PLANTING THE SEEDS OF CODEPENDENCY: Religious Trauma

As I have read the books, listened to podcasts, and explored the world of CoDA (Codependents Anonymous), a common denominator in codependent people is addiction. Not generally their own, although that's not unheard of, but addiction with members of the family. It could be your parents, maybe even a sibling. More often than not, codependency grows from being in a relationship with one who battles addiction. My story couldn't be further from the truth...

I was born in 1967 to very loving parents. I was the second child of what would become four children. My older brother was born a year and a half prior to my entering the world, with my younger brother following nearly a year and a half later, and then by my sister five years after me. Having grown up in a mostly white neighborhood in the suburban outskirts of the Salt Lake Valley, odds stood that I would grow up a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints... otherwise known as the Mormons... which I did. 

My mom was born and raised in Bournemouth, England, converting to Mormonism when she turned 18 years of age. My dad grew up on the Mormon faith, his great-grandfather being a 19th Century pioneer that left his family (being disowned by his parents) with only his brother and a few meager possessions, making the harrowing journey across the ocean, then making the long, grueling trek to Salt Lake City, losing his brother... his only flesh and blood in the land he would call home... to Cholera.  

Mormonism was something that ran deep in my father's side of the family. He, himself, grew up in a family of two devoted parents and six children... all boys. The church ran deep through all their veins, each remaining steadfast in the religion throughout their lives. Of the two that are still alive, they, to this day, remain valiant to the cause.

Mormonism was all I knew, growing up. All my friends were Mormon. Most of our neighbors were Mormon. Those neighbors that didn't belong to the church... or were "inactive" members of the church... seemed to be put on a figurative list of people whom we needed to beware. In retrospect, I recognize that a lot of those ideas were probably just things that I put into my own mind, although there were very real issues that would occasionally come up when it came to my siblings and I playing with "non-member" friends. 

Church for a Mormon boy was probably not too dissimilar to that of any other religion. We went to church nearly every Sunday, we had "Primary" for us younger children during the week, usually after school, with various other programs for adult men and women, as well as programs for teenagers of both genders. Like every other religion, we were told that our church was the only true church on the face of the earth. We were taught from an early age to pray... to "bear testimony" of the church... and to work towards our eventual Eternal salvation. The church hierarchy consisted of a Prophet, First Presidency, Quorum of Twelve Apostles and a Quorum of the Seventy (men called to serve different areas of the world). When I was young, all the men serving in these capacities were white. For me, this was the way the world was... Mormon, white and middle class. I didn't have much experience otherwise to lend myself a wider outlook on the world around me.

When I was 10 or 11, I had my first orgasm. What does THIS have to do with anything, you ask? Well, let me explain...

I have a mutant superpower... at least that's what I like to call it... where I can occasionally have non-sexual, flaccid orgasms. It's usually triggered by an upset stomach, often resulting from eating extremely spicy food. I don't remember what ultimately caused my first orgasm, but I remember it very well. I had been watching "Logan's Run" on television, having been an avid fan of all things Science Fiction, since seeing Star Wars when I was 10. I was engrossed in the film, when I felt the uncomfortable sensation of a churning stomach... one that felt like diarrhea was imminent. I pulled myself away from the television and went into the bathroom, sitting down with hopes that I could rid myself of the discomfort I was feeling. Amidst the churning feeling in my stomach, I all of a sudden felt this intense, yet amazing feeling sensation come across me... the likes of which I had never felt before. No sooner had it hit, when the sensations slowly faded away. Nothing else happened. There was no ejaculate... no outward signs of anything out of the ordinary. 

Similar experiences happened again, with no knowledge whatsoever of what was causing it. Eventually, when I was in junior high, I was using in the bathroom with one of those pesky adolescent erections when I stumbled upon a way to trigger that sensation on my own. My method of bringing myself to climax was about as far removed from what one would consider a "normal" way to masturbate, but I didn't know that. Heck, I didn't even know what masturbation was. I was still too young to really understand all that, let alone to actually have any kind of physical reaction to it other than the amazing feeling it brought. I was probably in 7th grade at the time, although the timeline there is fuzzy. 

Once I figured out how to cause that sensation, I started making it a ritual most days after school. My method wasn't normal, but I really had no clue there anything normal about what I was doing. Because it involved my genitalia, I felt like I couldn't tell anybody else about, or even ask my parents what was happening. It was my little secret.

Over time, I penis began secreting a clear liquid when I had these powerful sensations. Keep in mind, I didn't know it was called an orgasm... or that it was anything that anyone else ever experienced. My immediate reaction to the clear liquid that began coming out of my penis was that I had broken it somehow. My initial thought was that I should stop doing what I was doing, but I couldn't. The feeling was that good. 

When I was 12, I became a member of the Aaronic Priesthood in church and was ordained to the office of Deacon, a position typically held in the church by boys between the ages of 12 and 13. During this time, a pamphlet was circulated among the young men of the church that delved into the whole notion that our mind was a "stage" and that when we allowed filth onto our stage, it would cloud our minds and ultimately lead us to "tamper with the factory". The pamphlet continued to warn us about what would happen when we tamped with said factory, that the "little workers" in our factories... the little workers that were busy making our life giving seed... would become overburdened, resulting in them speeding up the process of making that life giving seed. Apparently, that was a bad thing. We were told that our bodies had a natural way of giving off our excess seed (hello, wet dreams!!) and that we should just let our bodies do what they naturally do. Nocturnal emission orgasms were fine, but those brought about by our own "tampering" were not. Easier said than done, for someone who had already made habit of getting that physical sensation.

When I've shared this story with people, as an adult, I'm often asked if my parents never gave me "the talk". My dad did, bless his heart, but it mostly had to do with a diagram of a sperm cell and an egg and the sperm cell fertilizing the egg and...BAM!! Here comes baby!! I didn't really understand it all, but I was beginning to put two and two together about how babies were, in fact, made. When visiting my aunt and uncle, I would often secretively go down to the basement and look in their encyclopedias... looking up penis and vagina and sex and anything that would stimulate me. 

One may read this and think that this story is not all that dissimilar to the stories of other young people, as they begin to explore their own bodies... their sexuality... the things that bring them pleasure. I had no idea, nor would I... for years to come.

As I moved into 9th grade, I noticed that the fluid secreting from my penis during orgasms was becoming more clouded and thick. I was convinced that I had somehow broken it beyond repair, but it was still not anything I felt I could even bring up with my parents. My parents had never done anything to make me fear going to them with such problems, but I literally felt like this was a unique problem and they wouldn't even be able to relate to it, if I tried. 

Around this time, my dad began having "one on one interviews" with all of us children, something that he had been doing as part of his church calling as Elder's Quorum President. I remember vividly the first time that my dad, during one of these one on one interviews, asked me if I knew what masturbation was, and if I did it. I was so unsettled by the question, and even more, worried about what his reaction would be if I were to tell him I was doing it, that I simply looked away and said "no". 

"No". A bold faced lie. Something that I felt was protecting me from his disappointed lecture, and him from having to deal with the perversions of his young son. Little did I know how much impact that moment would have on the rest of my life up until now.

Throughout the rest of my teens, I would regularly go through a cycle of: masturbation - guilt -masturbation - guilt - masturbation - guilt - masturbation - guilt... and so on... and so on... and so on. I didn't experience my first kiss until I was 16... I was a virgin on my wedding day... but I carried a deep seeded guilt about masturbating into adulthood. Truth be told, I felt like I was the only person that masturbated until I was nearly 20 years of age. It wasn't until I was (ironically) on my LDS mission, speaking with a couple of my companions, that I began to believe that others did it, too. We even had a legend in our mission about an Elder Quayle that, when asked by the mission president if he had a problem with "self abuse" (the term used to reference masturbation), Elder Quayle replied by saying, "Yeah, I came on a mission, didn't I?" Whether or not that story is true, I don't know... but the fact that we would regularly be asked by the mission president IF we had a problem with "self abuse" gave me realization that apparently it was more common than I thought. Even as a missionary, I struggled with masturbation. Nothing could stop that physical desire. Not the cold showers suggested by my mission president... not praying... not anything.  

So, here you sit... having read a rather sordid tale of my coming of age and coming to terms with my own sexuality... wondering how in the hell this relates to codependency. Well, let me explain. As denoted in the title, religious trauma is a thing. A very REAL thing. For Catholics, it's usually referred to as "Catholic guilt", something that is often joked about among members of that religion. Mormonism is no different, other than the fact I think most Mormons really try and hide their misdeeds. I recently saw a humorous meme of sorts that was split into two sides... it was referring to Mormons and how (on the left) we won't watch R-rated movies, but (on the right) will belly up to the computer to look at porn without any problems. The sad reality is this is a pretty fair assessment of the culture in Utah. It is common knowledge that Utah ranks #1 in the 50 states for their viewing pornography online. My feelings are that it comes from the sexually repressed lifestyle that so many Mormons live. Even though our actions may not be repressed, we fail to openly acknowledge our behaviors, making much of it "dirty little secrets". 

You're probably STILL wondering how this ties into codependency. Well, let me explain. No, really... let me explain. For those of us who begin codependent behaviors early on, that did NOT come from a family of neglect and/or addiction (neither of which were part of my upbringing), there is a portion of codependent people that begin their codependency by trying to compensate for the shame that they feel on the inside. Simply put, because I felt my behaviors would devastate my parents, potentially causing them a shame of their own, I would compensate other ways... by trying to please them any way I could. 

It wasn't until my revelation of codependency a couple weeks ago... and my subsequent research into it... that I realized that a HUGE component of codependency has to do with "people pleasing"... with going out of your comfort zone to please others, whether coming from a sense of shame about something you have done or are currently doing, or because because you spend your life simply walking on eggshells in your relationships. The latter would ultimately become the reason why codependent behavior became ingrained in my psyche and who I ultimately became as an adult. 

Join me next time as I share my story about becoming a full-on codependent person... married to one of the most codependent people I have ever known. 

Hi. I'm Sean.... and I'm codependent.

So... just over eight years after the previous post on this blog...and I find myself walking in a brand new pair of shoes. Those of a codependent. 

I suppose that previous statement is inaccurate, since it would be safe to say that I've been codependent for most of my life. At least the part of my life that I am going to begin addressing in the following blog posts. The brand new pair of shoes in which I am now walking belong to a new me... a me that recognizes what I am, and what I need to do to change my behaviors to make myself the most genuine and healthy version of me possible. 

Let me begin by addressing some changes that have occurred in my life since my last post in 2011. First, I met and eventually married a woman who I felt was the one true love that would be the person I would grow old with. I met her in 2012, while still in a relationship with another person... a relationship that, in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have been in, in the first place. In retrospect, that relationship...albeit a beautiful time in my life... evolved beyond friendship, because I didn't establish boundaries and adhere to them. Truth be told, I probably wouldn't have been at that place in my life, had I established firm boundaries, and given those boundaries the respect and adherence that they deserved. But I didn't know... because I was blissfully unaware to the fact that I was codependent. 

The place in my life that I am referring to is the time between 2010 and 2012, shortly following my departure from a 20 year marriage to a woman that I always felt had codependency issues, but also (unknowingly to me) perpetuated and exacerbated my own codependency issues to the point that it would cripple every relationship to come, including my (second) marriage to Joan. Although my years with Joan will always be years that were full of an intense amount of happiness, love and adventure, my deep seeded issues would eventually lead to the dissolution of what I thought was a love beyond love. Had I only known then, what I know now, I probably would have been able to maintain a more healthy relationship, and probably would have avoided the issues that ultimately caused our marriage to collapse.

My marriage to Joan ended at the middle of July, 2019. We had spent the better part of a year trying to nurse through an act of betrayal on my part... a secretive online flirtation that was brought to light in October of last year. Had that been the first instance in our relationship, we may have been able to work through it.... but, it wasn't. Not only wasn't it the first during my relationship with Joan, but I had several similar issues throughout the last 23 years of my life, beginning 6 years into my marriage with my first wife, Tiffany.

Tiffany is a girl that I barely knew, when we got engaged to be married. And when I say barely, I mean we didn't know each other at all. At the time of our engagement, Tiffany and I only knew each other 3 weeks. During that three weeks, we couldn't seem to keep our hands off each other, once our hands found their way TO each other. Three weeks... that's less time than many Americans get for vacation each year. Three weeks is less time than what we consider the "Holiday Season". Three weeks. 

Truth be told, my parents had been together three weeks, when they got engaged. In their defense, they had known each other longer, having served in the same LDS mission in England. And then there is my older brother, whom, after meeting his (now) wife, was engaged after only three weeks. It just seemed like the thing to do... and not all that uncommon in the world of Mormonism. Given that we are expected to be "chaste" when we get married (presumably in one of the temples), marriage is often rushed, and even MORE often to the detriment of everyone involved. 

From the time that Tiffany and I got engaged, back in September of 1989... 30 years ago this month... I have been in a relationship of some kind or other ever since, at least until Joan and I split in July. For once, my relationship did not end because I was transitioning into another. Had I known what wide array of dynamics are included in codependency, I would have seen the red flags years ago... but I didn't. Until a couple weeks ago, anyhow.

Friday, September 6th was not a typical day for me, from the time I woke up. I had taken the day off to be part of a FanX (Salt Lake's ComicCon) panel that was exploring the music in the movies of John Hughes. I woke up taking care of a few things, before heading to my first appointment of the day, which was a medical appointment to get some FMLA paperwork filled out, because I had taken a "mental health" day just a week or more prior. When I say "mental health" day, I was pretty much curled up in bed crying most of the day. The separation from Joan had been a continuous roller coaster ride of emotions that occasionally resulted in me just needing to let out some emotions. The loss of such a beautiful relationship was something that I had already been grieving for 9 months, let alone coming to the realization that it was, in fact, done. 

On my way to my doctor's appointment, Joan texted me, letting me know that she had been laid off from her job. A job that had defined who she was for the previous year... a job that had been her penultimate job. Something she was not only proud to be part of, but something that she loved doing. She was devastated. Especially since the reason for her being let go was that the owner of the company simply needed to cut back the growth of the company and essentially taking it from the trajectory with which it was heading back to a small time operation. Something he needed to do for his health. Sadly, it had the opposite effect on Joan. Her texts became increasingly dark as the conversation went on, with mentions of life not even being worth living. Joan has a bright light shining in her soul, but also has a very dark place that she would occasionally retreat. This was one of those days. 

For me, I became unsettled and worried about her, wondering how I could help her with her situation. I have always thought of myself as a compassionate person, one that bent over backwards to help my partner. It was a character trait that I was most proud of. 

By time I got to my appointment, I could sense that I was emotionally and physically not feeling normal. I was nervous about my pending appearance at FanX. I was worried for Joan. I was worried that my appointment time wasn't going to end in time for me to safely get to my FanX panel. Unbeknownst to me, I was probably a little dehydrated, as well, which all resulted in what was an unusually high blood pressure for me. I've been taking Lisinopril for my potentially high blood pressure for the better part of a decade. My blood pressure is usually in a very normal range, because of how well the medicine helps manage it. On that particular morning, when the medical assistant took my blood pressure, it was approximately 176/89. The highest (official) reading I had ever had. The M.A. voiced a little concern over that, which I downplayed because of the nervousness I felt inside. When the doctor came into the room, he also voiced concern about it. We had conversation about why it was probably elevated, about my current mental state, and what he needed to put on my FMLA paperwork. All the while, I kept looking at my watch... the minutes passing like a rabbit to my reality's tortoise. I was nearing panic mode. All while trying to voice concerns to the doctor about my life, about how I needed a prescription for Xanax to have as a safety net, for the days when my life seemed to be circling out of control. If I had had anything on my mind, leaving that office, it would have been that the doctor probably felt I was merely in there for prescription medications. He was "generous" enough to give me a prescription for 10 pills, even though I had never finished my previous prescription of 30 from 2 1/2 years prior. 

I miraculously... and I mean MIRACULOUSLY made it to my panel appearance with one minute to spare. I was sweating, exhausted, feeling otherworldly because of the amount of intense stress that I had been experiencing up until that point, but ultimately spent the most relaxed hour of my day during that panel. 

My sister Kristy had attended the panel, and so I spent the next hour with her wandering around the convention, admiring those dressed in their cosplay attire, as well as seeing several celebrities that were there for autograph signing. I saw Billy Zane, a couple guys from Backstreet Boys, the Six Million Dollar Man and even the Bionic Woman, two of my childhood favorites. 

While Kristy and I explored the convention, I was telling her about my morning... and about Joan losing her job. She asked if that was going to impact me in any way, and my mind began to fill with thoughts of concern again. I told her I didn't know, but I also mentioned that I really wanted to help her if I could. Kristy glanced sideways at me and said, "it sounds like codependency." I paused for a minute, then responded with, "Me? Or her?" She then said the most eye-opening words I have ever heard.... "You."

I was taken aback. I couldn't figure out what she was even saying. In my head, I could only think that Tiffany was codependent, not me. Tiffany was the one that still shared a bedroom with our youngest daughter, even when they have a spare bedroom in the town home that they share with Chelsea and her family. Codependency wasn't something that a compassionate friend or lover could ever be guilty of, right? RIGHT?!? 

She proceeded to tell me about the book, "CODEPENDENT NO MORE", by Melody Beattie. How codependency is much more complex than someone who relies too much on others to navigate life... how the very name CO-dependency insinuates that two people depend on each other to deal with life's many challenges... and how, in most cases, the most codependent of us are the people that sacrifice our money, time and even our sanity to help other people. This was all so foreign to me. We continued our discussion over dinner at Red Iguana, and she continued to tell me more about what the book revealed about codependency. 

The next morning, I checked on Spotify, my streaming service of choice, to see if there was anything about codependency. I was elated to find that there was a podcast series that started in 2015 that delved into the many layers and faces of codependency. About how, in most cases, it stems from living in a home where addiction is a factor. Because I didn't come from a home with addiction, I knew I needed to delve deeper into the subject... and that I have.

As of this writing, I have read a novella about establishing healthy boundaries and am currently about a third of the way through the book "Codependent No More". In addition to that, I am about 30 podcast episodes into the "Codependency No More" podcast, and have learned a great many interesting facts about codependency which have helped me to understand where many of my codependent (and other unhealthy) traits came from. I will delve further into those in the coming posts, which ultimately will serve as a journal of sorts, in addition to being a place for me to look at my life... for better or worse. Join me as I come to terms with being the person I am today... as well as see me grow into the person I will be tomorrow.