I can tell you what it was like, and I can tell you that it’s like now but I’m still not sure what happened.

—ANONYMOUS

3

THE PROCESS

Recovery is a process. Recovery is a process. How many times have we heard that? We’ve heard it so many times because it’s true. Recovery is a process, a gradual one of awareness, acceptance, and change. It’s also a healing process. Yet, recovery often feels more like “being processed.”

Both ideas are true. Recovery is a process by which we change, and by which we become changed. The important ideas here are learning when it’s time to do something, and when it’s time to let something happen.

Although our recovery experiences are unique, there are similarities. Timmen Cermak and other professionals have identified certain recovery stages.¹ In this chapter, we’ll explore those stages, which are:

• survival/denial

• reidentification

• core issues

• reintegration

• genesis

Survival/Denial

In this pre-recovery stage, denial operates unbidden (borrowing a line from Robin Norwood),² and we’re using our coping behaviors to survive. We don’t see things too painful to see; we don’t feel emotions too painful to feel. We don’t realize our coping behaviors are self-defeating. In fact, we’re often proud of our gestures.

“Look at all the people I’m taking care of,” we tell people. “See what I did to control him!” We may take pride in our ability to deprive ourselves or stifle feelings.

“It’s not that bad,” we tell others and ourselves. “Things will be better tomorrow.” “I’ll get my reward in heaven.” Or, “Everything’s fine. Baby’s back in my arms again!” We may smile and say, “Things are fine,” but things aren’t fine.³ We’ve lost touch with ourselves. We’re existing, not living.

Then something happens. Maybe it’s one big problem. Maybe it’s several smaller problems, or many large ones. Maybe it’s the same problem that’s happened so many times before. What changes is our reaction. We become fed up. We run out of willpower. We run out of ourselves.

We realize, on some level, that our lives have become unmanageable. Regardless of what the other person is or isn’t doing, we know our lives aren’t working. We’ve been enduring life, not living it. And we become ready to be changed. Although we may not be sure what, we know something has to change. Something does. We move on to the next stage.

Reidentification

Two important events take place here.

We reidentify ourselves and our behaviors. I become Melody, a recovering codependent (or adult child or Al-Anon). Instead of taking pride in our coping behaviors, we begin to see them as self-defeating.

And we surrender. We wave the white flag. We accept our powerlessness over other people, their problems, our pasts, our messages from the past, our circumstances, sometimes ourselves and our feelings, or any other appropriate area. We begin to establish, as Timmen Cermak puts it, “a realistic relationship with willpower.”⁴

Some people, like Carla from the first chapter, feel immensely relieved upon getting to this point in the journey. “I was so glad to find out I wasn’t crazy; I was codependent,” she says.

Others feel angry. “I was furious when I discovered I had a problem with codependency,” recalls one man. “I was mad at God, mad at life, and mad because I had to wait until I was fifty-five years old to find out why my life wasn’t working.”

Besides feeling angry or relieved, we start feeling many of the feelings we’ve been freezing. We thaw out. We do this when we feel safe enough to do this. We begin to feel all the sadness and pain we’ve been working so hard to avoid. We begin our grief work. Some of us have more loss to face than others.

“My recovery began when I left my home and my sex addict husband, in an ambulance headed for a psychiatric ward,” says Sheryl. “I wanted to commit suicide, but I didn’t. I wanted to leave my husband, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that either. I asked God to get me out if He wanted me out, and my answer came the day the ambulance took me away. I was released from the hospital six weeks later, but I never went back to my husband.

“For the first year, I cried every day for hours,” Sheryl recalls. “I faced the financial chaos created by my destructive relationship. I had borrowed and borrowed to live a lifestyle we couldn’t afford. I was barely able to work. I had to take a job under my usual level. I felt suicidal, and the emotional pain was overwhelming. I took antidepressants, went to support groups four nights a week, and almost lived at the psychiatrist’s office. I was scared, hopeless, and shaken to the bone. I felt,” Sheryl says, “like a wounded deer.

“Things are better now. I still miss my ex-husband from time to time, but I don’t want him back. I’m still struggling financially, but I’ve paid off some bills. I’ve taken a better job, and I’m living in a nicer apartment. In fact, I’m living. I’ve got my brains and my life out of hock and no matter where I go, I intend to take them with me. It’s been a long haul and I don’t ever want to go back. I’m not willing to. And the good thing is, I don’t have to.”

Some recovering people seek professional help during this stage. Some go on antidepressant therapy for a long time. And, like Sheryl, some take jobs beneath their usual level of competence. This can be necessary, but frustrating.

“I’m a dentist. My boyfriend is an alcoholic and a womanizer,” explains another woman. “He left me. Now he’s living with another woman. He’s working. I’m so depressed I can’t work. I lie on my couch eating chocolates and turning into the great white whale. I’m so mad. He can go on with his life, and mine has stopped. It’s not fair.”

This stage of recovery can be confusing. We’re just recouping from hitting our lowest point. Our grief work may take much of our energy. And, though we’ve begun recovering, we haven’t yet acquired new living tools.

Now is when we begin experimenting with recovery concepts like detachment, not reacting as much, and letting go. It is a time for diligent evaluation of those things we cannot control. It is a time for acceptance. In this stage, we begin connecting with other people who are recovering. In this stage, we establish, or reestablish, our relationship with a Higher Power. We begin connecting, or reconnecting, with ourselves.

This is a time to remember that we are more than our pain and more than our problems. It’s a time to cling to hope. The healing process has begun. Like healing from a physical condition, it hurts most the day after surgery.

Core Issues

This stage can be fun, occasionally overwhelming, but fun.

Here, the lights come on. We see and understand more about ourselves and our behaviors. We become aware. And aware. And aware … Often, we feel uncertain about what to do with all this awareness.

We look back and see how long we’ve been using our self-defeating behaviors. We look around and see how codependency has permeated our lives. But, we’re looking and moving forward too.

We begin setting goals. We begin experimenting with new behaviors. We get better at detachment. We learn different ways of caring for and nurturing ourselves. We begin setting boundaries. We get better at dealing with feelings, including anger. We may tenuously take first steps toward learning how to have fun. We start practicing new relationship and living skills. We may try something new, get scared, and go back to our old ways for a while. We may end relationships, get scared, then go back to check those out for a time too.

We may stay stuck in a state of awareness—knowing we’re doing a particular thing, but feeling unable to do much about it.

Within a short time span, we may feel scared, excited, hopeless, and hopeful. Some days, we wonder if anything is happening. Other days, we’re certain too much is happening. Some days, we wake knowing all, indeed, is well.

In this stage, recovery begins to have less to do with coping with “the other person.” It becomes more of a personal affair—a private journey of finding and building a “self” and a life. We may start to dream and hope again, but our hopes usually center on our own dreams, not someone else’s. We may get protective of the new life and self we’re building.

Throughout, we’re working a program. We’re going to our meetings, working with a therapist (if that’s appropriate), and connecting with healthy, supportive friends.

This is a time of experimentation and growth. It’s a time of becoming more comfortable with new behaviors, and less comfortable with old ones. Our newly-formed beliefs about what we can and cannot change grow stronger. It’s a time when we start to figure out what it means to take care of ourselves. We try, fail, try, succeed, try some more, fail some more, and through it all, make a little progress.

It’s a time to be patient.

Reintegration

Since we started this journey, we’ve been struggling with power issues: powerlessness and finding a Higher Power. Now comes the exciting and paradoxical part of this journey. Through powerlessness and surrender we find our personal power. We become empowered to do the possible—live our own lives. Owning our power is as important as learning to accept powerlessness.

In this stage, we discover ourselves as complete, healthy, imperfect but lovable and certainly adequate. We become comfortable with ourselves. We come back home to live with ourselves.

We learn to respect and love ourselves. We find ourselves loving others too, and allowing them to love us in healthy ways that feel good. We accept the fact that we’re good enough.

We are neither running around spewing feelings, nor are we repressing them. We’re feeling feelings and knowing that’s okay. We make mistakes but we know that’s okay, and we try to learn from them as best we can. Although a tendency to control may still be our instinctive response to situations, detachment becomes a secondary reaction—for by now, we’re certain we can’t control others.

Sometimes, we slip into caretaking, shame, and martyrdom. But we get out. We may still feel guilty when we say no, set a boundary, or refuse to take care of someone, but we know the guilt will pass. We’ve gained the confidence that taking care of ourselves is in everyone’s best interests. We’ve learned we can take care of ourselves. And what we can’t do, God can and will do for us.

By this time, we’ve accepted the premise that problems are an ongoing part of life. We don’t dwell on this, but we’ve gained a degree of confidence in our problem-solving skills. Our messages from the past haven’t disappeared, but we develop a keener ear for identifying when these messages are trying to sabotage us.

Our relationships with ourselves, our friends, our family, and our Higher Power have improved. Intimacy becomes a reality.

We have become more comfortable with applying the four recovery power concepts: accepting powerlessness, finding a Higher Power, owning our personal power, and learning to share the power by participating in relationships.

We still feel frightened sometimes. We still have gray days. But they’re gray, not black. And we know they’ll pass.

When we reach this stage, life becomes more than something to be endured. At times, it’s still tough. But sometimes it’s downright peaceful and other times it’s an adventure. And we’re living it, all of it.

“I’m learning anything can happen,” says one woman. “And ‘anything’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘something bad’ anymore.”

Fun becomes fun; love becomes love; life becomes worth living. And we become grateful.

“Eight years ago, I went to a treatment center to get help for my alcoholic husband. Instead of helping my husband, the counselor told me to start helping myself,” says Lisa.

Lisa started working on her recovery, and we worked hard at it. She went to her Al-Anon meetings. She put herself through college. She learned how to take care of herself.

“When I went to that counselor eight years ago, I was a mess. Living though my husband’s alcoholism was the worst thing that ever happened to me. But it was also the best,” Lisa says. “If it hadn’t been so bad, I wouldn’t have gotten off dead center and found a life for myself. And for that, I’m grateful.”

During this stage of recovery, we continue our involvement with Twelve Step programs. We still need to ask for help sometimes, and we still need understanding and acceptance. But the healing process is well under way.

Genesis

This isn’t the end. It’s a new beginning. We’re no longer carrying around “imprisoned” selves. Nor are we indulging in all our whims and desires. Discipline has found its place in our lives too. Like butterflies broken loose from a cocoon, our selves are “flying free,” yet surrendered to a loving, caring Higher Power. We’ve found a new way of life—one that works.

This is the recovery process. It’s a fluid process, with carryovers and crossovers to the different stages. There isn’t a fixed time frame for moving through these stages.

It begins through the grace of God. It continues in the same manner, assisted by our commitment to the process. Recovery is many things. It’s a gradual process, a healing process, and a predictable process. But it’s also a spiritual process.

What’s our part?

• Attending Twelve Step meetings or other appropriate support groups.

• Applying the Steps and other recovery concepts in our lives.

• Working with a therapist, if appropriate.

• Attending seminars and workshops.

• Maintaining an attitude of honesty, openness, and willingness to try.

• Struggling through the frustration, awkwardness, and discomfort of change.

• Connecting with other recovering people.

• Reading meditation books and other helpful literature.

• Continuing to surrender.

Our part means having the courage to feel what we need to feel, and do what we need to do. Our part is doing our own recovery work. If we cooperate, to the best of our ability, with this process, we’ll know what to do and when to do that. Recovery isn’t something we do perfectly or at once. Neither concept applies here.

“I’m still real controlling, but at least I recognize when I’m doing it,” says one woman.

“I’m going right home and ask for what I want and need,” says another, “just as soon as I figure out what that is.”

These comments represent recovery as much as any tremendous “before and after” tale. Struggling is okay. Back-stepping is okay. Small bits of progress are not only okay, they’re admirable.

People who have been recovering for a while may become more comfortable dealing with certain situations because they’ve encountered similar situations so many times before, but they still struggle.

Some days, my feelings flow freely through me. Self-acceptance comes naturally, as though it has always been my friend. I don’t even feel shame about feeling ashamed. I simply acknowledge it, then move harmoniously into the next circumstance. I am part and parcel of the universe; there is a place for me, and I find delight, peace, and intimacy in that place. My life has been planned by a Loving Friend, and all I need do is show up.

Other days, I can’t tell a feeling from a manhole cover. As one friend says, “I’m certain God has forgotten where I live.”

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, in Gift from the Sea, writes:

Vague as this definition may be, I believe most people are aware of periods in their lives when they seem to be “in grace” and other periods when they feel “out of grace,” even though they may use different words to describe these states. “In the first happy condition, one seems to carry all one’s tasks before one lightly, as if borne along on a great tide; and in the opposite state one can hardly tie a shoestring. It is true that a large part of life consists in learning a technique of tying the shoestring, whether one is in grace or not. But there are techniques of living too; there are even techniques in the search for grace. And techniques can be cultivated.⁵

Much of recovery means learning to tie our shoestrings, whether we feel in grace or not, while we’re cultivating recovery techniques. Some days go better than others.

A man approached me at a workshop one day. “I’m thirty-eight years old, and I’ve been recovering for three years,” he said. “I’m dropping all the behaviors and coping mechanisms that have gotten me through this far in my life. I want so badly for the second half of my life to be as good as the first half has been miserable. The pain has stopped, but now I’m scared.”

Well, I get scared too. I want the second half of my life to be as good as the first half was miserable. I get scared it won’t be, and sometimes I get scared it will be. Sometimes, I’m just frightened. But I keep working at recovery anyway. I believe if we really want our lives to be different and better, and if we work toward that, our lives will be different and better.

Codependency is a progressive process, one of reaction, inaction, and malefaction.⁶ One thing leads to another and things get worse. Recovery is also a progressive process—of action. If we take certain steps, we get better and so do things. Codependency takes on a life of its own, but so does recovery.

Recovery is a process, and we can trust that process. In spite of its ups and downs, back and forths, and blind spots, it works.

We can do our part, then let go and let ourselves grow.

Activity

1. What stage of the recovery process are you in?

2. What steps have you taken to do your part in the recovery process? Do you have a self-care plan? Do you go to Twelve Step meetings or other support groups? How often? Do you read a meditation book regularly? Are you seeing a therapist, or are you involved with another kind of therapy group? Do you go to seminars or workshops? Do you read recovery books? Do you spend time with other recovering people?

3. If you’ve been recovering for a while, what are some of the things you did early in your recovery that helped you feel good? Are you still doing these things?⁷

4. What is the most recent action you’ve taken to do your part in your recovery? What did you gain from that?

Endnotes

1. Timmen L. Cermak, Diagnosing and Treating Co-Dependency, (Minneapolis, Johnson Institute, 1986), 68–93. The stages (names and information) are based on this book and Cermak’s A Time to Heal (Los Angeles: Jeremy P. Tarcher, Inc., 1988).

2. Robin Norwood, Women Who Love Too Much (New York: Pocket Books, 1986), 140.

3. Scott Egleston. Mr. Egleston is a private therapist who lives in the Twin Cities.

4. Cermak, Diagnosing and Treating Co-Dependence, 73.

5. Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea (New York: Pantheon Books, 1955), 24.

6. Marian Perkins, of Saint John, New Brunswick, has stated this concept in relation to codependency.

7. This exercise was adapted from material developed by Lonny Owen of Minneapolis.