those recurring arguments we’ve already discussed. In those instances, I’m finding that I still get knocked off course. The progress that I can celebrate: I can go away and meditate, and through the process of introspection identify the emotions that came up, the pain I still carry from other interactions, along with the new thought that wants to be expressed underneath it all. From there, I’m able to revisit the conversation, honestly expose the emotions I felt, and then express the thought that came to me. These follow-up conversations require patience, while I wait for the right opportunity. But I’ve had some wonderfully healing conversations with your mom and other loved ones over the last few weeks as a result of this process.
The next step, the one I’m working toward now, is maintaining presence even in my intimate relationships. I’m coming to understand the negative emotions pointed at me by others are an invitation to identify a buried, underlying pain. These emotions are meant to be embraced and leaned into rather than avoided. If I can lean into them, I suspect I can unlock healing opportunities both for myself but also those I care about most (and perhaps eventually others as well).
If I could offer one suggestion from all of this, it would be not to avoid your negative emotions. Our temptation is to either suppress or attack negative emotions, or to run away and hide from them. We’d rather do almost anything other than feel the fear and sadness stored in our bodies. Similarly, we’d prefer not to be exposed to others’ pain and suffering. But fear and sadness are invitations to heal. If we avoid our negative emotions they get stuck. If we allow them to flow through us, we can heal. If we can support others, I suspect we can support their healing as well. From there, I suspect we’ll find an invitation to find comfort in discomfort, and develop our superpowers by being willing to feel the things our body wants us to know and experience.
I love you both.
Love,
Dad
Letters to Leland 