Control. Who ME??

I’ve been wrestling with and dealing with ideas and issues of control over the past few days. Well, longer than that I suppose, but a few things have come up in the past week that really brought it to the forefront. Two specific situations and I would love your feedback on what you think. So feel free to pipe in!

First let me start off by saying one of the first things we learn in Al Anon is that we only have control over ourselves. We can not an alcoholic anymore than we can control the sunrise. This is very true and also very very hard to grasp. We think to ourselves that if only I (insert your choice here: try harder, love more, get mad, take away affection, look through email, drive by where I think s/he may be, on and on) that it will get them to change their behavior. That in itself is a sickness. It becomes an obsession of what am I going to do to change this person. It doesn’t work that way.

Too many times in a relationship, we become so enmeshed with the other person we tend to lose ourselves. We start to think only about “us” and not as separate people. We allow others to look at the behavior of one as a reflection of both. Isn’t it strange how this works with addiction but not other diseases? If a spouse has cancer, it’s not a reflection of the healthy spouse. There is sympathy and empathy and help offered. Maybe addiction is such an anomaly that others outside the family don’t know how to respond? But I digress (as usual! )

When someone becomes so focused on controlling the other person in a relationship, whether addiction is in play or not, that they can’t see what they are doing in their own lives, it becomes dangerous. Delusional. Lost. Only when you can truly come to terms with the fact that you can only yourself that things can begin to change. Strange, right? When you learn to take control over your own life, your own dreams, your own future, that’s when true change begins. True change. And guess what also happens? The other person in your relationship is then free to change too. Or not. But it’s their choice. And that alone is one of the most freeing aspects of letting go of that control you held on to so tightly. When your partner sees change in you, and I’m talking real change, not manipulation, they have a few decisions to make of their own. They can continue to do what they’ve been doing or they themselves can decide to change.

There’s an empowerment that comes with letting go of the control over someone else. You get to decide what you will tolerate and what you won’t. You get to decide if you want to live the way you are or if you want something different. If you want something different, you are in control of your own life to make that change! Do you see how freeing it is? Stop controlling and get out of your own way! Life is too short to be unhappy.

control of life

The second part of this has nothing to do with addiction but much more about parenting and how things have changed in the past, um, few decades. This comes from a discussion over the past few weeks with Michael about Ryan. Ryan seems to have a problem with not texting us when he arrives some place. I know, shocking right? I’m sure he’s the only teenager who “forgets” to text his parents. But it was seriously driving me crazy. After everything that has happened the past 6 months, I think a simple text saying “I made it” or “I’m here” shouldn’t be difficult.

Yesterday I had a little epiphany. He was going to the zoo with his girlfriend. I asked him to text me when he got to her house and again when he got to the zoo. I didn’t think that was asking much. Guess who didn’t text me? Yep. So I texted him. “You get there ok?” No response. Tick. Tick. Tick. “Hello?” No response. Tick. Tick. Tick. So I texted the girlfriends mom. “Ryan make it there ok? I haven’t heard from him.” No response. Tick. Tick. Tick.

So by now you’ve probably guessed that I’m about .03 seconds away from calling hospitals, police, jail, wherever I need to in order to track down my son who I’m sure is laying dead or injured in a ditch and they were only able to reach the girlfriends mom who has now rushed to her daughters side and no thought to call me. Seriously, this is the way my sick mind works.

I finally get a text back from Ryan. “We were driving and just pulled into the zoo.” Ok. He’s alive. Close Google window with local hospital phone number listed. Breathe.

And then it hit me. Out of nowhere. What in the hell was I doing to myself? I got myself in that panic. I was trying to control a situation I really didn’t need to or should control. I started thinking about how when I was a 17 almost 18 year old. When I took my car and told my mom I was going to the zoo or the movies or wherever, I sure didn’t have a cell phone. I wasn’t texting her telling her I arrived at the movies ok. I was holding a device that allowed her to ping my exact location at any given time. I told her where I was going and she would tell me to have fun, be back by curfew and out the door I went. I don’t know for a fact, but I bet she wasn’t pacing the floor every minute I was gone. And look how I turned out!!!! (Ok, that made me laugh!) But why, just because we have this amazing technology, do I use that to try to control my almost adult child? Especially when it does nothing but frustrate me.

So I’m making a conscience effort to let go. He has a phone. He can call if something happens. I don’t need to track or ping or worry. Because I’m only driving myself further insane. I’m not saying he’s going to be given some free-for-all with no accountability. After all, it’s MY cell phone he has and it’s Michael’s car he’s been given with permission, and it’s OUR house rules he has to abide by, but I think I’m going to try, really really hard to not demand a text that I don’t get.

I’m giving up that control too. I can learn to unlearn that behavior. And just maybe, he’ll learn something too.

control

Confessions of Epic Stupidity

I have a horrible, embarrassing faux pas that I’m going to feel guilt and shame over for the next, oh who knows how long but let’s say, 8 years. Seriously epic stupidity.

Today is my birthday. Nice right? Fabulous. My dear husband tried to do something he thought was nice. We went out to dinner last night with the whole family. Rob was even able to join us and it was yummy and fun and lots of laughs.

Toward the end of the evening, Michael pulls out a bag that contains my birthday present. He proceeds to ramble on about how he knows I’m not going to like it and I can take it back and exchange it for something I like, blah, blah, blah. I didn’t think that whatever he got me was going to be *that* bad. I mean, after 20 years, I would think he knows me pretty damn well.

So as I start digging through the bag filled with tissue paper, I come to find a pair of shoes. A pair of ugly, hideous, I would never wear them in a million years shoes. Like, if they were on sale, for free, plus a 20% off discount toward a future purchase, I still would’ve passed them by.

I tried to feign a look of “Oh, they aren’t that bad.” but yea, I suck at that, so we all kind of laughed and I politely put them back in the bag and we went about our dinner and rest of the evening. I told a few friends, via text, about my, um, gift. I promised pictures the next day showing the wretchedness of the birthday shoes.

So this morning, I took pictures of the new shoes, alongside the pair that I think he was trying to replace. Now, let me mention that some might say the shoes he was politely trying to replace are the hideous ones. I get that. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. Because someone, somewhere, thought these new shoes should actually be made and put them into production. ::shudder:: My old shoes are these Tommy Hilfiger comfy canvas slip ons, with palm trees. Did I mention they’re worn? My pinky toes stick out of both shoes because after about 10 years of wearing them, I have worn large holes in both of them. (Another reason to always keep my toes looking fabulous, so look at them as incentive shoes!)

Now, here comes the ghastly, omg what did I do, part of the story. I took the pictures, along with some, um, colorful, commentary about them, and sent them to…….Michael.

OMG!!!! No seriously…..OMG!!!!

So I keep looking at my iMessages, waiting for the replies about how yes, they really are just not, um…..my style. I’m not getting a reply. I start thinking, oh wow, maybe they think they’re cute and I just should never buy a pair of shoes alone if anyone thinks these shoes are cute. And in my waiting and impatience of a reply, I make the heart stopping discovery that I did, indeed, send all the pictures and comments to him. The gift giver. Can I say again, OMG!!!!??????

A wave of nausea overcomes me and I panic. Oh what can I do to fix this? What can I do to make this at least not so horrible? (Side note to any men reading this blog: Please, for the love of God, do NOT buy your shoes of any kind. If you would like her to have a new pair of shoes, hand over your credit card and smile and tell her to pick out whatever she wants. It’s a win/win for everyone) So I quickly send him another message, ya know, like I meant to send that him all along and I was TOTALLY joking!!! I put a few “LOL”s and “ha ha”s in there for effect. But the words I wrote alongside the pictures preeeeeetty much summed up the fact that I was NOT joking. Oh my.

It also blew away my excuse for returning them without hurting his feelings. My “they just don’t fit right” excuse just got torpedoed, then blew up, then had a full magazine of bullets ripped through it. So am I now stuck with these shoes that I will never wear and can’t even hardly look at now that I have done something so completely heartless and cruel? Can I still exchange them and maybe take him with me when I do and buy him lunch or dinner and beg forgiveness?

To my surprise (and relief) he messaged me back and simply said “I tried lol please exchange them for a pair you like”. Ok, was that him just being nice? I messaged back that I was so thankful he tried and I loved him for trying and I was so blessed that he even went out and bought me something and thank thank you thank you. I’m sure my blathering told more about my guilty conscience than my original text.

So now, on my birthday, I’ll be extra nice to him, try to turn away from the shoe conversation and basically grovel. Because only I can create such a mess from something that was done out of love and thoughtfulness. But I just can’t keep those shoes. Epic. Stupidity.

And make sure you are messaging the person you think you’re messaging before you hit send. Trust me. You’ll thank me later.

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