Stop Being the Frontal Lobe for the Entire Family

I read this as a headline to a course workshop last week and it struck me deeply. Same with a very strong avalanche metaphor I poured over with others in a recent Alanon meeting. Hi, I’m Breanne and I’m a recovering codependent.

If you’re unfamiliar with the term codependent there is a vast and current collection of writers and experts on the topic as well as 12 step meetings for codependents. I personally find hope in the 12step rooms of Alanon which is full of codependents like me because a lot of us get there with the concern of trying to stop somebody else’s drinking. If you substitute the word ‘thinking’ for ‘drinking’ in a reading of the 12 steps you will get what I’m trying to describe here.

I am a chronic Overthinker for YOUR life, I have big ideas, visionary goals, can scheme up any number of ways out of a predicament, and it’s made me very adaptable person and a person not afraid to dream big dreams. But I spend entirely too much time trying to overthink these things in YOUR life or co-dependently with YOU, and that often leaves me with very little energy to dream or think of what I actually want for MY life and I lose sight of what goals I want to achieve.

Thankfully, I haven’t spent a lot of time in the last five years around active alcoholism. However, the cunning baffling and confusing part of recovery even if I’m not around alcoholics or the behavior of disordered drinking is that I can still fall into codependent states of being and overthinking.

Now, don’t get me wrong, co-creating something with a partner or as a family can be a beautiful thing as our first year in this pandemic demonstrated. Maybe you sit down with your partner or family every year and track out a five-year plan or future cast together, and that is great if everyone gets a voice and has provisions to make those dreams a reality.

We haven’t done that kind of long term planning as a family since leaving Denver mid-2020 and survival mode kicked in for me quite some time ago. We also don’t live in an echo chamber of a single family unit, so extended family needs took center stage. When I’m in survival mode, my defects of character re-surface and my executive functions quickly diminish. Now we’re back to my avalanche analogy. What would you do if faced with an avalanche of someone else’s creation? You’d get the fu*k out of the way! But in my disease of overthinking, I think I can come up with a better plan and often jump right into that cascading snow. Right now I’m sitting or suffocating under the pile of snow that I helped create. It’s unbearable, it’s dark, and it’s freezing, and creative as I am, I can’t think my way out of it.

My only way out is to surrender to it. My next step is to accept. This is essentially steps one and two in the 12 Steps, admitting I’m powerless and coming to believe that a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity.

Today I’m at a step three place, made a decision to turn my life over to the power of God as I see God. She looks like a lot of women surrounding me with comfort and encouragement today. Because after a decade + in recovery, a pandemic, zoom meetings, and a nomadic life can’t take away the power of getting together and sharing these things in a roomful (or virtual roomful) of people who overthink like me. I’m diving back into working the steps with a sponsor and to attending more meetings. This is how I find my way back to me. (Also, antidepressants and therapy, but that’s coming later and the timing is beyond my control.)

A very insidious part of codependency is a lack of boundaries between myself and the people surrounding me. Living in a 20’ travel trailer for 18 months really eroded my boundaries and sense of self.

The people often most offended by carving out new boundaries for oneself are the ones who benefitted most from my lack of them before. I will not make decisions for the rest of my family beyond what constitutes their immediate safety and security (and that really only applies for my own two kids). I will not future plan until I can firmly stand back on the foundation of my own recovery so that I can dream things that I want for MY future. Does this sound selfish? I know it does to me for various reasons including societal conditioning saying women have to do it all and be it all for others, so I take it several dysfunctional steps too far to the benefit of those around me who don’t have to think for themselves. I had a mother who martyred herself because of similar conditioning and because of her own disease of codependency. Maybe you too are suffering from the effects of codependency, just know there is help and that you are not alone.

I write these things as part of my process, it’s the same reason I share in rooms of recovery. If it serves you or resonates, great! I’d love to hear about it. If not, you can always take what you like and leave the rest.

In Solidarity

Wow, all of your words, suggestions, and encouragement in my last post were truly touching. I’m hanging in there. Once we got back to Denver, a small weight of this season was lifted. Evidently, it may be awhile before I can be seen by a therapist … like, February. I mean, what the actual?! But by your comments and the general shit show that is our country right now I’m not even remotely surprised. We’re all falling apart at the same(ish) time, and there are not enough supports to keep these systems running in their current state. There’s solidarity in that, but also a lot of pain coming to the surface that must be realized both individually as a collective.

We can smile and laugh even amidst hard pain

Last week, I somewhat wallowed in this frustrating reality, having a significant need yet being denied or stalled when that need is acute. But I have a lot of tools and have been fully employing them. Not surprisingly, they all revolve around community.

Living simply and nomadically for 18 months, we established the foundations like sleeping well, eating two to three from scratch and nourishing meals together everyday, and by being outside and moving our bodies a lot.

Coming back to Denver I have only built on that foundation, I went to meetings and talked to my sponsor more, I got a haircut (how humanizing!), went to my chiropractor, said yes to dog sitting and baby holding – two of my favorite things. This week I will bake bread and brew kombucha. I’m trying to read and write more and scroll less, (probably the hardest bad habit for me to break).

I’m far from where I want to be, and it’s still hard. But hard is not good or bad, it just is. I’m settling into this season of hard with both kicking and screaming and grace, they take turns. For now that is enough and it is okay.

When the Planner runs out of plans

I’ve hit a wall before, even this year in the midst of all that came crashing onto my plate with regard to my dad. But I’m looking at another hard wall, this time a lot more personal and a lot darker. I’m writing to shed light on it and to share the burden to make it less heavy for me. Natalie had this premonition before I did (I think it’s even mentioned in a previous entry) and it’s all too true. She declared, “This isn’t fun” to her brother and our friend last time we were in Denver. I’m not having fun and in fact have been getting repeatedly sick, a physical manifestation of something deeper happening in my psyche. I get a depression just about every October/November since my mom died ten years ago. But this month, with all that’s going on (or not?) in our day to day lives, that depression is beyond my normal course of management. I’m actively looking for some mental health help and probably at getting back on antidepressants for awhile at least until our lives get a little more stable.

The strain on our nation’s healthcare system means the best chance at me getting the help I need is not in Farmington NM, but back in Denver. Coming “home” yet again, this time for nobody but myself. Natalie is coming with me and we are leaving the boys to the building and plodding forward.

Never in my 40 years have I had this despairing sense of I don’t know what is next for this long. I can usually makeshift or look on the bright side or what have you, but this time I’m completely out of plans, ideas, dreams, almost out of hope. And forgive me dear daughter for sweeping your exact same concerns under the rug last post. Like I said there, we’ll get you some help too.

We’ve continued prioritizing the bus building because that is secure and low-cost housing once it is complete, but when will that be?, I don’t know. Our 20’ trailer has kept us warm and secure but it was never intended to be full time living for this length of time. I keep looking on the bright side even when my back is screaming for a better solution to our pull out bed. I keep minimizing our needs when compared to the whole of humanity and can say we still have so much. I’m tired all the time despite sleeping soundly for 8-9 hours almost every night. Besides my children, I don’t have a lot of purpose or a project I can pour into while Zach does the construction. (I’m more of the planner for the bus and not the physical builder, that’s just knowing my strengths.) but yes, back to plans. I’ve noticed these languishing weeks that I can’t plan out anything. Don’t have the strength or mental fortuity for it. Ask me what’s for dinner, hopefully someone else has an idea. Ask me what we’re doing for the day, ummm maybe taking a walk if I’m done recovering from being physically sick, beyond that I don’t know, nor do I care. I’m 100% in survival mode and it is completely exhausting. I cannot keep existing like this.

Not sure how to wrap this one up. I guess it’s the underbelly side you don’t see on a typical nomad’s Instagram feed. I went to a church service (in person!) for the first time in two years yesterday and we chanted this,

“Our darkness is never darkness in your sight, the deepest night is clear as the daylight.”

So that was fitting for me and I’ll hold onto that hope.

The Kids are Alright

Writing this installment from a church parking lot in Farmington, NM. Almost exactly one year ago we quickly sidestepped through this town to avoid sub zero freezing temps in Colorado and started our journey west and south for the winter. This time will be vastly different, no journey further south or west until we have a bus to live out of. We’re still looking, but honing in on some leads for a place near here to winter over. We were sad to leave Roger’s farm near Chimney Rock, but it was necessary so we wouldn’t get snowed in there (his fear not ours, we know we could handle a few snowstorms but didn’t want to argue with our 75yo host).

Practically speaking, this does make the most sense though. In order to do this build we need to be fairly close to a larger town where we can get lumber and building supplies weekly if not more frequently. The path of least resistance brought us to here, an easy drive from Pagosa, milder temps, longer fall season, has all the stores we’ll need, and still a day’s drive to Denver should we need to make any quick returns for dad or other family reasons. Though we still don’t know where we’re going longer term, we’re trusting that it will all line up as it should. This church has been super helpful and accommodating to let us pitch it here for a few days. The grass is still green and there are roses still in bloom, the overnight temps are much more mild than what we’ve recently been experiencing (even compared to Denver).

With another move came much teenage angst. Natalie had the opportunity presented to her to stay with our sweet friend in Denver for a few weeks to a month when we were staying with her last week. But her wishy-washiness and putting off of an actual decision meant that we had to choose for her, she’d come with us because after all, we are all in this together. She is the most uncomfortable with the uncertainty at which our life is unfolding and we as parents DO want to be sensitive to that and provide as many assurances as we can, but at the same time, nobody really gets certainty with the life we’re handed and rarely do we actually have any control (perceived control, yes, actual control, no, lucky her to learn such a valuable lesson so young). Figuring it out as a unit and together seems the better course. The swings from complete despair over intermittent WiFi followed quickly by a a non-sarcastic “this is fine, I like it here” response less than a day later is emotionally exhausting. Gosh, parenting teens sure is fun! I have to remember my Alanon program in these moments, where I am not in control (hey there’s that word again) of another person’s emotions. Hard to do when those emotions easily overfill a 20’ trailer.

In jokingly summing this up, I keep remembering Natalie’s friend who moved and traveled abroad with her family at 13. To that 13yo at the time, the news of moving was devastating, a, “you’re ruining my life” level of bad parenting. We’re very much blazing our own trail in those terrible parenting footsteps 😉😏. Well ruin their lives whether we’re nomads or stationary, rural or city, rich or poor, traumatized or just living a regular life, I’ll pay for the therapy for them when they ask for it.

On a final positive note, Zach was finally able to procure the spray foam insulation we wanted for the skoolie build, as we wait here he’s already getting started on some smaller lumber projects. We need two really good, consistent 70° weather days to do the insulating (which may happen by the weekend!). Now to just makeshift a way to empty the bus of all our belongings…again. 📦📦📦

Family Caregiving

I have developed a longing to do some deeper work with regard to care for my father since dementia has so quickly sapped away his memory. He probably won’t always remember us, yet we are away. I’m jealous that his memory care facility is getting the best parts of him right now as he is generally quite jolly, helpful, easily makes friends, and is very affectionate. This is not the same dad I had, especially the last decade or so since mom died. I knew his love was there, have always known that, but it was marred by addiction and the narcissistic personality that centers their own doom on all the things that happened to them and doesn’t take responsibility for any part they may have had to play in that. I stayed away for most of the last decade out of a means of self preservation and while seeking recovery. That means my kids never really got to know their papa, aside from stories, and now he doesn’t know who they are. (We did have a big family lunch last time we were all together and my kids remarked, “Wow, Papa is funny, he was never like that before.”)

I miss my dad and will ferociously fight for his needs now until he dies, but I wish there was a way to do what we’re doing closer to him or with his participation, I know he would love the hands on work and outside nature of our living situation, but I also know the burden this would create wherever we went because he would require near constant supervision and, admittedly it’s not exactly the most stable environment.

I was recently accepted into a fellowship around caring that meets weekly for the next six months, we talk about all of these issues and more from the perspectives of caregivers, people receiving care, activists, and more. Caringacross.org

It’s giving me greater insight into this journey as well as much needed camaraderie. There are so many people involved in care everywhere in our country, but we do caregiving in a bubble, often feeling isolated and devoid of resources. A perfectly good example where I saw this play out was in selecting my dad’s future home. (as referenced here) https://breannemashek.com/2021/05/11/well-i-hit-the-wall/

Never did the option of care at home or care given by a family member come up, definitely not by the VA who wanted dad in a more institutional environment, so we sold dad’s house and moved on. How else would we pay the thousands a month required for his care? But what if he could indeed receive care from one of his family members? What if that caregiving paid a living wage and the role was truly valued by society as a whole? I saw this in the courts too, where it was assumed a family member would sign up to voluntarily become a conservator and guardian with very little knowledge of the time and expenditure of resources to muddle through the whole process. Yet, if a family member wasn’t willing, they’d gladly appoint someone to you that you would then pay. So many of our systems are so broken, and this is addressing just a small cross section of America highlighting those deficits.

I feel like we’re in a phase of this journey where yes, we are all fed and are functioning well, but it’s still not ideal and nobody is getting what is the best for themselves. The caregiving role is a full time endeavor, where emergencies pop up all of the time and dad’s care takes precedence. Just this week we had to go to the VA for a tooth infection followed by having four teeth extracted. This is all out of pocket and out of our convenience until he qualifies for Medicaid. What if we hadn’t had a return to Denver trip already planned? His neglect for his care over much of his life is suddenly my emergency and there’s no passing the dime on to someone else to handle it. I could just talk circles around it all day. The intersections of care, poverty, lack of organized support, dysfunctional systems, how this disproportionately affects women and people of color, all of it. I’ll probably need some therapy once we’re out of the weeds and more stable, but for now I’ll keep writing to chronicle the journey and shed more light on our reality.

The Writings of Breanne Mashek

Homesteading, Caregiving, Ramblings, and Travel

Travelblog