'Will I Always Be Codependent?'

Dear Polly, I have written you two letters over the last ten years, and every time the act alone gave me some peace of mind. I am, too, a helpless cliché, but since you embrace us, I’m writing again. Five years ago, I met my now ex-partner. I was five years into living in a new country, and had gone through a lot of growth. I had ended a long-term relationship I felt constricted in, moved in with friends and had the time of my life, had a major friend break-up just when the pandemic started, realized the career I was in didn’t work for me, and got way too invested in a series of situationships while pretending not to want anything serious. I had such highs, but also such lows. I realized that I was very codependent and anxious, and I did a lot of work to love myself better and feel comfortable alone. I was ready to get started with life and own my desires. I made a few bold choices: move to a different living arrangement, get back to university to start a new career, and date in a new, regulated way. I quickly met a new romantic partner, and did all the things I’d never done before: spaced out our first dates to not get too invested too quickly, communicated early and clearly what I wanted from a relationship, told him when I was frustrated by his behavior, gave him time to show me what kind of person he was in ambiguous situations. I felt safe, loved, and cared for, and started believing again that a long-term relationship could be fun and sustainable. But he is struggling with severe depression, and three years into our relationship he began gradually pulling away from everyone in his life. He was incapable of imagining a future for himself, let alone with me, and became more and more avoidant. The dynamic between us veered increasingly codependent. He was very good at being there for me from a distance, texted me every day, was always available for a phone call, but didn’t show up for dates we had planned because he had fallen asleep, told me often he was spending time with me to please me, because he almost always wanted to be alone, and even then, was often self-absorbed and miserable. I was careful not to show too much frustration or hurt, afraid that he would clam up and that would ruin the few moments we spent together, and aware that I couldn’t understand the pain he was going through. From time to time, he would feel better and I could see a glimpse of the man and the relationship I had fallen in love with. A few months ago, he pushed me to the edge and I broke up on a whim, after two years of hoping he would get better and things would not only return to normal but keep progressing. It is definitely the right decision, but God, is it painful. I miss him a lot, even though I’m hopeful we can, one day, be friends. He is a great person. Mostly I miss the hope, the safety, and the excitement that this relationship used to give me, which I believed could return. I felt such intense relief that I had met him, that I was finally in a safe, loving, exciting partnership. The way it crashed down and caused my old codependent patterns to flare up really frightens me. I am scared I’ll never manage to be in a healthy, committed relationship, and the world feels so lonely and unsafe since the break-up. This didn’t happen in a vacuum: My new career is at a standstill. I’m still working in the same old job I tried to put behind me. I know I’ve learned, grown, and made progress in the last five years, but here I am, older, single, still working a job I don’t want to work. It’s hard not to feel like I’m unable to get where I want to go. It’s also become crystal clear that I was investing so much energy taking care of him and trying to salvage this relationship that I let myself down. I’ve got friends, hobbies, projects, but nothing feels exciting without this relationship in the picture, and I don’t know how to start feeling whole again, at ease in a life that feels big and secure and beautiful, and where I am my own center of gravity. I guess what I am asking is, how do I find myself again when I am so vulnerable and life feels so grim? How can I build up faith that a loving and committed partnership is possible for me, after seeing how this beautiful relationship turned sour after a few years and how quickly I can lose myself? Way Off-Center Dear WOC, Getting lost by surrendering to fantasies about our brighter, better futures is a constant temptation for all of us these days. If you’ve ever cared too much about someone who was half-absent, if you’ve ever committed to an impressive job that you should’ve run away from, if you’ve ever been addicted or obsessed or fixated or filled with escapist longing — and who hasn’t? — there is always a chance, no matter how beautiful your life is, that you’ll trip and fall back into a delusional hole or get swept up by a self-deceptive tornado or leap into a seductive but ultimately imaginary abyss. When you want a LOT out of this life, and you tell very good stories about how you’re improving and things are getting better and everything is about to be amazing, you are going to LOSE YOURSELF over and over again. But being lost is actually the good part. Because when you wake up and stop following random trails of breadcrumbs and you notice that you’re somewhere new and scary that you’ve never been before? And reality was different than you imagined? And now you’re on your own and the woods are getting darker and darker and you blame yourself for this and you want someone to come and save you from it? That’s when you learn a lot very quickly. The most important thing you learn is HOW TO TOLERATE THIS MOMENT. Yes, this one. How to breathe and open your eyes and exist without piping despairing stories into your head. How to feel your sadness. How to step outside and look at the trees and feel flat and empty and uncertain. But let’s go back to everything that went wrong for you, because right now you’re tempted to feel ashamed and sick and embarrassed about how you landed here yet again, and that’s making your storytelling mind buzz and whir and grind its gears: Did you notice how I blended up all of the obvious mistakes (codependence, fantasy, delusion) with a lot of things that are supposed to be good for you (self-improvement, optimism, building your own bulletproof religion, self-trust)? I did that because that’s how it feels to be a sensitive, thoughtful person who cares a lot about building a great life — and is willing to say so and make big moves and change bad habits. You’re so intense about what you want that you work very, very hard around the clock to FIX what feels a little off, what doesn’t quite fit, what isn’t quite right yet. That constant, slightly neurotic, slightly anxious FIXING — fixing not just your own problems but also trying to fix everyone else’s — is what makes a codependent. It’s what makes a person prone to fantasy and obsession. But it also makes a person ambitious and successful. It’s what makes a human active and charming and socially adept and assertive and rapacious. The problem with constant fixing and striving and polishing your behavior and telling newer, better, more optimistic stories about where you’re headed — all seemingly healthy things! — is that you often start to confuse the difficult, exhausting work you’re doing with healthy, fulfilling work. You also start to confuse your anxious stories that focus on set outcomes (“My partner will feel better and learn to have fun with me and commit to building a future together!”) with not just hope, but present happiness. For a long time there, you were engaged in a battle that was entirely focused on an imaginary fixed point when all of the suspense of the present would be resolved. Your story about that future — a set outcome that was so compelling that you were willing to ignore your emotions and your body and the drab realities of your day-to-day life in pursuit of it — was keeping you going. You were running on empty but your head…