Working at Perfekt

For the last few days, I’ve been working on Step 4, which cleverly leads to Step 5.

• Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves
• Admit to God (there HE is again), ourselves, and another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

No big deal, right?

Yeah.  I’ve been dreading these buggers since I first saw them, sniveling and cowering down the page from the quite helpful and good-feeling-generating Steps 1-3.  If there’s anything I am most assuredly NOT good at, it’s looking honestly at myself, with no filters in place, finding some of that dark stuff that doesn’t generate the good feelings, and then…admitting to HP (that’s “Higher Power.”  Or Harry Potter, depending on the day), myself (who?) and…gulp…another human being when I’ve made a teensy error in judgment.

The workbook I have gave a template of sorts that could be used to make a chart for the moral inventory, along with some pre-printed behaviors, actions, thoughts, etc. that might spark some searching and fearless…searching, I suppose.  And if there’s anything I love, it’s making charts and using my favorite pen to fill them in.  So far so good.  Then, I started getting into the meat of the thing.  If taken seriously, looking at oneself with this kind of scrutiny feels uncomfortable at best, horrifying at worst.

Now, I’m afraid that I’m not quite transparent enough to list all my foibles here for general consumption.  Let’s just say that I’m facing up to some things about myself and my behaviors that range from embarrassing to gut-wrenching in intensity.  I’m way too dependent on others for establishing my value as a human being.  I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of the victim/martyr complex – I’ve mentioned that here before.  That one’s tricky, because, yeah…autism happened and it sucks.  But I digress.  I have way too many crazy kinds of “beliefs” about myself that don’t really bear up under factual examination – but the thing about beliefs is that sometimes you have some that don’t make any sense at all, and yet…you still act on them as if they’re law.  I’m finding it’s okay to question them. 

I could go on, but I’ll spare all of us from my laundry list of crap.  Part of the process of the inventory is not only to enumerate these things, but also to look for ways they manifest in your life, and to assign a number symbolizing the level of pain that particular thing has caused.  In looking over my list, I can see why I’ve often felt burdened, weighed down, and worthless.  My scores are off the charts.  Of course.

Which brings me to step 5.  In my own way, I’ve been confessing this stuff to HP, to David, to friends, to therapists – anyone willing to listen (and some who were clearly cornered and couldn’t get away) – for years.  I’ve beaten myself up, sworn to change, blah blah blah…and then settled right back in.  Sure, there ARE some really and truly painful things I’ve done, some that took years to work their way to the surface – but in my heart I believe I have admitted those to the relevant parties and also to my mental health professional.  I think I’m covered in the “admittance of wrongs” department for the most part.  The larger point here, for me, is that I have often tried to hide my wrongs from myself, somehow perpetuating the very notion that I am still working on being perfect.  How does a person live for nearly 39 years and still think that’s POSSIBLE, even in the remotest stretches of the mind?

Denial is a powerful thing, and I have ridden that wave as far as it’ll go.  I’m so very imperfect.  I’m broken and backwards and mixed up – but SO IS EVERYONE ELSE.  Even those people who seem to have it all, don’t.  Oh, they may have stuff I don’t, but then I have stuff they don’t.  It takes all kinds, right?  The great irony here is that people like me who have persisted in gazing longingly at the model of perfection mess up 84% more than people who just LIVE.

(I made up that statistic.  I did read somewhere that perfectionists actually make MORE mistakes, but I can’t remember where.)

It’s funny.  I originally named this post “Step OFF” (homage to Seinfeld there) because I was kind of frustrated with these steps.  As I’ve written these words, though, I’m seeing things a bit differently.  It’s good to “come clean” to myself, and to recognize the futile nature of trying to attain perfection.  That realization, along with the tools of steps 1-3, help me to feel as if the escalator has moved ever so slightly in an upward direction.  So, I changed the title – credit to Geddy Lee for this one.

Working at perfekt

Got me down on my knees

Success to failure

Just a matter of degrees

*Note: thanks and admiration to my dear friend Jim, who made my snazzy new blog header. You, sir, ROCK. Thank you.

Baby steps to sanity

Remember Bob and his baby steps? Baby steps to the elevator, baby steps to four o’clock…

So apparently I’m taking baby steps on the road to recovery. I mean, sure, at times they’re steps that the tiniest little micro-baby in the world would take but…I feel the trend, in general, is upward.

In general.

I’m hovering between steps 2 and 3 on my 12-step journey. They’re related, and since these are THE GOD (AS YOU UNDERSTAND GOD) steps…yeah, I’m spinning my wheels a bit. Officially, we have:

1. I’ve come to believe that a power greater than me can restore me to sanity.

and

2. I’ve made a decision to turn my life and will over to the care of God as I understand God.

As far as God/religion/spiritual stuff is concerned, those of you who’ve read my stuff before know that on a good day I’m a seeker of sorts, intrigued by rituals and spiritual matters…on a bad day, I’m one of those doubters who just can’t quite let go of the idea of God (mainly ‘cause I’m scared of the lightning if I do). So where does that leave me on the staircase of codependency recovery?

This morning as I was meditating (which means sitting on Stephen’s bed since he migrates to the couch every night, sleepily drinking my coffee and scribbling in my journal) I came to the conclusion that I can confidently say that I DO believe in a “power greater than me.” As simplistic (naïve?) as it looks when I write it out – I believe in the transforming power of unconditional love. Is it possible to love in that way as humans? Well, probably not, but it’s a noble goal toward which to work. Anyway…how that belief ties in with my idea of God is still a bit murky, but as I’ve mentioned before, the few transcendent experiences I’ve had (mostly involving nature/landscapes/outdoors) combined with this idea about love as a powerful force is going to have to do for now. Don’t try to pin me down because I can’t get any more specific than that. (Defensive much?)

So with one foot on step 2 and the other on step 3, right now I’m pretending the steps are really an escalator, and I’m cruising along, moving upward but also staying where I am, for the moment, whilst things settle in and become a bit more…comprehensible. Loving as unconditionally as possible seems like a great place to start – and what’s more, the first person who is benefitting from this notion is ME. I’m also trying to love those around me without conditions – no expectations, no projecting of my teen self onto my teenaged son – and it really is freeing in a way. Love them as they are, and that includes yours truly. No false hopes, no unrealistic goals, and (this is vital) no condemnation for failure to be perfect.

Whew. That one hits me where I live.

Looking at #3 through my custom filter, I see “turning my life over” in this way: it brings to mind the admission from step 1 that some things (and all people) are out of my control. To some extent, what is, is. While the way we live our lives may influence people or events, ultimately, sometimes things are going to happen. We have the choice to either have a big old freak out (holding up the mirror now), or, try to breathe, get perspective, and make the best choices we can to deal with what comes, hoping that choosing a higher path will (eventually?) lead to a higher place. [How this fits in with evil things that happen to innocent children, why some people beat cancer and some don’t, why bad things happen to good people is not clear at this time, and I doubt it ever will be. Which frustrates the hell out of me.]

As I’ve come to look at this blog as a confessional of sorts, right away I’ve got to admit that last night I pretty much embodied the exact opposite of the serene, Zen being I’m espousing in the prior paragraph. After a long day in the office, pushing papers around as I try to feel some sort of meaning, I was a bit blah. A nice supper, a couple of eps of M*A*S*H, and a hot bath (during which Stephen popped in and entertained himself and me with a Blue’s Clues songfest in the mirror) later I was feeling a bit more like myself.

Then it was bedtime. I try to time Stephen’s pull-up changes so that it’s just time for a fresh one as we do our bedtime routine. This time I missed the window, and walked in to find that he had leaked onto his bedspread and top sheet. Clever gal that I am, I just whipped those two things off the bed, grabbed a nearby comforter to replace them, and patted myself on the back for being so resourceful. Stephen continued watching YouTube on his iPad, and we finished the bedtime routine. But he kept squealing in a way that only Stephen can – he grasps his hands in front of him and squeals. LOUDLY. Sometimes he gets cranky like that when he’s tired and will eventually calm down…

I went back to the living room hoping to hear the sudden silence that means he’s given up fighting and gone to sleep…only he didn’t. I finally went back in, saw he’d thrown the comforter in the floor, and somehow surmised that he was unhappy without his tucked-in sheet and bedspread. So, what to do at 10 p.m. when you can’t do laundry fast enough to fix the problem? You grab the Glade Fresh Linen spray, spritz the sheet and bedspread, and go on with your life. Sorry, folks, that’s life with autism. You spray, and go on. Putting the covers to rights helped, but still…there was squealing.

I went back to my chair, trying to relax…yet every time he let loose another cry, my muscles twitched and it felt like an electric shock. My mind ramped up…What do I do now? What next?

Then, it came to me. I knew exactly what I needed to do.

Nothing. It was out of my control at that point. I had helped him in the only ways I could, I had hugged him, loved him, and I had to let it go. I forced myself to relax, to stop anticipating his squeals, to know that it really was going to be okay. I realized, maybe for the first time, I REALLY realized that, while a few times things really have gotten difficult (stomach viruses, 3 hour tantrums, etc.) most of the time things really DO turn out okay… Well, okay in a kid-with-serious-autism kind of way.

When I finally laid my weary head on the pillow, I felt the weight of the struggle – not only the struggle to get Stephen calm, but the fight I’m waging both for and against my self. I fell asleep almost instantly and slept soundly. I’m fighting to let go, to use my energy in increasingly positive ways, to strive for a higher place – and finally, I can see that the benefits of the effort are worthwhile, and I deserve no less.

The DaVinci Code…pendency

I know, that was bad. I couldn’t help myself. However, it’s entirely apropos, corniness aside.

Have you read The DaVinci Code? I confess that I did. I enjoyed it in spite of myself. Silly conspiracy theories, digging for clues, reading the signs, interpreting codes…I was fascinated.

So: codependency. As much as I’ve grown to detest psychobabble and words that come and go in the world of psychology, this word I can’t escape. It’s me. Completely and totally me. In my 38+ years, I have done three lifetimes’ worth of searching for the reasons why I am the bundle of neuroses you see before you. It started way back when I was a tiny little neurotic, dependent on the love and support of my parents for my total existence as a human – and my parents, God love ‘em, with their baggage and issues…

So, let’s examine the parallels:

Silly conspiracy theories? Yep. It’s my parents’ fault, for expecting perfection and forbidding wandering from the path. It’s my nursery school teacher’s fault for telling me I was smart. It’s because I’m an only child. It’s because I am a klutz, but also a great dancer – how’s THAT for an oxymoron?

Digging for clues? Oh, mercy yes. Not until college and immediately after, but I did some digging. Therapists, counselors, self-help gurus, God, religion… Somewhere in there, I was going to unearth THE ANSWER and when I did it would be so appallingly obvious that I would have myself figgered out in a jif.

And along with those clues, I did some reading of signs: if the sun shines tomorrow, then all this stuff bothering me right now will be okay. If I ace this exam, then my future is secure. If I make it through this horrible experience, then I will NEVER do THAT again (drink too much, talk too much, share too much of myself)…

Worst of all, I began to see patterns. Codes, even. I studied people so closely I made Margaret Mead look like a slacker. I made some amazing discoveries:

• IF [boyfriend looks unhappy] THEN [I have done something wrong] (note: this statement is absolute and “boyfriend” is interchangeable with: “parents,” “friends,” “person at mall”)


• I do not deal with conflict well. I cringe and shrivel up inside when something contrary to what I know is introduced. Gathering data via keen observations, I created the following graph which illustrates my reaction to conflict or differing opinions:

• Overheard in many a high school/college classroom: “This essay is great; you need to cut some wordiness and add more description but overall it’s really good” - translated this means: “You suck, and you’re dumb and ugly.”


• Any bad things that befall anyone I know are all my fault – many people don’t even realize it at times but I step in with my apologies and my secret shame because in the big scheme of things I’m SURE I did something to cause it, and helpfully take responsibility for pretty much anything.


• If forty-seven things need doing to achieve a common goal, I will bust my ass doing forty-six of them, then break down, weeping, when I have to ask someone else to do the last one. Not because I’m so capable or so IN CHARGE…no, I’m just compelled to drive myself into an early grave.


• If Michelle’s [friend, loved one, co-worker] wants to talk about 2 problems, and Michelle is so busy thinking of the 47 things she must get done or be labeled a lazy bum, and simultaneously is thinking of the friend’s 2 problems plus 8 other problems other people have mentioned that are probably her fault, then how many problems are there? BONUS: Why can’t Michelle sit calmly and listen to 1 problem at a time? Why can’t she LISTEN at all without a bizarre compulsion to FIX everything? (I’m pretty sure Fibonacci sequences come into play here.)

I could go on. At some point, I probably will. I’m reading what’s considered the classic on codependency (Codependent No More by Melody Beattie – isn’t that a fine, firm, don’t-take-any-crap title?) and I’ve already met myself on about every other page. No doubt there will be a myriad of topics that compel inspire me to write.

The good news is that supposedly one can recover from this codependency business. Oh, and lest I give the wrong impression, I am not married to an alcoholic or drug addict – many people are codependent because of years of upbringing, then you add any other kinds of conflict into the mix (and we all know how THAT goes with me) and bam. You’ve got yourself a raging case of DaVinci Code-pendency.

Wish me luck.