I sold my soul

Desperate for the approval and esteem of other people, this hopelessly codependent woman found the self-respect she lacked and turned her life around.

I am codependent. I hate the word, actually. It’s been grossly overused over the past decade, as far as I’m concerned. But that doesn’t seem to change the fact that I am one of the masses of people who has been plagued by the very sad and pathetic personal characteristics that the word has come to represent. But in the off chance that you are not acquainted with the word, or if you happen to already be familiar with the word and the personality it describes (more intimately than you wish you were), allow me to introduce myself.

I am hypersensitive to other people’s moods and actions, to the point of their dictating my own moods and actions beyond my seeming control. If someone is quiet, or seems preoccupied, or is even a bit angry or disturbed, I assume that I’ve done something wrong. My mind immediately starts to race to figure out what I’ve done. Did I make them angry? Was it something I said? Maybe it was something I said yesterday. Let’s see, how can I possibly remember what I said in our conversation yesterday? What if it was something I did when we were together last week? Should I ask them? Maybe they just don’t like me. How can I get them to like me? I know, I’ll be extra nice. Perhaps I can buy them something. If I do something nice for them I’ll observe their reaction to me so that I can gauge whether or not they are mad at me. If they are pleasant toward me then…then I am so relieved. I must be back in their good graces again. But what if it had nothing to do with me in the first place? It doesn’t matter, because it’s better to make sure we are on good terms, no matter what the cost to me, then to wonder and suffer those horrible feelings of another’s disapproval of me.

If there were 100 people in a room and 99 of them liked me, I would be over to the 100th one trying to get that one to like me, instead of relaxing and enjoying the company of the other 99! It always bothered me so much when somebody didn’t like me. I couldn’t stand it. I had to know why and I had to go about trying to change that person’s opinion of me. I would not rest until I had done everything in my power to change them and win them over. Why did I care so much, you might ask? The reason is simple: I based my entire self-worth on what others thought of me. I cared nothing for what I thought of me. If I could get enough others to think I was wonderful, then that was that . I must be wonderful. The one drawback is that I never thought I was wonderful–especially after all that I had to do to bring this massive consensus about. I tried my hardest to be funny amongst others: to always have something smart or witty to say. I had to be especially loud and make sure my good acts were well known so that who I was and how great I was wouldn’t be missed. Whenever I left a group of people, or exited a room of friends I had to be especially funny and charming on my way out to leave a lasting impression, especially one that was discussed by the others. As I walked or drove away, I envisioned others saying, “that girl, she’s something else, isn’t she?” I had to be noticed and talked about. It was everything to me to be thought well of by others. I used to fantasize how many people would come to my funeral. My goal in life was to make a big enough impact on others–that is–get enough people thinking I was wonderful–that when I died, it would be a loss felt internationally!

And it wasn’t so much that I was as great a person as I tried to get others to think I was. (In fact, had I been who I made myself out to be, I wouldn’t have cared nor needed anybody to be impressed.) No, to the contrary, I was riddled with resentment, insecurity, and envy, and was often very catty, gossipy, and critical of others. But I did what I could to make sure this wasn’t the impression I gave to others. This of course made me feel like a fraud. I put much more effort into trying to get others to think I was good, than I did into actually living up to that impression. Unfortunately, it was all in how I was perceived, not who I actually was. I was always worried, therefore, about being “found out.” I lived in constant fear that this great facade I’d carefully constructed would come crashing down on my head, leaving me without the comfort of others’ praise and high opinion, on which I was utterly dependent. I was so dependent on this for peace of mind that I never had peace of mind. I was constantly worried that I was going to lose someone’s favor, or that I wasn’t liked enough, I wasn’t doing enough, I was going to mess something up and look bad, I’d be found out and abandoned by my friends, or worse, they’d angrily turn on me and say awful things about me, things which were closer to the truth than what I was willing to reveal.

When I had a new acquaintance, either in work or in my personal life, I always tried my utmost to put my best foot forward. I tried so hard to not make any waves. I’d be so nice and helpful and funny and cute and capable. I was always agreeable. I was most afraid of being disagreeable. I’d agree to everything. I wanted to come across as so easy-going and so comfortable and enjoyable to be around. But the day always came–and much sooner than I’d planned–that something the other person did, or some situation that came up was not okay with me. I thought things should go a different way. But I couldn’t say anything. I was frozen. If I say something, I’m going to blow this easy-going persona that I’ve just bent over backwards to create. To speak up and be what I felt was contentious, compared to how I had been up to this point, would make me look bad, very bad. Never mind that it involved standing up for what I believed in, taking care of myself, being self-respecting, honoring myself and my values, etc. What concerned me most was (what else?) how I would be perceived. And of course I was sure I would be disliked. So I either swept the situation under the rug, hoping it wouldn’t matter too much, preferring to “keep the peace” at all cost, or, I got completely stressed out tying to muster up the courage to speak my mind. If I did say how I felt, it was either in the meekest, most trembling voice, and with the most wishy-washy apologetic language, that my opinion was barely recognizable. Or, on the other hand, I would stew over the situation in my mind at such length, building up a defense for my opinion, expecting it be dismissed or challenged, that when I did finally express myself, it was with a brazen forcefulness that was totally disproportionate to the matter at hand. If I defaulted to saying nothing, which was usually the case, I was in just as much turmoil. I would curse myself for being a coward (actually, “spineless” was my favorite self-description) and I would resent the other person for going ahead with whatever I did not have the courage to speak up about. Obviously, I was the only one I had to blame.

Naturally, being as afraid as I was to express myself, I resented many people. I was filled with bitterness. I would accumulate a case against people for all the things I felt that they did to me, ways I felt I was wronged, when in fact it was me I resented for never having the courage to do anything about it. I saw myself as a victim of others’ mistreatment, when the real truth was that I was really just a victim of my own fear. I was a coward, a people-pleasing coward. I cared more about making sure I was liked than I did about doing and saying what I believed in.

In all honesty, there was little difference between me and the prostitute on the street corner. Instead of exchanging sex for money, however, I sold my soul for the cheap and fleeting opinion of other people about me. Often these were people I barely even knew, or would never see again. It didn’t seem to matter. What they thought of me was more important than what I thought of me. Because every time I sold out I thought less of myself; every time I didn’t place value on my own opinions or feelings, by honoring them in my actions and decisions, and by making them heard to others, when appropriate, I gave a little piece of myself away. And every time I placed myself in unacceptable situations–thinking it wouldn’t matter much, or I’d make an exception “just this time,” I eroded my self-esteem just a little bit more. I valued myself less each time, and that made it all the easier to not care how I, or others, treated myself the next time. It was this continuous stream of self-denying actions and decisions that created my pain. I was caught in a vicious cycle of diminishing self-esteem, and only I was responsible for the result: a deepening sense of worthlessness, and a life of chaos, disharmony, and constant troubles.

It was as if this approval from others was my very sustenance; I depended on it for self-definition, and without it, I believed I would wither away and die. But through the loving support of Roy Nelson, and the Metasteps process, I was able to make that jump from the self-deprecating bondage to others’ approval to the soul-fulfilling power to consult my own heart and make right decisions that were both self-respecting and self-esteem building. I have learned to value myself–my own opinions and desires, which has had a ripple effect throughout every area of my life: I am finally free to be myself, and can allow others to be whoever and however they choose to be. This is a whole new life for me, and for it I have to thank Be Totally Free!