Where is the line?
I’m not sure why, but I am fascinated with the show “Intervention.” Truth be told, drugs and alcohol frighten me to a degree such that I’ve never indulged in the former in any way (I might be the only living person over 20 who has never smoked pot), and rarely indulge in the latter. So I’m not really sure why the show speaks to me like it does. It is what it is.
Yet something one of the intervention therapists said on a recent show really struck home for me. He was talking about co-dependency, which is a term I hadn’t heard since college, when a friend bought the book Co-Dependent No More and had us all read it. It was probably my first exposure to self-help books, and to this day I chuckle when I remember how each of us (myself included) in our circle felt the book was written for her, about her.
Basically, what I realized – after hearing the therapist talk about how a co-dependent person’s good days and bad days are based on someone else’s good and bad days – is that I am way too wrapped up in C. My mood is almost completely dependent on his. If he is cranky, I am worried. If he is sick, I am a wreck. If he is happy, I am too.
This is not good.
I work, with the full support and encouragement of Husband, from home. Part time. While C is at school. I drop him off and pick him up every day. It’s not because I desperately want to do this, although I do enjoy it. Seeing C’s little face light up when he sees me and watching him run toward me with gleeful abandon makes my whole day. Still, I’m not one of the Moms who live and breathe their children and have yearned for the parenting job from the time they were mothering their dollies at four years old (you know, the Moms that have personalized license plates that read “SCCRMOM” or “MOMOF4”). It’s more because we feel it’s what C needs from me. It’s what we chose. It’s what I do. I don’t know any other way, and apparently it has consumed me whole.
So where do I go from here? Frankly, I’m not really sure. I have carved out things for myself; I read, I write, and I watch “Intervention,” among other things. Yet it’s not enough. I need some emotional distance, which is something I’m not really sure how to go about securing. All the kids already call me “C’s Mom,” because of course that’s all I am to them. I have a feeling that I’d better figure it out quickly, before that’s all I become to myself as well.