seventy-five: enable

i have a fair number of people with a variety of addictions (food, alcohol, gambling, drugs) on both sides of my extended family (and my wife does, too), so i thought immediately about enabling in that sense; that is, an unhealthy interdependence, whereby the person with the addiction is protected by another/others from the consequences of their behaviour.

i of course also thought about abuse (when don’t i?) and about how angry/sad/crazy it makes me feel when i think about how long i was complicit with the story my parents had woven about me. how long it went unchallenged, how deeply i believed it, how hard it was to consider that the wrongness i had always believed was mine, maybe wasn’t. how difficult it is to shake, even now. that its familiarity, its tune, has been bred into my very cells, it seems.

i enabled that story. meaning, i actively participated in it, for years. in fact, that story is still being told, and i wish i could say it doesn’t hurt me, but it does, it really fucking does. i’m a grown-ass woman, but they can still make me feel miniscule.

that i’m not seen, that i’m not known by them, feels like a wound that might never fully close over. i think we’re doing so good but then a word…a text…a fucking greeting card aisle…a stupid holiday…and it’s weeping again, the pain fresh and new and sharp.

One thought on “seventy-five: enable

  1. You were complicit with the story because you had to be to survive, friend. You pushed it all so far away you didn’t remember it, because you had too. Because it was so so huge and you were so so little, and you wouldn’t be here today otherwise. I’m so glad you did.

    And you aren’t, now that you’ve remembered. You didn’t sit by and ignore it, you aren’t enabling their bullshit story. And that’s not easy, particularly at this time of year.

    Hugging you…xo

    Liked by 1 person

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