Releasing Control

The last night I attended Authentic Portland, which has been my beloved community for nearly two years, I died. From the moment the facilitator struck the gong and said our lives would end at the close of the evening, I was completely absorbed in the game. I was already feeling vulnerable – a little tired, hungry, and sad – like a snail or a clam without its shell. But the clarity that suddenly swept over me left me feeling flexible and strong. I had no time to waste on pretense or pretending to be what I wasn’t. There was nothing I could do to control the outcome or resolve all of my long-term challenges.  I knew who I needed to talk to, what I needed to say, and the rest of the time I simply waited quietly, anticipating the delicious thrill and liberating relaxation of dissolving into the other world.

Coming to terms over the last few weeks with my relationship addiction, I have begun to face the role that control has played in my life. I grew up in an environment of volatile repressed emotion, where rules were not clear in advance and both support and consequences were inconsistent. According to Robin Norwood in Women Who Love Too Much, children in such environments of chaos and tension often use denial and control to cope. My emotional survival relied on my ability to control my own behavior to receive affection and avoid punishment, and to control the resentment, shame, and cynicism that I found distressing in others through fulfilling my role as lovable comic relief and counselor. This all relied on my denial that my task was impossible to accomplish. I found reliable relief beginning at age five in masturbation and crushes on boys. There I could flood my system with endorphins and fantasize from a safe distance about how these boys could make me feel. My mother was appalled by my behavior, which was never discussed or punished openly. What I felt viscerally as her helpless distress over what soothed me translated into a deep sense of shame in my longings and mistrust of my body.

Like so many others, I took the strategies I learned in my family into the wider world. I sought out friends whose parents were overtly abusive so that I could be the one to nurture and counsel them from my misguided assumption that I was healthier than they were. I was rewarded by becoming the target of their grief and rage and helplessness. I was drawn to men who gave me a sense of control because I was able to comfort and entice them, while keeping them at a comfortable distance necessitated by what I recognized were issues with their lifestyles, ages, locations, abusive tendencies, and sometimes even the simple fact that I wasn’t very attracted to them. My life became a chaotic cyclical drama of longing, anxiety, criticism, resentment, and heart-break as I chased the familiar highs of attraction and debilitating grief of withdrawal. I also found that my knack for anticipating and resolving systemic problems and interpersonal conflict made me a valuable employee. I exerted what control I had over creating a work environment that would minimize unanticipated events, conflicts, criticism, and failure, but never felt truly supported, valued, or secure.

My inability to successfully turn any of my relationships or jobs into what I needed them to be just made me accept more responsibility and work even harder. Energy drained from my spiritual and creative life, leaving me increasingly vulnerable. My marriage deteriorated into mutual resentment and blame, my food and alcohol abuse resurfaced and intensified, and I fantasized more and more often about leaving despite feeling emotionally dependent on my husband.  I took on a board presidency to create organizational change while working full-time with an agency that was unresponsive to my efforts to advocate for the program I ran. After a series of short and intense relationships following my divorce, my traditionally solid health gradually deteriorated – despite my attempts to control my sleep, diet, and exercise – into abdominal pain, migraines, fatigue, anxiety, digestive issues, regular flus and a series of car accidents. It wasn’t until chronic vaginal inflammation destroyed any potential for a relationship to soothe me that I was willing to do whatever it took to heal. A year later, I am amazed at how that act of surrender took me from sexual abstinence to quitting alcohol to eliminating all addictive foods until I was sober enough to see how crazy my next attempt to date made me feel. Luckily, I already had a great support network and an amazing counselor who gave me the strength to admit to myself that I had a problem.

Robin Norwood writes that a disease is progressive in nature, with specific symptoms and treatments that work across a population of those affected. I see how my addiction became progressively worse as I continued to cling in every area of my life to the same methods of control that were creating my problems, numbing myself so that I could date, work, live, and even marry in places that were unhealthy for me while believing I was content. Now, the effort I exert is all in the service of sobriety. My diet is carefully monitored to keep my body and mind healthy and clear, and I continue to choose to live alone so that I can rely on a routine of quiet study, reflection, and meditation. I have begun daily relaxation exercises from my new pelvic floor physical therapist, who explained that the chronic tension I hold in my body puts pressure on the nerves in my pelvic bowl, creating the pain I have continued to experience despite a clean bill of health.

And just this week, I built my first altar in seven years for Kristen Roderick’s on-line course on The Ground of Waiting, which has brought a welcome foundation of spirituality back to my life. The first night I contemplated by candle light all the items I had gathered, watching a thin travel of smoke climb from the stick of incense, and a profound sense of stillness, ease, and gratitude nestled into me. I was struck by the mysterious sense of perfection and benevolent interconnection I found in the symbolism of the items I had gathered, and in my journey toward recovery. What I had thought was the Universe testing me with adversity was simply its gentle and supportive attempt to nudge me towards greater health and comfort. I still have no vision for my future career or relationship, but I know that what matters most is staying healthy and clear – not being in control, not being perfect, not being liked or even getting a pay check. The only thing that saved me from the literal death that awaits so many addicts is the grace of the love in my life – the love of friends and family, and the mysterious source of love I have always felt within me.

After speaking to everyone I wanted to say “goodbye” to during the Authentic Portland game night, I sat quietly and at peace, ready to die. As I waited, a young woman, flushed and breathless, plopped down on a pillow in front of me. She said that everything I had shared with the group had resonated with her and she felt drawn to me. As we exchanged stories that began to intertwine in shared pain and determination, I felt a wave of emotion rise in me accompanied by a fresh realization. I had acted for no one but myself. I was totally grounded and free from theatrics, and yet I was not over-looked or forgotten. Friendship and a sense of belonging had come to me, and I had been of service to another, through nothing more than my simple act of showing up in the world with my truth, my needs, and my open, ready heart. No peace I have experienced comes close to the peace of living no one’s life but mine, of knowing I am part of a community of people who are watching everything we have known die around us and are taking tentative, uncertain yet inspired steps towards creating a more beautiful world inside of ourselves. I do not need to know. I do not need to be in charge. I can let this act of living be like that college care package I would leave unopened for a week, reveling in the anticipation of something being offered to me with love, something wonderful that I have yet to unwrap.

Nancy

“May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back.” – Rilke