Mckenzie Brown - Walking on Eggshells: Living with Psychological Abuse and Codependency

Walking
on
Eggshells

Living with Psychological Abuse and Codependency

Mckenzie Brown

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Copyright 2012 Mckenzie Brown.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4669-5054-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-5053-5 (e)

Trafford rev. 07/28/2012

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Contents

You, who have sat alone in silent fear, the one who has kept the secrets of a loved one in order to do damage control. The one who escaped into their own cocoon, hoping the world would stop and make tomorrow a different day. The person who second-guesses everything they say or do for fear of rocking that dreaded boat. The one who works tirelessly to protect everyone but has no one to protect yourself.

Codependency means, said one woman,
that I am a caretaker.

I remember the first time I was told I was codependent as if it were yesterday. The room was dimly lit, with a drab sofa on one side and a small desk on the other. I was meeting my counselor for the first time, trapped inside the Calgary Womens Emergency Shelter. I argued with the counselor, explaining that I depended on no one. Everyone depended on me.

How had I ended up in such a place? I asked myself a thousand times. I was educated and had a high income. I travelled the world. I had loving parents. I raised four wonderful children. I owned a beautiful home and the perfect car. I was a good person.

I quickly learned that I wasnt a very good person to myself. Amidst those four dingy walls, my life was about to change forever. I quickly learned that being the caretaker was not always the best idea. That concept seemed so bizarre to me as I had been doing damage control from a young age on, always trying desperately to help my father and brother get along. That was my first recollection of being the caregiver, and that began in my preschool years. I could give you a list of my caretaking abilities that are a mile long, but I wont put you through it.

I was forty-two and found myself at rock bottom and had nowhere to turn except inside myself. I needed help, and I had for years; it just took this place for me to find it.

I want to share the story of how I ended up in that little space. Im not sharing it out of vengeance or to try and redeem myself. Im sharing this to help those who have walked that lonely marathon too. It felt like the chaos would never go away. I felt like dying. Out of that tiny counselors room came a new light and, with that, a whole new life, but no one could have made me believe it the morning I stepped inside.

A year discussing my childhood and my present led me to understand how my life had gone from pink to black. More than that, it taught me how to go back to pink and far beyond. Without that time, I fear I would still be living in the dark chaotic world I had called my life, or perhaps I would have died.

My goal for this book is that it will be placed in the hands of every man or women entering a protective shelter. I really wish someone could have handed this to me the first day those cold steel doors crashed behind me. If youre that person, I want you to know you arent alone, and this isnt your fault. I want you to understand that you cant help anyone until you help yourself. Most of all, I want you to see that life can be joyful againa word that I had forgotten the meaning to at that time.

The sun was shining, and it was beautiful when I met him,
then everything went crazy!

January 2008. It was cold winter day. Too cold to be outside, so I was bored. The house was clean, and there was nothing on TV. I wandered around my home in my flannel Macs, wondering what to do. I just wanted to find something to do to get myself out of the pity party that had set in. My children were at their dads, so I was all alone. I got this big idea to do an online dating profile. I had been divorced for several years and played the dating field, but I had not allowed myself to get very serious with anyone. So I thought Id throw myself into the dating pool and see if God would send me a husband. That afternoon, even a buddy to hang out with would have been fun.

I must have gotten twenty-five e-mails the first day. The attention sure felt good. Having a good picture can really help with that. It was fun checking out the profiles and seeing what was available. A few of the guys that wrote me were pretty good-looking. I was impressed and wasted the next couple days glued to my computer, screening for potential dates.

I got an e-mail from this guy that wasnt very attractive, but his profile description intrigued me. It was about four paragraphs describing him as the ultimate giver. Being the good little codependent that I am, I was impressed. I felt like I had been the giver my whole life, and it would be nice if someone would give to me for a change (not that the codependent in me would have ever given anyone a chance to give to me, but I had high hopes). In so many of my past relationships, I had been the one doing the work and paying the bills. So even though I wasnt at all attracted to the man claiming to be a giver, I gave him my msn user name.

Ive always been pretty quick-witted, so he seemed to enjoy my jokes and smart-aleck remarks. I have to admit, I was chatting with about twelve different guys, and this one was the least attractive. He told me he was a personal trainer, and that impressed me too. Twenty years earlier, I had been really into fitness, working for a major sports team in my city. I had also just gotten back into the gym after taking a year off to recover from surgery and to eat nachos.

I had spent the summer before traipsing around Europe with my then eleven-year-old daughter Mandy and my amazing mother. We found some really great exercise machines there, and I was trying to have them built in China so I could sell them at home in Canada. Having another personal trainers opinion on my plan seemed like good business sense, or I probably wouldnt have continued talking with him. He and I chatted and e-mailed throughout the day for a couple weeks.

I had been busy out meeting the good-looking ones on my list and didnt give my trainer much effort. Hed asked me out for coffee a few times, but I was never available because, like I said, I wasnt attracted to him, and in our e-mails, he didnt seem like the sharpest sandwich at the picnic. He had also told me that he was from Quebec. Growing up on a farm in Alberta, it was a God-given right of a conservative farmers daughter to distrust anyone from Quebec. So before we met, he had seVernal points against him.

The phone rang early January 25. It was my personal trainer confirming our date for brunch. I had totally forgotten. Considering the fact that I had spent twelve hours dancing in four -inch heels the night before, who could blame me? I was out living the good life, and there might have been some red wine involved too.

I explained to him that brunch was out of the question. I looked like hell and felt worse. I wasnt going anywhere besides my comfy bed. He called back at noon and wanted to meet at a coffee shop near my home. I remember thinking Jeez, buddy, go away. I explained once again that I looked like crap and wanted to stay in. He told me that he wasnt coming to see how I looked as he had seen my picture and knew I could make myself look good, but he wanted to meet me and see what I was like on the inside. OK, so I was impressed. He told me to throw on a ball cap and just go have coffee. I cant believe I agreed, but I did just that! Typically, I would have spent an hour on my hair and makeup and slipped into something cute, but not for this date. I threw my hair into a ponytail and donned my favorite Boston Red Sox cap. To top it all off, I had to wear my daughters winter boots because my feet hurt so bad from my night of dancing I couldnt get into my own. I was a sight but really didnt care. I was only planning to ask him if he knew what VibePlates were anyway.