Codependent No More Workbook (4 page)
Read Codependent No More Workbook Online
Authors: Melody Beattie
Some people don’t understand the concept of
doing their recovery work for themselves.
They think that the key to their change is something that a therapist, group
leader, treatment center, or book holds. While the Steps may lead us to do certain activities that help, the magic only happens when a person does his or her own work by digging deeply inside him- or herself.
Whether we’re talking about a career, a relationship, or our recovery, we get what we want by investing our time and energy, and by giving of ourselves. The Baby Boomer codependents are becoming aware that because people live longer now, they need to continue recreating their lives instead of passively waiting for whatever comes.
“I read
Codependent No More
over twenty years ago, when it first came out,” a woman said. “Recently, I took it out. It’s time to read and remember it again.”
You’re wiser than you think. You don’t need rules. Forget about therapeutic correctness. You’ll know if codependency is an issue that’s affecting you. You’ll also know which behaviors to work on, which Steps to work, and when. If you don’t, ask yourself or your Higher Power what to do and when to do it. That behavior—asking for guidance—is one of the Steps.
One behavior leads into and helps create another. We’re either getting better or, because codependency is progressive, getting worse. Whether we’re creating a downward or upward spiral of recovery is up to us.
If we’ve worked on our codependent behaviors for a while, they may be more subtle than in the beginning, but they can still cause pain. Our controlling and manipulation may be more refined. We may not know how much we’re repressing until we begin consciously working on becoming aware of our emotions, either for the first time or again.
If we’ve been recovering for a while, we may have raised the bar to what we’ll tolerate as an acceptable level of sanity and serenity in our lives. The level of drama we lived with before may not be appropriate for us now. Setting limits and creating a recovery plan is up to us.
The bottom line is, we get out of anything what we put into it. If we want a life that works, one that is interesting and real, one that we’re passionate about, then we need to get out of our numb, passive state and put energy into self-care. We need to do the work, and that includes working the Steps.
They’re the stairs that lead to life.
Activity
- Ask yourself these questions, and then answer honestly. Work with the affirmations that follow them, as instructed, until the answer to each question is an unreserved yes.
- Are you willing to feel uncomfortable at times, when you grow and change?
- Are you willing to feel emotions, including pain and fear? Many therapists agree that if a behavior doesn’t feel uncomfortable, and we don’t feel fearful about doing it, it means we’re not doing anything new. It’s the same old thing.
- Are you willing to work the Steps both ways—by working through them at least once, thoroughly, and then learning to use them as daily living tools?
- Are you willing to work hard on yourself, possibly for a long time—as long as it takes to recover “full circle” or completely?
- Are you willing to feel uncomfortable at times, when you grow and change?
- Read the following affirmations at least twice a day. At least once daily, read them out loud. Consider photocopying them and carrying them with you as a reminder of your commitment to recovery and yourself.
I’m okay with being uncomfortable and sometimes feeling emotional pain as part of my healing process. I’m committed to continuing with my recovery despite how I feel and any uncomfortable emotions that come up.
I’m willing to feel all my feelings, understanding that surrendering to, feeling, and then releasing them is what true happiness is.
I’m okay with taking as much time as I need to change any behaviors and replace them with healthy options that help me love and take care of myself.
I’m okay with letting go of my old survival behaviors. I don’t need them now. I’m okay with acquiring and practicing new behaviors that will help me address challenges, issues, and problems in a new way, one that helps me thrive.
I understand that I’m not being singled out or picked on because of the problems, lessons, and challenges that appear on my path or by having emotions I need to feel. I know and trust I’m being shaped into a healthy person who understands the meaning of true happiness and knows how to love others and myself.
I understand that the way to getting and keeping a life is by working the Twelve Steps, first going through them slowly and thoroughly, then later using them as daily living tools.
I understand that changing can require hard work, and it’s work that I need to do myself. I’m willing to work as hard as needed.
I’ll put as much energy into doing the work it takes to change as I’ve put into hanging onto old unhealthy ways. I know if I do that I’ll succeed. I also understand and am okay with the idea that I can’t do the work for anyone besides me.
My recovery and self-care is my responsibility and my job.
It’s okay to put my well-being first sometimes. I won’t get hooked into perfectionism but I’ll do my best. When I’ve done that, I’ll let go and let God do the rest.
I’m willing to stay with recovery until I can give in healthy ways, love and nurture others and myself, and completely release a victim self-image.
When you feel like you understand to the best of your ability the information in this lesson, and you can read the affirmations without feeling any resistance, you’re ready to move forward to the next lesson. Listen to and trust yourself, and you’ll know when it’s time. This is an experiential workbook. The act of going through it and making choices is part of the healing process itself.
Now, put down the workbook. Go out and do something you want to do. Work hard, pray hard, and learn to have fun.
Recognizing Your Teachers
“Another reason codependency is called a disease
is because it is progressive.
As the people around us become sicker,
we may begin to react more intensely.”
—Codependent No More
Suggested reading: “A Brief History” in chapter 3, “Codependency”
STEP ONE: We admitted we were powerless over others—that our lives had become unmanageable.
—from the TWELVE STEPS OF CO-DEPENDENTS ANONYMOUS
T
he exact wording of this Step changes slightly from program to program. We can also change it in our head if we need to, so it makes sense and applies to whatever person, substance, or behavior we’re trying unsuccessfully to control.
Fill in the blank below so it relates to your current situation and makes sense to you.
We admitted we were powerless over ________________________
—that our lives had become unmanageable.
Here’s one Double Winner’s story of how she worked Step One. Respecting the anonymity tradition of Twelve Step programs, I’m leaving out the name. It’s the experience that matters. Try to let down your guard and any resistance that arises.
Don’t look for the differences, look for the similarities,
suggests one Twelve Step saying. Look for what you have in common with the people whose stories you’ll read throughout this book.
“THE LEGAL SYSTEM ORDERED my first exposure to the Twelve Steps. I’d been using alcohol and drugs since age twelve. Looking back, I was a full-blown alcoholic by the time I turned thirteen. I blacked out, lost control of when I drank, how much I drank, and what I did when I drank. During blackouts, I’d walk, talk, and look as if I were fully conscious. But the next day, I couldn’t recall anything about what happened. I didn’t know who I’d been with, but even worse, I didn’t know what I’d done. One thing I knew: What I did wasn’t good. I became filled with shame and remorse.
“I switched to drugs when I turned seventeen. I used and then abused pills, then cocaine, morphine, heroin. At first I refused to shoot drugs. Within a year, if I could get it into a syringe, I’d shove it into my veins. Despite alcoholism and addiction, I graduated on the City Honor Roll. The world didn’t know much about addiction and alcoholism then. Everyone, including me, knew something was wrong with me. But nobody could name my problem or tell me how to solve it. They said I should straighten up and behave. What they and I didn’t know is that not only did I not know how—I had already completely lost control.
“I hadn’t told anyone that I’d been repeatedly sexually abused since age eleven. I didn’t understand sexual abuse, or what it meant. I knew men that I should have been able to trust did things to me that made me feel badly about myself, but I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about it. I didn’t know how to communicate. Besides, I thought I brought it on myself.
“My mom had divorced my dad when I was a toddler. My brother and sisters, all older than I am, ran away long ago, escaped, moved out of the house. I had watched family members physically abuse them. The scenes horrified me then. They still do now when I remember them. I escaped physical abuse because of heart problems. As a
baby, I spent a year in the hospital. During grade school, doctors ordered me to bed rest for a year. Then the doctors confined me to bed again for a year during high school. Totally removing me from all social contact negatively impacted the few social skills I had.
“I didn’t know how to talk to people. I didn’t have friends. I didn’t understand feelings. All I knew was that I didn’t feel good unless I drank or used drugs. Alcohol made me feel warm and good enough. Drugs made me feel more peaceful about being alive. Drugs soon became my reason to live. From hearing my mother say that she should have aborted me, and because of the other harmful incidents that happened to me, I concluded that I should never have been born. I didn’t have the courage to commit suicide, although I made a few attempts. But I knew if I kept using drugs the way I did, I wouldn’t live a long life.
“After many arrests for possession of narcotics, a judge sentenced me to treatment when I was in my early twenties. By then, I didn’t have any veins left. Shooting drugs had become hard work. I became confined by state order to a state hospital’s chemical dependency treatment unit. The program consisted of a community group who visited the hospital weekly to put on an AA meeting. I also attended morning lectures, a weekly one-hour session with my counselor, and a weekly therapy group where we were supposed to talk about our feelings.
“During the AA meetings, I made fun of the recovering alcoholics. The posters they set up on the stage were the same posters tacked on the walls in my cottage. They listed something called the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. I didn’t have a clue what these Steps were talking about.
“All I knew is that I wanted to get high, and I did whenever I could even though I was in treatment, and if I got caught I would be sent to prison for up to five years. Although I’d overdosed and almost died four times, I thought I controlled my drug using. I believed I chose to get high. Before the last arrest—the one that resulted in the judge ordering me to treatment—I’d been burglarizing drugstores with my boyfriend. I didn’t see any of my behaviors as crazy. Everything I did made sense to me.
“Treatment slowed down my use of drugs. I either drank or used drugs daily before going there. Now I was lucky if I could get alcohol or drugs once or twice a week. Then what I got wasn’t much or very good. The stupor I’d been in for twelve years slowly began to lift. Something began changing inside me. Looking back, I can see now that I began feeling again. I was coming back to life.
“About three months into treatment, my probation officer called and said he’d be there early the next morning. Shortly after he called, I scored some speed. They were the strongest drugs I’d been able to get since getting there. I got enough to keep me high for a week, and I had enough sense to realize I shouldn’t use anything until after my probation officer left the next morning. Not only had I begun feeling again, a small amount of rational thought returned.
“I went to bed about nine that night after hiding the drugs in my closet. I couldn’t fall asleep. The drugs kept calling my name. Finally I took one pill and went back to bed.
How stupid,
I thought.
One pill won’t do any good.
I took another one. Fifteen minutes later, I took two more. By midnight I’d taken every pill I had. I couldn’t stop myself. Then I laid there bug-eyed, amped on amphetamines. I watched the hands on the clock spin around. By six a.m., I hadn’t closed my eyes. Now it was time to get up. My probation officer would soon arrive.
“I felt terrified of getting caught.
What was I thinking of? I could go to jail for this,
I thought.
I’m not controlling drugs. They’re controlling me.
For the first time since I started drinking and using drugs, I saw the truth. If I took one pill, I couldn’t stop using drugs until they were completely gone.
“The first words on those posters ran through my mind.
I’m powerless over alcohol and drugs and my life is unmanageable.
Now I understood. This Step described me and my loss of control.
“I made it through the meeting with my probation officer without getting caught, but I still felt overwhelmed with fear. For the first time ever, I wanted to stop drinking and using drugs, but I didn’t know how to stop. I hadn’t prayed in years, since I had started drinking. But
as soon as my probation officer left, I looked at the ceiling. ‘God, I don’t know if You’re there and You care,’ I whispered. ’But if You are and You do, and if there’s a program that will help me stop using, please help me get it. Thank You. Amen.’
“Nothing happened. I felt helpless, hopeless, and depressed. I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to go to prison. Three days later, someone handed me a joint—marijuana. I couldn’t say no. I went outside to smoke it. Instead of getting high, something strange happened. I didn’t just feel God’s presence. I knew He was real. Instead of feeling entitled to getting high, I knew I had no right to keep doing what I’d been doing.
If I put half as much energy into doing the right thing as I’ve put into getting high, there isn’t much I can’t do,
I thought, taking one more hit off the joint. I snuffed it out, and then went inside the cottage and hurled myself into recovery with all the passion I’d put into getting high.
“I used once more in treatment, at a party. When someone handed me a bottle of whiskey, I automatically lifted the bottle to my lips and took a drink. Something strange happened again. Instead of getting that usual warm feeling in my stomach, I felt overwhelmed with guilt. I felt so guilty that in group the next day I told my counselor what I’d done, even though telling the truth could send me to prison. I hadn’t had a conscience for years.
“I confessed, and with deep remorse, said I knew I had to begin my sobriety over. I felt worse about that than I did about the possibility of going to jail. My counselor asked if I’d learned anything from what I did. I said I learned that I couldn’t go around people who were using or drinking because if I did, I’d have a slip. I’d relapse and begin using again. Besides, something had ruined my using. I didn’t feel high. I felt guilt.
“‘Then what you did doesn’t sound like a mistake,’ my counselor said. ‘It sounds like you learned an important lesson. You don’t need to start over,’ she said. ‘Keep moving forward.’ Thank God for that woman. She helped change the course of my life.
“It excites me now to look back at when I ‘got’ the First Step, but at the time I didn’t feel excited. I felt depressed. Now I understand that I needed to feel that way before I could go where I went next. Those feelings prepared me. Taking the First Step meant moving out of denial and finally telling the truth to myself about what using alcohol and drugs did to my life.”