Tag Archives: trauma

Understanding Co-dependency: A Path to Healing

Co-dependent. Such a complex word.

Have you ever looked back and realized how wrong you were while trying so hard to do the right thing?

My former husband was deeply in love with himself. His needs, desires, and wants came before everything else. I believed that if I made him happy—if I did everything he wanted—peace would follow. I thought agreeing with every opinion, fulfilling every wish, was the price of sanity. I gave in to keep the peace, hoping that surrender would soften him. Maybe then he would be tender. Maybe then he would love me. Surely, I thought, he would choose me over his endless need for others: his hobbies, his friends, his conquests.

But I was only deceiving myself.

I received no respect, and the mistreatment never stopped. Quietly, resentment grew, yet not enough for me to change my behavior. By tolerating the offenses, I was granting permission for them to continue. It felt as though I had signed away my rights, and my life. Slowly, I was disappearing. I felt unloved and undone, stripped of self-esteem and self-worth. I was lonelier with him than without him. Still, I wanted him. I craved his approval and acceptance. I lived in fear of him and equally in fear of losing him.

We often believe peace will come if we can control our environment. In truth, serenity is usually nowhere near that path. What we gain instead is a fragile, false peace, one that never lasts and always comes at a cost.

I’m not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, but I’ve come to understand that there is another side to this spectrum. Sometimes, a person loves so deeply that they give everything of themselves. Over time, that love can become smothering, stunting the other person’s ability to care for themselves. The loved one becomes dependent emotionally, psychologically, incapable of growing, make sound decisions, or mature. Trauma lingers, and emotional immaturity takes root.

I saw this pattern with my mother. From childhood, Mama was introverted and painfully shy. Grandma loved her fiercely and felt sorry for her, often overcompensating by doing everything for her. As a result, Mama grew accustomed to others taking care of her. When I was young, I stepped into that role myself. I tried to protect her in every way I could. Often, my help wasn’t needed or asked for. She, in turn, leaned on her significant others to meet that same need.

Co-dependency is a vicious cycle. Left unaddressed, it festers like a chronic wound. In relationships unwilling to heal, both people struggle with low self-worth. Boundaries are weak or nonexistent. Control and manipulation replace trust, and love becomes entangled with fear.

Have you ever realized how wrong you were in trying to do right?

dysfunctional-Glue

Here are some examples of what it means to be co-dependent:

• The need to be needed
• People pleasing
• Trying to control others (aggressively or passively)
• Focusing on helping others before working on your own issues
• Being consumed with other people’s problems
• Rescuing
• Self-doubt
• Unclear boundaries in friendships and relationships
• The tendency to date (or marry) alcoholics or addicts
• Perfectionism
• Workaholism (or always being busy)
• Exhaustion

Let’s break the cycle!

Your turn. What does co-dependency mean to you?

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Filed under Behavior, Co-dependent, Relationships

Damaged Goods

Definition of damaged goods: inadequate or impaired. Products that are broken, cracked, scratched, etc.: a person considered no longer desirable or valuable because of something that has happened. This is a person whose reputation is damaged.

Are you damaged goods? Feel like you’re not worthy?

You don’t have to remain that way, regardless of your past, or present.

Was that ever me?

You betcha!

Read on …

Hollow. Pure loneliness. Dark, like a bottomless pit. Ripping in my chest. Piercing my heart. Again, he stays out all night. Overcome by torment. Abandonment accompanies me. Consumed with depression, isolation wraps itself around me. My mind races with wild imaginations of where he has gone, what he is doing, and with whom.

Instead of going to bed to sleep, I am wearing a hole in the couch. Every time a car approaches, I spring like a jack-in-the-box, peeking out the window, hoping he has returned. With every disappointment, my stomach turns into knots. My own sobs mock me until I cry myself to semi-consciousness. Hideous lies will follow after he returns and add to my anguish and emotional decline. 

Broken. Flawed. Undone.

That was me back then, dealing with my former (cheating) husband. His words, like rubbing alcohol pouring over fresh wounds, stung! No band-aids healed my emotional pain. No quick fixes. Deeper and deeper I sank into a dark abyss, crushed beyond repair. For several years, that was my pathetic frame of mind. I know now it didn’t have to be that way. So, what was the deal?

I had an overload of abuse: physical, verbal, and emotional. I had low self-esteem and zero self-worth. I believed and accepted a lie about me and my situation. I figured since this was my lot in life, might as well make the best of it. I had witnessed my mom go through a cycle of abuse, but I was obviously blind to my own. I made him mad againMaybe I deserved it … Talk about co-dependency!

How do you perceive yourself? Have you ever been lied to, beaten down, and trodden upon? Feel like you’ll never come up for air? Are you tired of stumbling around in blindness, things so bleak you can’t even see your own self-worth? Drowning in sorrow, buried in self-pity? Or maybe you feel you’re at the point of no return in trying to please someone else. You compromise your values, your mental state, your resources, and your health!

Stop allowing someone’s negativity or ill-treatment to rob you of your joy and develop a callous heart. Realize you are worthy. You are valued and matter. There’s nothing wrong with being fragile … but let it be like beautiful, fine china. Just know you are not damaged goods, a throwaway, or a faded memory. Don’t be someone’s victim because you listened to their lies and empty promises. I’m living proof that God doesn’t discard what He’s determined to restore.

Get up! Rediscover yourself. Feel your wrist. What is that? A pulse? Then you have a purpose! Allow the Master’s hand to reach down and set you in high places. He’ll wipe the tears and dust the soot from off your heart. If God got me out of the pit, He can get you out, too. It takes a made-up mind. A determination that today is the best day of the rest of your life.

What’s in your hands? What’s in your heart? A dream? A gift? A precious child? You have something worth fighting for. Choose your battles.

 If you don’t know my pain, you’ll never understand my praise.

https://gofund.me/3f5e598b

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Filed under psychology

A Breech Birth Experience

AT 19 YEARS OLD, MY MIND REELING, I tossed and turned and kicked off the covers. I struggled to get out of bed; for the fifth time that night, I floundered toward the bathroom.
“Where are you going now?” Donny demanded.
    I turned the bathroom light on. “Need to go again, Donny.”
    “Didn’t you just go?”
    “I’m feeling a lot of pressure in my bladder.” How I wished to erase the sneer from his face. “Didn’t mean to wake . . . ”
    He responded by sucking air through his teeth and then flipped over, turning his back to me.
   Unable to get proper rest, I had started cramping at 3:30 that morning. Around midday, the cramps grew stronger. By 3 p.m., the pain had become agonizing, but still irregular, followed by spotting. The instant Donny walked in from work, I said, “It’s time.”
    We arrived at Rosewood General. An attendant assisted me into a wheelchair. When I sat down, my water broke, so much for dignity.
    Once I was in my room, the nurse examined me. She discovered I was already dilated to six. This meant I was in the second stage of labor. Glancing down at my belly, I found the shape oddly lopsided, oval, no longer round. Much to my dismay, after the nurse’s probing, she mentioned in a concerned voice that she felt a foot.
    The doctor ordered an emergency X-ray. Apparently, at the last moment, my baby had turned and remained in a breech position. The X-ray also revealed that the umbilical cord had wrapped around the neck. The medical staff prepped me and gave me an epidural. They then confirmed that I needed to have a Cesarean. This time, Donny remained in the waiting room.
    During the birthing process, even though I was awake, I felt nothing from the waist down. I concentrated on trying to relax and comprehend what the doctors and nurses were discussing. A large blue drape blocked my view of the entire birthing process.
    I couldn’t keep my upper body from shaking. Even my teeth chattered, and the uncontrollable tremors caused my shoulders to ache, as if ready to fall off. Petrifying thoughts raced through my mind. I feared something was terribly wrong. When I heard someone say, “Here she comes,” the “she” rang loud in my mind: another girl.
    But why won’t she cry?
    Time stopped. I prayed. Felt like forever.
    At last, wails from strong lungs pierced the room. My doctor smiled and held my six- pound- four-ounce baby. “It’s a girl.”
    I reached out for her, anxious to see if she was all right. She looks so small, red, and wrinkled, unlike Anna Marie when she was born. And she had one purple arm!

An excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace”

Life sometimes will throw you a curve. Ever experienced the feeling of being out of control? How about the fear of the unknown and the what-ifs? Although this was my second child, the entire process was different than with the birth of my firstborn. I was not prepared. I lacked the moral support of my former husband. All my family members lived out of state. Most of the time, I felt alone and inept in my role. But I learned to be an overcomer. And if I can make it, so can you! Want to know more about my journey? You can read all about it in my memoir,
"Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace".

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Filed under Birth & Motherhood, Memoir Excerpts

Another Day at the Office

Note: This traumatic situation happened in the 90s, something I’ll never forget.

Ever think you’d wake up to face another day and everything go according to plan? Remain normal? Nothing out of the ordinary? Yeah, me too. But this would be no ordinary work day for me …

After several months of working the drive-thru window at my new banking job, I looked forward to working the inside lobby. I retrieved my cash box and set up my drawer as I do on any other day, except that I was stationed alongside Manager and friend Judy, who has fifteen years of experience in the industry. Once all bank tellers were set up with their consignment items, our security guard, Victor, unlocked the front doors and opened for business. Because it was the beginning of the week, I felt confident the day would go by fairly smoothly.

After assisting a couple of customers with their transactions, I became startled by a commotion to my far left. I glanced in that direction in time to see a masked man shove Victor against the counter, snatching his gun out of his holster. Like a surreal scene right out of a horror flick, the masked man pressed the gun against Victor’s spine, ordering him not to move or to turn around. Before realization hit me, another gunman shot passed me from the opposite direction with a stocking over his face, shouting obscenities and threatening that he would “pop” anyone who moved!

Another hooded gunman appeared, waving his rifle, shoving customers and employees along the wall, and yelling at them to drop down and not move. Staring in disbelief and shock, as if frozen in time, the tellers behind the counters were still standing with their hands in the air. As thoughts reeled in my brain, I hardly noticed that my hand was slowly etching out, attempting to set off a silent alarm hidden under the counter inches from me. Out of nowhere, one of the gunmen jumped on top of my counter, glaring with his gun pointed at me, and growled, “You! Down, now. Or I’ll pop you!”

I was going to faint on the spot at best or be shot to smithereens at worst. Thank the good Lord, I still had some control of my faculties and complied, dropping to my knees with my head down, all the while praying. Judy was not so lucky.

The gunman began ordering her to climb over the counter to go into the vault with him. One of the other gunmen already held Victor and the commercial teller with his gun pointed in their faces while they waited to go inside the vault once it was unlocked. The gunman became impatient with Judy and proceeded to pull on her arm, attempting to drag her up and over the counter. As she struggled to raise her leg to climb, she stumbled back and was immediately pistol-whipped after he jumped down, cursing her for moving too slowly. He proceeded to push her towards the vault with the others. (Yes, my head was up and I was peeking.) Once the vault was unlocked, one could only imagine what was taking place inside.

One of the gunmen stood by the front door, holding everyone at bay, spewing profanities and waving his gun back and forth. After what seemed like an eternity, the two gunmen ran out from the vault, throwing money bags at their partner by the exit. They ordered everyone to remain down as they scurried out the front door. After the ruckus, we began to stir and rise from our positions. Peering out of the windows, we noticed the police were already on the scene (an alarm had indeed gone off), and they were in hot pursuit of the bank robbers who apparently had jumped into a getaway car. Instantly, I thought of Judy and the rest who had gone into the vault. They were still inside! Were they hurt? Still alive? I shuddered to think.

As I quickly approached the vault, I heard sobbing, and my heart dropped! All three employees were lying face down on the ground. But the sight of Judy faced down with blood glistering from a gash on her forehead stunned me. A sob escaped me as I called her name. I was relieved to discover that when I called out, they all responded by sitting up and were simply waiting for one of us from the outside to come and get them. Upon examining Judy’s head, we knew her outer wounds would heal. But one never knows about the turmoil that goes on inside.

We hugged one another and let the tears flow freely.

After the police had interviewed everyone, we were allowed to call family members to come and pick us up. When Mark came for me, I was still trembling and immediately crumbled into the safety of his arms. I couldn’t wait to leave, go home, and hug my kids.

Recovery from trauma is a process. Most of us were shaken up for quite some time after that ordeal and needed counseling. Some even quit their banking jobs to seek employment elsewhere. As for me, that moment in time would forever be etched in my memory. I experienced what is called a trauma-related symptom in the aftermath of that bank robbery.

Days after the incident, while on lunch break at a fast-food chicken joint, an outraged customer began verbally attacking one of the employees over his incorrect order. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and my nerves felt like pins and needles. I left my food and made a hasty exit and got the heck out of Dodge.

Reflecting back, one thing became perfectly clear: You can be “busy as usual” with the mundane things in life, and at a moment’s notice, your world can turn upside down, and you are faced with a life and death situation!

Life is precious and not to be taken for granted.

© M.A. Pérez 2014, All Rights Reserved

Your turn. Have you had a traumatic experience or a close call when you least expected it?

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Filed under Bank Robbery, Social