How I Kept My Spirit From Breaking

The Case for Codependency

A few days ago, in an oncology appointment to discuss my recent scan results, I was told there is cancer progression in several parts of my body. I’ve received hard news like this several times over the past three years, but because my treatment options are dwindling, it was a heavier day than most.  “This is it,” I thought when the appointment was over. “This is the day my spirit finally breaks. This is the moment I can’t mosaic it back together. Can’t make a poem of the pain. This is where I sleep so late it’s nighttime when I finally muster the nerve to crack open my eyes. Where I once and for all give up.”

Thank the (Gay) Gods, that isn’t what happened. As I type this, my spirit is fully intact. A wannabe poem is whispering in my ear, “Write me, Andrea, write me.” This morning, in the coffee shop, my partner caught me dancing to the worst techno beat I’d heard since the late 90’s. The sight of her giggling made me feel like I could compose the sheet music for laughter. “I don’t know the meaning of life,” I later typed into the notes on my phone. “But I know the meaning of my life is to love my life, no matter how it shows up.”

It wasn’t the first time in the last few years that I worried my spirit might be crushed by health news. But it was the first time my spirit stayed intact because of a quality in myself I have never ever thought healthy—my tendency towards Codependency (The Other Big C.)

“Codependency is always toxic,” the self-help books say. I 100% agreed until a few days ago when I thought, “Maybe it’s only toxic 99% of the time.”  Let me explain. 

As my oncologist went over the results of the scan, I ran my palms over those parts of my body and noticed my hands were shaking, so frightened they were to touch the truth. I felt unbearably vulnerable, fragile in a way that was convincing my mind I was on the verge of emotional collapse. A short while later I had this very codependent worry: If my spirit breaks, someone else’s might too. My partner’s, maybe. My mother’s, maybe. Or, maybe one of yours, reading this right now. Of course I didn’t know if that would definitely happen, but I was overwhelmed with terror that if my spirit shattered, the shattering might domino. 

And that was the exact moment I put on my big boy pants and did the only thing I know to do to keep my spirit from breaking: I grieved and I grieved and I grieved and grieved some more. I sobbed so hard I thought I might flood my home. When I found anger beneath my tears, I walked out to the garage and punched every bit of dust off of the boxing bag I hadn’t touched in years. When I heard fear in my anger, I stood still and trembled so hard it almost looked like dancing. And through it all, I repeated a line I’d written long before my cancer diagnosis: Let your heart break so your spirit doesn’t. Letting my heart break felt like standing in a hurricane without lifting a single finger to protect myself from the debris flying at my skull. But afterwards, I texted a friend, “The sun has finally broken through the clouds in my chest.” The light had returned. My codependency had kept my spirit whole. 

Now, I’m aware that there are more than a few therapists who subscribe to this newsletter, including my own (Hi, Julie!). Because of this I expect to receive feedback that my actions were not, in fact, codependent. I can already hear Julie saying, “codependency is a pattern of helping or giving to others at one’s own expense.” I did nothing at my own expense. In fact, I benefited greatly. In an attempt to buoy the spirits of people I love, I kept my own afloat. 

So, instead of saying I was codependent, I might have said, “I was tapped into the fact that we are in this life together.” Or, “I was aware that my lifelines are braided with the lifelines of strangers.” Or, “I was tuned into the knowing that the air I breathe out is the air others breathe in.” Sweet sentiments, sure. But part of my wellness is allowing myself to be messy, to be unwise, to not take myself so seriously that I lose sight of the holy ridiculousness of this life. The other day I told a friend, “My primary spiritual practice right now is making fun of my spiritual practices.” When I say, “My spirit was saved by my own codependency,” it makes me smile. So on behalf of smiling, that’s my message today friends. I, Andrea Gibson, was saved by my own codependency. 

And if you’re looking for a bit of beautiful (probably not codependent) wisdom, I heard some earlier today. Here is a quote by Neil deGrasse Tyson: “When a tree is cut down in the forest, other trees reach out to the victim with their root tips, and send lifesaving sustenance, water, sugar, and other nutrients via the mycelium. This continuous IV drip from neighboring trees can keep the stump alive for decades, and even centuries. And they don’t only do it for their own kind. They do it for the trees of other species. Why? Is it because they know that their lives depend on the health of the whole forest? And even on beings very different from themselves? Is it possible that trees can think in longer terms than we do?”.

I love that. And I love you.
🖤 Andrea

Thank you for being here.