breaking free.

: We know that if an alcoholic is not drinking, he or she is in some form of recovery.  In a similar way when a codependent is expressing reality moderately, he or she is evidencing some form of recovery. ~Pia Mellody, Facing Codependence :



It has taken me a long time to admit I'm an addict. 

Because I've never done drugs.  I've had some alcohol. A moderate amount for the most part, and I've never been a regular drinker. 

This may be the point where you're thinking; "Then you're not an addict, Kinsey.  You're just a normie." (a word used to describe nonaddicts by the NA and AA community, as told to me by a dear friend in recovery.) 

And THAT is why it's totally reasonable for me to not be an addict, right? No. No. And no, one more time just for posterity's sake. But to help you understand, let me take you back to the beginning of how these things transpired in my life...

For the last few years God has been calling me to set aside six months of my life to deal with my addiction and codependence issues. I always say yes. I just never get that far. I do good for a couple of months then come up against something really hard, and what do you know! I'm good!...or I met someone awesome to date! Or I found a cool place to travel! Or I'm a busy single mom. Or ((insert literally anything you can think of here)). And God has been oh so patient with me. As I continued to call out to Him to help me with life, He continued to back me into a corner until I had nothing left but to die or deal. That's where addiction often takes us. These are the choices we're left with at the end of it all. Die or Deal. On July 5 of this year, I chose die. I took all the narcotics I had left over from my broken leg, I drank a BOX (yes, box.) of wine, and I decided I was ok to never wake up again. 

But I did wake up. Thank God I woke up. In those moments of shame and self hatred that followed, something else started to show up. Strength. Clarity. And a yes. It was time. I made a choice to deal.

I was raised by two addicts.  One that knew it, and one that didn't. My dad was an IV drug user and he was pretty crazy. Part of my recovery in the last two months has been exercises in writing down and remembering memories from my childhood...I'm pretty sure I cried myself to sleep every night during this time. I love my dad.  He went on to become one of my greatest loves and truest friends. I didn't want to remember these things about him. I didn't want to remember how broken our family was at that time. But I made a commitment to myself and God to deal, and this was the only way through it to the other side. My mom, in contrast, was the addict that didn't know she was an addict. Truth be told, I still think she would never describe herself as such. She's a lot more like me in that way. She was the one that held it all together. Until she couldn't. Until she broke and found her own version of going crazy. She had just as many bad behaviors and dysfunction as my dad, but she wasn't the one shoving the needle in her arm, so she was the normie. That's what makes the addiction of codependence so hard. You look normal, on the outside, compared to the junkie. So you just learn how to deal with being the lesser of two evils. 

I'm learning that all the feelings I've had my entire life actually go back to these childhood moments...where I learned to be a codependent. I never learned to feel my feelings moderately. I'm either all or nothing. Broke down or wide open. Completely shut down or so overwhelmed with emotion it devours all rational thought. I adapted my internal emotional system to make everyone else comfortable. When you grow up in a dysfunctional, less than nurturing, abusive system you have no way to mature emotionally. You get stuck in a learned pattern of helping everyone else cope. Of keeping everything level. Life is not actually like that. You just can't know that as a 10 year old... when all you can think about is protecting your parents from destroying each other, and making sure your younger siblings don't find out whats happening so they can sleep at night. Because you don't sleep at night.  You manage. You protect. You do the things normal, healthy parents are suppose to be doing...And you learn to be a codependent addict. 

This is my reality. It's who I really am, and what I'm learning to accept. I always thought accepting I was an addict would leave me feeling distraught and hopeless, but just the opposite is true. I think for the first time, I feel the hope of recovery. I know that I'm growing and changing every day, and I know it in the little things...in the moderate places of everyday life. I know it when I don't feel like I have to fix someone. I know it when I wake up alone, and instead of striving to fill my day with people that "need" me, I just feel peace. I know it when I can write this and feel empowered instead of broken. 

Welcome to my recovery.