In the dictionary, next the definition of Codependent, is a picture of me.
Most of my friends are amazed at my capacity for “holding in there” in relationships that clearly hurt. They call me “strong.” Perhaps they are just being kind and avoiding calling me a dumbass.
My counselor has suggested I read Women Who Love Too Much: When You Keep Wishing and Hoping He’ll Change (which has been updated since the last time I read it) and gave me a few copied pages from it to start with.
The other evening I spent hours with a buddy laughing and sharing tales. Oh my, that felt good. He finally told me straight out he thought I was behaving like an idiot and that what I was currently doing was just like I did with my ex-hubby – pulling the Band-Aid off so slowly that every hair under the adhesive screams. (Personally, I prefer Bacon Adhesive Bandages to Band-Aids, they’re more fun.) I adore honesty. He was right. I am torturing myself; any sane, self-respecting person – upon experiencing what I have – would rip that band-aid off and run the other direction.
I have been making a conscious choice to place my perception of other’s wants and needs above my own.
If Writer truly does love me, and if he does want to make progress, make amends, and attempt to start a new relationship – HE has to be the one to make it a priority, and HE should be the one bending over to make my life less painful instead of the other way around.
I WANT to take off the sign I placed around my neck that says “Kick Me” and replace it with one that states, “You no longer have my permission to keep taking advantage of me.”
I Love me. I deserve to be treated like I am precious, because DAMMIT – I AM!