There comes a point in life when you wake up one day and have a freaking “Tiffany.”
And Tiffany’s are terrible and wonderful things to have.
Let me explain…
My nine-year old daughter played the part of a spoiled young lass in the school play this year. One of her lines was, “Oh my goodness, I think I just a had a Tiffany!”
The other young actress rolled her eyes with deep sarcasm and said, “You mean an epiphany?”
Kolby flipped her long golden hair and cocked her head playfully to one side “Yes, that’s what I said, a “Tiffany!”
My girl got a big chuckle from the audience.
Well played baby girl…well played, but back to the “Tiffany.”
I had one of those recently, A Tiffany, or rather an Epiphany.
It was a big and scary and powerful TRUTH that hit me so hard I want to vomit when I contemplate it.
The harsh truth I uncovered is that I’m codependent.
I just puked in my mouth writing that.
Like…not a little co-dependent, but more like a lot.
Oh…yuck.
And when you figure out a truth like that there’s only one choice.
Get some healing girlfriend.
I’m talking in third person here, obviously to encourage myself.
I think I came by codependency pretty naturally, as most people do. It was a survival thing as a kid. My dad (as a younger man) was a domineering, emotionally and occasionally physically abusive guy-if you count spanking, slapping and a belt as abusive.
One of the ways I learned to cope was to not piss him off.
That was literally my daily goal for much of my childhood
Daddy’s in a bad mood…let’s stay out of his way. Get him whatever he wants. Make sure he has a good meal, a cold drink in his hand and the remote to watch CSPAN and congressional hearings-his personal favorite.
(Just to clarify…this was my real dad not my step-dad who is a darling.)
Always make sure the house is quiet and clean and chores are done. Make sure my grades are good and I am pretty and well mannered and represent the family well.
Tow the line, don’t fight back, don’t piss off daddy.
And then I grew up and got a life and moved on.
But then I wake up one day in my mid forties and realize I’m still stuck in the same operating mode.
What? Isn’t there a shelf life on this type of dysfunction?
I still take responsibility for people’s bad moods. I am a pleaser, a peacemaker, and I do whatever it takes to keep our home drama free, even if it’s killing my own heart in the process.
It’s hard to let yourself be all that God created you for when your caught up in the cycle of never inconveniencing anyone.
It means I rarely ask for help. I try to meet everyone’s needs and neglect my own. I become a lesser version of me. I apologize for everything. “Sorry” is my freaking middle name.
But somewhere along the line I woke up.
I had a freaking “Tiffany” a few months ago.
And now that I know…there are no more excuses for my behavior.
Things are changing because they have to.
I’m learning big words like “boundaries” and “No.”
I’m back in therapy with a new onion layer to peel, because healing comes like that, in thin opaque layers, one sting at a time.
Goodbye doormat layer…
I now get the opportunity to call “bullshit” when I am treated unkindly. I get to stand up for myself and start the painful process of developing a backbone.
Right now it’s more of a gummy bone, but it’s hardening by the minute.
And I’m not going to lie and say it’s easy for everyone to accept my new boundaries. Like I said, Tiffany’s are terrible and wonderful things and they upset the status quo.
To some degree I’ve confused spirituality and being a “good Christian woman” with being a bottomless pit. I’ve let myself believe that pastor’s wives always smile and play nice. They turn the other cheek over and over and over again… even when it’s emotionally damaging.
They don’t piss off (fill in the blank).
And what a mistake I’ve made.
Jesus called me to forgive not roll over and play dead.
I wonder how many women confuse these two concepts misinterpreting WWJD?
The more I understand emotional health AND spirituality, the more I think Jesus might knock over some tables and call people out when they behave badly.
I’m learning that my spirituality will only go as far as my emotional health and they are intertwined, for better or worse. The only thing holding me back is me.
I sense Jesus standing by my side, my biggest cheerleader, whispering to me to stay strong, to stretch myself and step out of my comfort zone.
Courage, eyes on the prize, stay in my own lane…
Big gulp…
When I read the scriptures I am reminded that Jesus was anything but a doormat. While he went to the cross, he did it with FULL cooperation and at any point he could have taken back his sacrifice. He was God after all… it’s not like he couldn’t interrupt the plot line. The cross was an intentional and dedicated act of love.
Why? Because…he valued people. He respected people and he willingly died for them.
Which begs the question…
How did I forget that I deserve to be treated with respect?
How did I forget that Jesus paid a huge ransom for me to have life and have it abundantly, not live life walking on eggshells.
Dr. Phil likes to say, “You teach people how to treat you.”
I got some work to do…
Today I’m thankful for the Tiffany’s in my life even though the truth hurts.
Sticking my head in the sand and hoping things will fix themselves is crazy—as is setting my expectations on the low side.
These days my expectations about how things should go have moved upward. My bar sits higher–it’s based on grace and truth, on what I would love to see happen, not what I wish wasn’t happening.
And that’s a recovering co-dependent’s love story to herself.
What a gift to take the chaos from within and from it create some semblance of order.–Katherine Paterson
–Samantha
