Maybe I forget how radicalized I've become in Parent Group. The last half of my memoir class, I've been writing about Parent Group issues. However, I constantly run into the 'don't get it' factor. A week or so ago, I posted the first draft of a short assignment that's supposed to be imaginary in a memoir. The piece was about receiving a 'sign' from the universe by running into a middle aged parent with a drug-using adult daughter. This woman was completely codependent and frantic, attempting to save her daughter with about every enabling behavior I could think of. Her life clearly being destroyed by unsuccessfully running after her daughter attempting to rescue her and fix thing.s Not working.
Some examples (from Internet of the Mind)
* Repeatedly bailing them out - of jail, financial problems, other "tight spots" they get themselves into
* Giving them "one more chance" - ...then another...and another
* Ignoring the problem - because they get defensive when you bring it up or your hope that it will magically go away
* Joining them in the behavior when you know they have a problem with it - Drinking, gambling, etc.,
* Joining them in blaming others - for their own feelings, problems, and misfortunes
* Accepting their justifications, excuses and rationalizations - "I'm destroying myself with alcohol because I'm depressed".
* Avoiding problems - keeping the peace, believing a lack of conflict will help
* Doing for them what they should be able to do for themselves -
* Softening or removing the natural consequences of the problem behavior
* Trying to "fix" them or their problem
* Repeatedly coming to the "Rescue"
* Trying to control them or their problem
The woman looks like hell, frantic, worried about her mind, coming over from Sequim almost every day running after her daughter.
I interpreted it as a 'sign'. Not to do this.
Was this woman 'real'? Or was it all an apparition? Who knows?
However, when I shared the piece with my small group, they all identified with the woman and felt so bad for her. They couldn't see why I would interpret the meeting as a sign that I must not end up like her. They all think that I should relate to her sympathetically.
I read it to Dennis and he didn't think that someone listening it would take this interpretation. I added a few sentences explicitly stating that I did not want to be like this parent.
I've had this experience with my other pieces. The funny parts that would bring the house down to parent group members goes over their heads. They don't see why it's funny. And this is a group that collectively has seen a lot of dysfunction and substance use in their families.
This is confounding me, I need to keep writing about it but I need to be able to get through to a general audience. I plan to read this piece at our public reading next Tuesday at the University Book Store.
Here's the edited version:
A Sign
I believe in signs. When I am in a quandary or need to consider a change in my direction, the universe might send a sign to guide me. I can't always recognize the sign right off; it might slip by me unawares, only to be discovered later. But when I do see it, I take note and try to understand its lesson.
One day in 2000, very soon after I started at Parent Group, I took my 15 year old daughter and her friend to Old Navy to shop. I told them I was going to Barnes & Noble next door and would be back in an hour.
My seventeen year old son, had just completed his court ordered drug assessment with the diagnosis of 'cannabis dependent'. I remained deep in denial, ignoring the drug-related incidents of the previous months. I still did not believe that my son was using drugs even though our household was in chaos and nothing seemed to make any sense. I didn't know what to do but I did know that I didn't want to deal with drug use. Not our family, no way.
But I had a hard time rationalizing away the drug assessment result. As I entered the bookstore, I glumly looked around for the substance abuse section. Ah, right by the new age self help books. I didn't really want to read about drugs. Truly, I was not very interested in the whole topic. But I had to step up. A good parent must not shirk.
I stood in front of the shelves of books about teen alcoholism, addiction, drug-dealing, marijuana, methamphetamines, wilderness camps, treatment options, family counseling, parenting tips etc etc. I didn't want to know more about any of this. In fact, I wanted the whole lousy business to go away. But I stared at the titles and willed myself to get with the program.
A middle aged woman bustled in, came over to the substance abuse section, and started to peruse the books. Her eyes, bloodshot and exhausted, darted over the titles. She looked at me from under her tousled steel gray hair, her face flushed and blotchy.
"Oh," she whimpered quietly with a huge sigh, " I just don't know which way to go." She turned to me, "None of this makes any sense. I don't know WHAT to do about this drug thing. My daughter just won't listen to me! Does your kid use drugs?"
I mumbled something neutral and indistinct, moving away down the aisle.
She continued, her voice becoming louder and more strident, "I am worried just sick about my daughter. She's living with this creepy drug dealer. I'm trying to get her to leave him but she just won't. I don't know what she sees in him. Even though I live in Sequim, I have to come over here almost every day to try to help her."
I really didn't want to hear her story but apparently I was not going to have much of a choice.
"I know that she's using cocaine but it might be meth by now. Maybe even NEEDLES! How would I know?" she wailed pacing up and down the drug abuse aisle. "Such a beautiful girl too. She has had every opportunity! It's not her fault. I must be there for her, to help, I must! I pay her rent, so she can get her back on her feet. But the last apartment I rented for her in Kirkland, I don't know what happened but things got busted up maybe by that nasty guy she lives with and his no count friends. And now---she's disappeared! I don't know where she is. I call and call her. I thought getting her a phone would help. But she doesn't answer. I had to come over here again. I must find her! She could be in trouble. I've got to make sure she's safe." She stops, and then starts sobbing.
I just looked at her.
She paused and straightened up, "My counselor says that I need to find a book on codependency," she muttered quietly.
No kidding, I thought. Even I could see that she was hugely codependent. Her daughter's destructive actions were destroying the mother as well.
I helped her find a book on codependency. Still sniffling, she left on her way to search for her adult daughter. Again.
I stared after her and thought about the whole encounter. That could so easily be me. Running around frantically after my son trying to solve his drug-related problems for him. Thinking I'm helping but really only encouraging his bad choices and destroying myself at the same time. It's a sign. That woman has been sent to me by the universe as a sign. A sign that shows where I must not go. I must not let my son's drug abuse run my life.
Picture taken from http://www.sethchernoff.com/spirituality/codependency-enabling-behavior-tough-love/ used without permission
No comments:
Post a Comment