A Celebration of Freedom

The holidays are blooming in big-box stores, and I'm apprehensive. I learned something about myself and holidays this summer.

The week before the July 4 holiday, I spun around and around in an emotional funk because I hadn’t been invited to a party. I wanted to be included. I wasted seven days swirling in a codependent drama in my head.

Whenever I noticed my empty calendar, I sunk into a tangled web of unworthiness. As sadness ate at me, I consumed Jimboy’s Tacos and a Big Mac to fill my emptiness.

I thought about the addicts in my life. When I saw their need, I rescued them. They valued me. Their appreciation was the attention I needed to feel okay about myself. In return for enabling, I received validation. Or invitations.

Without any more people to fix, I filled those empty spaces with busyness as a way to distract myself—from myself.

Taking responsibility for my role as a codependent is uncomfortable. Doing the recovery work that helps me make different choices feels wonderful. Today I'm not clinging to anyone, not fixing anyone, but I still don't like being alone on holidays.

Later that week, an invitation arrived for a July 4 party, and I went. It was fun for a while, and then I went home. Learning to be alone and liking it on a holiday is a life lesson I hope to cherish.

But I’m not quite there, not yet.

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