I’m a Believer Who Struggles With...

I started going to a church support group so that I can work on my long-standing relationship issues and my jaw-dropping ability to attract drama (and some not-so- good-for-me-people) into my life.

I could have gone to any number of share groups.  The Love and Relationship Addiction  class fits my bill.  The Hurt, Habits and Hang-ups class, likewise.  But, for some reason, on that first night I went to the Co-dependency group and I’ve stayed there for weeks now. 

Every attempt at sharing on my part has been difficult.  I think it’ll be easy.  After all, we only get 3-5 minutes to talk and we can even say “Pass” if we’d like.  But, I wanted to share because I know it’s part of my healing.

It’s hard.  I feel naked.  Exposed.  Vulnerable.

It’s just that I’m not used to sharing my feelings.  In true co-dependent fashion, I have always been an “Everything’s great!” kind of person.  You know, a Stepford Wife.  If anyone gets too close to finding out the truth- that nothing is great- I shut them out.

The night I shared about my divorce was a big one.  It was my third week and I really didn’t feel completely safe yet.  I, however, realized that “completely safe” could take years (maybe decades), and I don’t have that kind of time.  So I shared anyway. 

My husband and I had been separated for months and I had known about him filing for weeks, but somehow saying it out loud to a group of women who I hoped might not reject me made me cry.  I couldn’t even look at them when I was talking because it made me get into that high-pitch, blubbering sob-talk that no one can understand.  So, I stared at the floor and spilled my guts in a somewhat comprehensible manner.

Then I was done and they thanked me for sharing my story.

How nice: no advice, no hugs, no sad looks of pity, no questions, no fixing.  Then, the next person started her turn and I was relieved that I hadn’t said “Pass.”

I can’t remember exactly what the next four people said because I was stuck in some kind of post-traumatic shock coma, sniffling and trying to keep the waterworks from my eyes from soaking my t-shirt.  (Um, warning to those of you who are also about to take the vulnerability plunge yourselves: That first dose is surprisingly difficult.)

Ah, but I am so ready to move on.  This is right where I need to be.