Codependent No More: Don’t Let Some Truth Blind You To The Truth

She’s pulling up in the driveway. It’s 9:00 at night and I’ve been calling her for hours. Why didn’t she pick up? I’m not going to fuss or fight. That always ticks her off. I’m going to use a loving tone. Okay (deep sigh), I hear her turning her key in the lock.

“Hey baby”

“Heyyy sweetie”

“How was your day?" (He kisses her on the cheek)

“Babe, it was sooooo hard. Before you say anything, I saw on my phone that you were callin me; but I was in meeting after meeting.”

“I was worried though. When you didn’t pick up, I didn’t know if you had been in an accident or something.”

“Somethin? I just told you that I was in meeting after meeting. What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating. Don’t get defensive. I was just concerned. When a man can’t reach his woman, he gets a little crazy.”

“See. I knew that you would jump to conclusions. You know I have a demanding job. Why can’t you trust me? Look, I ain’t got time for this. I’m going to bed.” (She walks to the bedroom and closes the door. He stands there with his mouth opened in disbelief)

Sound familiar? For some of us, this has been the play by play of what just happened last night. Might not be that your partner, boyfriend or spouse had to work late; but it is still reminiscent of that feeling of what in the world just happened.  For me, it’s the excruciating not-returned phone call. Arggggggghhhhhhh! Sure, it’s true that a person can’t always respond to you immediately. But you do wonder if there is a bigger truth when it's the rule. Hence, today’s blog: don’t let some truth blind you to The Truth.

I’m not trying to turn you into Sherlock Holmes. That’s not my intent. For some of you, what you don’t know won’t hurt you is the way you live your life. If that works for you, I say, fabulous. For me, it hasn’t worked. Trading the truth of my intuition for some other truth has not worked for me. I'd dare say it hasn't worked for some men out there either.  They know that something isn’t right or something doesn’t add up. I’m not certain what makes them dismiss it though. For me and maybe women in general, we don’t like to be lied to.  Words have meaning to us.  If you tell us you love us but your actions say you don’t, we’ll hold on or obsess about it because of what you said.

Now, ladies, before you challenge me on this, I ask you, what is the first thing you say when you are complaining about a man to your girlfriends? You will tell them what he did that bothered you, true; but your sticking point 9 times out of 10 is “but he said.” Your confidante can say to you over and over and over (did I say over?) again that he’s playing with you or that he isn’t a good man. Yet, to all their examples, their wisdom, their feedback, what makes you take his phone call yet again is what he says.

Lest I should sound preachy or over generalizing, I will talk about myself. After all, that’s what blogs are for right? My litmus test is when I begin to complain about something. For those who know me, I’m not a complainer. I’m Suzy Sunshine. Suzy Optimistic. Suzy Social. Okay, you get me. So when I start complaining incessantly that is a blaring indicator that something's off.

I use to be a minister at a local church. It was years ago. I wasn’t the traditional minister – the one who stands in the pulpit and preaches when the pastor is taking a break – but more an altar worker. When the pastor would give the altar call and folks would come up for prayer, I was one of the people who greeted them, listened to what they wished to pray about, and prayed with them. I learned a lot during that time in my life. Though people told me they were encouraged and they were helped by me being a minister, it never rang true for me.

So what were the some truths that allowed me to do it? It seemed important to my then-husband.  That was a biggy.  People told me they were about to give up, commit suicide, at wits end but my prayer was the difference. All that appealed to my ego but it was sooo draining!  So why not just walk away?  I needed to feel that I mattered. Being a minister made me important.  At some deep level, I needed to feel accepted by the church as it were. In my previous blogs about losing my voice, I go into more detail about my upbringing and my growing up in a very rigid church culture. It’s funny to me, or should I say peculiar to me, that I wanted to fit in. Maybe that’s the deeper truth that allowed me to give consent to being a minister. 

Every step from some truth to The Truth was necessary. As time progressed, the need for validation was challenged by discontent. I remember when my aha moment came. I was listening to my then-husband talking to others over the phone about what wasn’t right. This was the umpteenth time. You know, the umpteenth time is when you’ve had or just about had enough of whatever it is that’s going on in your life. It was during this umpteenth time of hearing yet again his complaints about the church, the leadership and what he believed about it all that I heard The Truth. “You don’t belong in this.” That was the truth. It wasn’t just the truth of the moment; it was the truth from the beginning. It's not that I didn’t hear it. I did.  The message got lost in my need for validation.  The Truth got buried under my need to have my husband's approval and to be regarded as spiritual by the church's standards.

Codependence will make you do that. Resist what your gut is telling you and make you second-guess. From the beginning, I told my then-husband that the only reason I wanted to join that particular church was for us to worship together as a family. I felt it was a good place. I told him that I had no desire to serve in any capacity there. I didn’t want to become involved in leadership. I had no agenda. Welllllll, time revealed that my then-husband had other ideas. Soooo, I went along to get along as they say. I saw it as his chance to be acknowledged for the valuable man he was. I saw it as my chance to gain his favor.  Had I been standing in my truth, I would have encouraged him to go on and do what was in his heart while I remained true to myself.

Ohhhh the insidiousness of codependency. It parades around as love for someone else. Putting someone else’s needs above your own. Sacrificing from a God-fearing place. But if you peel that banana back, codependency is grounded in fear and insecurity. It was my need to belong that took center stage. Bottom line: My husband needed to be acknowledged and I needed approval.

When you realize that codependency is behind your tolerance of the intolerable, you stop blaming other people.  Insecurity is the mother of codependency. I just came up with that. Sweeeet. Seriously though, that's the culprit, not the other person.  Two insecure people propping themselves up using each other is my definition of codependency. Why did I sit by the phone until I couldn’t take it anymore and came up with a reason to call him? Insecurity. Why did I consent to being a minister when I didn’t feel a calling to do it? Insecurity. The truth had nothing to do with anybody else but me.

Over the years, I’ve learned that time passes and getting older doesn’t necessarily mean you are getting wiser. What makes us wiser isn’t just life experiences, it’s what those experiences teach us about ourselves. It is The Truth that is uncovered. Every single experience in my life has taught me to stop dismissing The Truth just because there is some truth in what people are saying. An abusive man tells his wife that he knocked her head into the wall because she burned the corn bread. In tears, she admits, “He’s right. I did burn the corn bread.” Certainly, there is some truth to what he said, but the deeper truth is he is abusive. Whether it’s corn bread or simply you breathed today, he’s abusive and that has absolutely nothing to do with you. Even more importantly, your consent has nothing to do with him; something inside of you needs to be healed.

Some truth will keep your eyes shut. I call that denial. The deeper truth will open your eyes to what is going on. I call that illumination. But it takes The Truth to heal those eyes. I call that transformation.  As the Good Book says, "and ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free."  Amen!!

Related articles

• Codependency and Church Ministry (drnickmazza.wordpress.com)
• Tackle Insecurities in Relationships, Find Out If You Are Codependent (personalsunitedstates.wordpress.com)
• Codependency (cherished79.wordpress.com)
• Excessive Parental Expectations and Codependency (revdlesley.net)

A Voice Lost

Do you speak your truth? Do you speak up and say what you have to say? Do people know what you think and who you are?


If someone were to ask you who Suzette is, could you tell them? Have I talked the talk and walked the walk authentic to who I am and what I believe? As I look back over my life, where I am is a far cry from where I use to be. What a journey! This morning, my sister and I revisited pivotal moments that beckoned me towards my purpose. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why she called cause I pretty much took over the conversation…lol. Oh Lord! Most folks who know me would say “yep, that’s what you do.” What can I say?

They say that what you are called to do has a lot to do with what you have had to overcome in life. For some, their purpose is revealed in conquering some fear, some trauma, some insecurity. Those vulnerable times in our lives where we were not handled correctly. Someone molested as a child may find purpose in foster parenting. They may feel called to keep other children safe. To provide a high risk child with a home, a family, and a healthy environment in which to grow and thrive.

I grew up a church child. I laughingly tell folks that I might have been born in church! Tongue-speaking, falling out in the floor, holy dancing church. I use to love to sit beside my Grandma Cannon. She’d always wear high heels and I’d love to hear those heels rhythmically tapping against the hard wood church floor synchronized with her double clapping. I’d try so hard to get my short legs to the floor and double clap with my Grandma. So much has changed. Or maybe I should say so much has been revealed. Yeah, that’s a better recollection for the beliefs of those I grew up with and the church culture I was raised in was never ever fully shared by me.

I’m sure that comes as a surprise to many who heard me and my sisters sing at YPHA’s and other church meetings. For those who I praised beside, sang in the choir with and shared a dorm room with during the Sunday School Convention or some other summer church retreat. We were considered those "sangin" Randolph Sisters--well-behaved “good girls.” We were from a Christian home. What nobody knew was that I questioned e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Nothing I was taught about God made sense. So many contradictions. Wearing earrings, makeup and pants were forbidden. When I’d ask why, I was either accused of being rebellious, stubborn or someone would turn to the Old Testament and point out that the women took off their gold earrings to make the golden calf. Orrrr that the Bible said that women weren’t to wear anything pertaining to a man. “What that got to do with now?,” I’d ask.

I was very in tune with my feelings back then. It simply didn’t ring true, so I had a hard time accepting their explanations. Like many parents whose children ask why, why, why, my mom and dad would get irritated with my persistence and pull that "because I said so" card. I was reprimanded harshly for challenging the traditions, the beliefs, the doctrine, the contradictions. If it wasn’t my mom and dad, it was in the testimonies at church or the fire and brimstone sermons.

You’d have thought I would have shut my mouth or retreated inside myself. Not me! I can’t remember a time that I stopped talking. I chuckle when I think about it. Instead of getting quieter, I would become more debating. I would come from another angle cause it just didn’t make sense! I would point things out that nobody wanted to hear. My parents believed that when grown folks were talking, children weren’t suppose to join in. It was considered disrespectful. I learned to stop doing that, but trust me when I say I’d revisit the matter when guests left and it was just us.

What folks don’t know is that there were two things constantly on my mind. Maybe it was because these two things were preached about repeatedly. I already mentioned one, wearing makeup, jewelry and pants. The other was speaking in tongues as evidence that you’ve received the Holy Spirit. I know for some of you, this is foreign. You didn’t grow up in church or the church you attended was nothing like what I am describing. You’re probably glad. Nonetheless, maybe you had a different belief. Every religious practice has some oddity, some belief or practice that you struggle with. Concerned about my two things, I asked my mom for answers. She said to me, “You saved (born again) ain’t you?” “Yes,” I said. “Then God will speak to you.”

God speaking to me? This was difficult for me to comprehend given that up until that time I had no clue what God’s voice sounded like. Folks in church would always say “God said this,” or “God said that” but he won’t sayin NOTHIN to me. “You go in your room and you pray until you hear from God. Don’t you come out until He’s spoken to you,” my mom said firmly.

What happened that day changed my life forever. I sat in the middle of the floor and matter of factly told God I was having a haaard time. I told Him how much I wanted to please Him but I was having difficulty with the dressing thing and with the Holy Ghost thing. I cried and told him that I didn’t want to be rebellious. I didn’t want to be sinful. Cleanse me. In the midst of my self-abasing, my penitent regurgitations modeled after those prayers I heard my mom and dad pray or the older people at Friday night prayer meeting, God spoke to me. I can’t explain how I knew it was Him but somehow I knew. It wasn’t an audible voice like someone was in the room with me. Rather, it was a profound realization that was so intense that it spoke to me.  It spoke to the real me and I felt validated. 

He was direct. To my concerns about pants, jewelry and makeup, He said simply, “I don’t care what you wear. I just want your heart.” What about the Holy Ghost? After all, I was told you had to tarry until you are “endued with power from on high.” God’s answer made every hair on my body stand at attention. “The Holy Ghost is my gift. I give it whatever way I want to.” I was startled. I never ever expected God to say that. It was so different from anything I had ever heard….EVER. And as if He wanted to leave no doubt, He said, “Don’t put me in a box. I’m too big for that.” For the first time in my life, it rang true inside of me. I ran out of the room with tears streaming down my face, gasping because I had actually heard from God. God, the one I had only heard could talk, actually talked to me!!!

I ran to my Mom. “What did God say?,” she asked with anticipation. I’ll never ever forget the power of that moment. It was like God had shared a secret with me, a piece of Himself that nobody else knew, and I was soooo excited to share it with my mom. Imagine my excitement in telling my mom, my spiritual giant, my spiritual authority of all things God. Imagine me telling her exactly what God said. And her response? Wait for it...wait for it.  “Baby, you need to go back. God wouldn’t have told you that.”

That was the day...the hour...the moment when I lost my voice.