**Trigger Warnings: Codependency, drug use, child loss, death, psychological abuse**
After the relationship with my child's father ended, I thought started making better life choices. It started with me moving to another state to be closer to my dad's family. My cousin, Chelsea, (who was more like my sister) delivered a stillborn baby, and after the funeral, her boyfriend (the father of her angel) dumped her. She is diabetic and has been noncompliant since diagnosis at age 12. I moved my whole life to be there for her, and she hurt me deeply with lies, deceit, sex (with multiple of my exes), and flat out insulting me. I loved her so much, and she consistently hurt me. This lasted way longer than it should have. My oldest brother, David, also lived there, and he had been away from our family for a few years. I was worried about him because of who he lived with and hung out with. When I saw him again, it seemed like he was doing really well. He was working, helping with kids in the house, doing chores for our grandparents. He was drinking a lot, but we all did. The town we lived in wasn't even a square mile, and there was just over 1,000 people who lived there. The only restaurant in town was only open when they felt like it, no movie theater or bowling alleys. There was one park, and it was "closed" during school hours and after 8 pm. There was nothing to do but drink.
After only 6 months of living there, I had to come back. It was not as I expected, and I was being exposed to people who only caused stress and anxiety. It was a totally different world for me. My mom came and picked me and my son up and brought us back home. My brother and cousin followed within 3 months. But here I was again. All alone. I tried talking to my mom about it, but there was no validation, no empathy, no advice. Just, "I told you they were crazy," and "You shouldn't have gone." I felt like no one cared except me. I got a job at a local fast food joint close to my mom's so I could walk to work. I met a few great people, some not so great.
I started to grow up and form meaningful relationships with people I worked with. I was hanging out with them outside of work, babysat their kids, added them on Facebook. I was dating a cook I worked with, and he asked me to keep it a secret for a while. He was the owner's nephew, and he had dealt with rumors and drama in the past. I agreed, and no one knew for about 4 months. But one morning our alarm didn't go off because the power went out in the middle of the night, and our phones died. When we both showed up 3 hours late at the same time in the same car, people figured it out. It did not go well. I lost friends, and I was alone again. Except this time, I had Jeremy, the love of my life, by my side.
Jeremy was the only person I wanted. He was supportive, loving, smart, funny, strong, and sensitive. He spoke to me in a respectful way that I've never experienced. He embraced me and made me feel whole. He looked at me and it felt like he could see my soul. I knew I loved him on our first date, and he I. We have been inseparable for 13 years now, and I will forever be in his arms. He saw me pour all of my love, energy, money, and time into my cousin and brother for years. He admired how much I could love people, and was inspired by the devotion I had to those I loved, but he also saw how emotionally drained I was, and knew it became very heavy for me.
Chelsea finally had a baby girl who stayed in the NICU for the first 5 months of her life. When the baby was released to go home, Chelsea moved away from her main support system and I felt like I needed to be there. for her (now them). Her health was terrible. She was so thin. She had never been thin before. I would be at the hospital 5 or 6 times a year visiting for hours for days, watching one of my favorite people fade away, and then come back. I've been told by so many doctors "She likely won't wake up, but if she does, she won't be the same. Her brain damage will be significant." When she wasn't in the hospital, I gave her money to buy food, I would watch her get drunk, I would be her ride to appointments, I saw her loose 5 more babies and held her when she was broken. She couldn't hold a job, she refused to file for disability. I would babysit for her and bathe her kid and put her in a new outfit every time she came over because Chelsea didn't have the patience or knowledge to do it herself. She made it seem like I did so much for her, and I felt like I had to.
I picked my brother up from a bus stop 4 hours away because there was a delay, and he didn't want to stay the night in the bus station. David was living with my dad for a few years, and they smoked mth together. He knew he would use if he had to stay at the bus stop until the next morning. I drove straight there after my shift, and drove until 3 am. He stayed with me for a year and a half, and I got him a job at the same restaurant I had been working at. He stayed sober the whole time. After he moved out, he never had a stable place again, and he wasn't reliable at work. He stopped showing up, and then never really kept another job. He's been homeless, stayed in a friend's camper, lived in a cargo trailer. My mom and I helped him get a studio apartment, but he never paid rent. I've taken him my leftovers, I took him to food banks, I gave him rides to the plasma center. I even drove 10 miles one way, then 15 the other an hour before I took my kids to school and went to work every day for a month so he could have a stable income. I knew he was using again, but what could I do? Whatever he needed, I tried to help. He constantly needed someone for something, and people didn't show up the way I did. I had to be his person.
But it only went one way. They did not give back to me. I sometimes would get a "Thank you," but it was more like they were just recognizing the deed, but not acknowledging the effort. They weren't available to babysit if I ever asked, they would bail on responsibilities, they would spend money they didn't have and then put their hand out to me. They criticized other family members for not being there for them. They would talk like I agreed with them. They assumed because they didn't like something, I didn't either. I guess I never spoke up when I felt differently. I felt obligated to do whatever they asked because I genuinely thought if I stopped, no one would help them, and they would likely die. They could not survive without me.
After I started therapy, I learned that giving into these relationships is going to keep me feeling heavy and depressed. So, I initiated setting boundaries with my brother and cousin. I was afraid that they would hate me, but they didn't. With Chelsea, I told her I was still able to give her rides, but only if I had a 48 hour notice. I was not going to be giving her money anymore, but I would pay for lunch if she wanted to visit. I asked her to stop tearing down our family members in front of me because I loved them. I didn't think what she said about them was true, and it wasn't fair for her to talk about them in that way. I asked her to stop tagging me in 10 Facebook posts a day and to stop telling the family about my personal life. This didn't change things much.
When "setting boundaries" with David, I have to admit, I was in a bad place. He came to the house while Jeremy and I were at work, and helped himself to hang out in the shop in our backyard. He smoked a few of my cigarettes I keep out there, and took apart one of the kids' bikes. He let his dog chew up our dogs' toys and eat their food. When I pulled into the driveway, he was sitting on the patio, and he got up and followed me in. I frustrated because I had no idea he was there, and now my evening routine was shifted because he needed to do laundry. He was in a bad mood because he hauled all his laundry into town to do at another brother's house, and when he got there, no one was home. He started talking about how they need to let him know when he can't come over, then moved on to how they parent their kids. Keep in mind, he has no children (thankfully). I snapped and told him he can't expect everyone to be available at the drop of a hat just because he decided he needed to do laundry. I also expressed that he has no room to talk about parenting when he had no experience, and if he HAD experience, he would be more understanding and less judgmental. I told him he was lucky that I was able to help, but that he needed to stop leaning on me for so much. I told him I was tired and worn out, and that helping him was more exhausting than anything else I'd ever done in my life. The only boundary that I really set was that he needed to let me know when he was going to be around so that I could mentally prepare myself for his bullshit. It was harsh, but I needed to say it.
They didn't respect my boundaries, so I stopped helping. I still tried to spend quality time with them but also limit my time. It was hard to keep ignoring their requests, so I told them if they didn't stop asking me for things that I could not give, I would cut them out of my life all together. They kept asking. So I stopped all together. I haven't talked to Chelsea in over a year. She still texts me, but I don't open them. I don't even have her number saved in my phone. I only know it's her because she uses pet names. About a month ago, my aunt (Chelsea's step mother), let me know Chelsea has been put in hospice care. In six months, she hadn't spent more that 2 days out of the hospital. She was dying. Again. I made the decision not to visit. I had already been through this so many times, and I just can't do it again (this is going to sound bad), especially if she pulled through again. This was a major reason I had to step back in the first place. She won't take care of herself, and I can't anymore. I will always love her, but I don't want to continue to watch her kill herself.
My brother came over once after our heated conversation, and it happened to be on a day that I received a mysterious package from my paternal grandmother. Our dad died in 2021, and she randomly sends his old stuff to me. She has addresses for my brothers, but she always sends me that packages. She is well aware that I didn't know that man, and I didn't like him either. Anyway, we opened the package, and it was pictures. Pictures of my dad as a child, as an adult, and pictures of his children, us. Strangely, these are pictures I recognize, and my dad was not around when they were taken. None of these pictures are online. My mom didn't send the pictures. She had a no-contact order against my dad, and she was constantly living in fear that he was watching her (and for good reason). We hid from this family for almost 20 years. And then it hit me. I turned a picture around, and saw my mom's handwriting on the back. I suddenly remembered how he got these. He broke into our house before he went to prison several times. Cops came, nothing of value was stolen or damaged. He never got caught. But I do remember once all our picture frames were empty when we got home. He always made it known he was there. Once all our furniture was rearranged. Once all the cabinet doors were opened. When I made the connection, I told David that it gave me an eerie feeling. He said he thought it was sweet. That he kept them because he loved us. I argued that he took them to psychologically manipulate our mother, but he responded with, "He could have thrown them out after that, but he kept them, and that's reassuring." After that conversation, I didn't know how to talk to my brother anymore. He was obviously delusional, and I can't fix that.
Neither of them have died (Chelsea was release from hospice). They just found other people to provide what they want. I wasn't keeping them alive. I was killing myself by attempting to make their lives better when they didn't do anything for themselves. They didn't want to change; they didn't need to make any effort in making their lives better because they rely on others to do it for them. It would have been me, but now it's someone else. Some people might think that my cousin or my brother are codependent, but the truth is, they are the takers. The giver (me) is the codependent person. The person who will literally give the last of what they have to help someone else. But not anymore.
I really learned a lot about codependency, and I feel that I am slowly backing away from it now. I do have to be careful though, because I can easily get caught up in the obligation of helping people I love when I don't have the time or mental capacity to do so. I have limited a lot of my relationships to ensure that I won't end up losing myself again, and it's been mostly good. The only downside is that sometimes I feel guilty for not doing more, but most people see the effort I give and are appreciative. No one thinks I'm not doing enough for them. They are just happy that I wanted to help. I am learning that I am my own worst critic. It's okay to give a little, but not your whole self. I remember hearing the analogy, "You can't pour into another's cup if your cup is empty. Only pour into those cups who pour back into you." I really feel this. It's not that you don't want to help, it's that you can't help but help, and it's killing you.
Try to identify the areas/people/habits that you devote so much to and set a boundary that feels healthy to you. The hard part is sticking to it and enforcing the consequences, but I promise you the outcome is not as scary as it seems it will be. I have set boundaries with several people since, and it was not once as bad as I made it in my head. Turns out, they don't need you as much as they want you to think. Removing yourself from situations that don't serve you is the first step to a brighter path. I'll leave you this time with one of my favorite quotes by Robert Tew: "Respect yourself enough to walk away from anything that no longer serves you, grows you, or makes you happy."
Codependency | Psychology Today