Translation: Codependency

 

Cancer has gotten my attention on many things.

But one thing I hadn’t quite counted on confronting was codependency. And, oddly enough, or appropriately enough, I faced mine as I was placed in a position in which I needed to be taken care of in an intense way. There’s nothing like a threat of death, major surgery and life-altering changes to one’s physical body to really get someone to face their own limitations and unflattering codependent nature.

One can argue we all are codependent, to varying degrees. It’s not just about enabling a drug addict or an alcoholic, say, giving them money, a place to crash or bailing them out of jail. Codependency is often more subtle than that.

Again, trusty-dusty Wikipedia gives us its definition…

“Codependency is a behavioral condition in a relationship where one person enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement. Among the core characteristics of codependency is an excessive reliance on other people for approval and a sense of identity. Definitions of codependency vary, but it is generally defined as a subclinical, situational, and/or episodic behavioral condition similar to that of dependent personality disorder. The term is less individually diagnostic and more descriptive of a relationship dynamic...”

Uh-huh.

Human beings are nothing, if not codependent. After all, we’re social creatures, interdependent on working and living together. Each of us has strengths and weaknesses. The “many hands make light work” principle is often trotted out, encouraging unity and getting things done, etcetera…

On and on, creating nothing but codependent behavior for miles!

Yes, we need to be helpful, of service… within reason.

With BALANCE!

And here is where you and I can get tripped up, as our poor self-images, need for purpose and our extreme approval- seeking demand we overextend ourselves, again and again.

It would be ideal if we would and could recognize this, each time we fling ourselves into self-destructive, unrealistic “save the world” patterns.

But often, we are too much in the middle of our self-imposed tornadoes to witness them spinning us out of control. And then, like Dorothy, from “The Wizard of Oz,” we say to our crisis-stricken lives, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!”

Cancer has strongly nudged, if not, forced me to examine how I was showing up for others in a codependent fashion.

Maybe you’ll see some of yourself here.

Again, as human beings, it’s hard not to fall into at least a little codependency. Largely, I believe, that’s because it has a lot to do with unrealistic expectations, both others’ and our own. Boundaries can be blurry, if they even exist at all when we traipse into a relationship dynamic with another person.

Codependency can be sneaky and subtle. It is often revealed through what others say to us. Here are just a few of my greatest hits. Enjoy.

“You’re so thoughtful!”

I have heard these words uttered repeatedly throughout my life. It usually follows on the heels of me doing some gift-giving. I love to give gifts; it’s a big way I express love.

However, I’ve needed to adjust my gift-giving, post cancer. I soon discovered, although it was never voiced, certain people expected the gifts to keep rolling in after my diagnosis, while I was in the hospital, getting my surgery and as my energy levels were zapped.

Still, that notorious expectation… People wanted things “back to normal” from me. Yes, they paid lip service, acknowledging my health crisis, saying things like “You take care of yourself.”

Yet, actions do speak louder than words, don’t they?

Eventually, their patience wore thin. I was taking too long to recover. I wasn’t “back to normal.” I was different. And soon, there was the pressure for the gift pipeline to resume. Resentment, and sarcasm were executed as I tried to “explain” why I just was not getting with the program.

And soon, unrealistic expectation reared its ugly head within me. Guilt. Arguments like “I should give them money, flowers, gifts like I did before. It’s not that bad. I can do this. They’re counting on me. I can’t let them down.”

I was saying this stuff as doctors strongly cautioned I “take it easy.” That meant no gift-giving, no excessive thoughtfulness (obsession) with pleasing someone else.

I had to take care of myself. I had to rest. I had to receive gifts and help instead of worrying about dispersing them like Santa at Christmas.

Ho- Ho-Ho. Not as merry, as I battled with expectation.

Translation: Codependency

What should everyone expect in this situation? When does expectation become demand?

Gift-giving/receiving has to do the spirit in which it’s done (the intention from both giver and receiver), the expectation (from both parties) and the sense of self derived from doing so concerning both parties (“Am I loved or worthless, based on the transaction?”)

That last one, especially, just shines a big Klieg light onto the “all-or-nothing” way of thinking. Codependency thrives on that premise. We’re either Savior or Villain. There’s no room in between.

“You’re very conscientious!”

This statement has also been directed at me. It’s not in the realm of gift-giving. Rather, it mostly operates in the context of “acts of service.” I do something for someone. Fairly straightforward, right?

Nope.

Here was usually where I responded to an emergency. The only thing was, it wasn’t a one-time thing. No. I had to repeatedly rescue the individual. This was a pattern.

Yet I was not being conscientious for conscientious’ sake. I was simply envisioning the worst- case scenario… and it was solely up to me to prevent it.

How’s that for ego? How’s that for completely unrealistic, unhealthy and unsafe expectation?

Translation: Codependency

Here’s where I was a participant. In these circumstances, whether they be rife with abuse, manipulation or dysfunction, I was choosing. I think that’s what gets lost in the shuffle for so many of us, even within these circumstances. We are constantly choosing, making thousands of decisions each day about how we will respond to, well, life.

Iyanla Vanzant, a well-known life coach, has a great quote: “You can always make another choice.”

Not surprisingly, we, codependents are not thrilled about that statement. We’d rather believe “there is no other choice” and “I have to do this.”

No, we don’t.

It’s not about shaming anyone who has been through abuse and treacherous situations. When you’re in it, you are in survival. There may not be much luxury to analyze the complexities of the environment as, say, you and I are simply trying to stay alive and sane.

However, if we can grasp onto any notion of power and control that we do have access to, we can tap into that power of “making another choice.” It’s not easy; it’s not instant. It’s ongoing and imperfect.

And it is possible, however, whenever, wherever you and I can accept it. We can make different- and better- choices.

 “You have a servant’s heart.”

This one still makes me cringe. I have heard it spoken to me within a volunteer context, where being pleasing and accommodating were held in high regard. And, usually, that means there is some form of worthy cause, implying self-sacrifice and “the greater good.”

In my personal experience, this applies to church. I want to state, church is just one of the many possibilities out there when it comes to being codependent in group settings. I’m not “picking on the church.”

However, yes, indeed, codependency is often encouraged within a church setting. For me, personally, whether I was doing something for a pastor, “the team” or “for the Lord,” it still called into question what was appropriate… and what was not.

It is a sticky question to entertain. Just how DO you and I deal with things when it appears The Almighty is counting on us?

But notice my words; I say “appears,” meaning, is that really what’s going on here? Or is it something else?

Volunteering is a noble, loving, human endeavor. But, if/when you and I add matters of faith to the equation, there can be added pressure and blurred boundaries to the mix.

I received a lot of great insights, camaraderie, and personal discoveries of myself within my church volunteering experiences.

But, undeniably, I also received some toxic messages, encouraging harmful codependent behavior, for “the greater good.”

For me, that meant staying long hours, being sleep deprived, stressing myself out because of unrealistic expectations (from both myself and from church staff), neglecting my husband and my writing, because, after all, “this” (whatever the current task or project of the day was) APPEARED to be that much more important.

“THIS,” after all, included…

Saving lives…

Saving souls…

Feeding the hungry…

And so, I heard the statement, part approval, part warning…

“You have a servant’s heart.”

As long as the pastors were pleased with my performance, as long as I made things flow easier, generated more money, removed burdens, was compliant and cheerful, while being self-sacrificing, I was, indeed, that stellar person with the servant’s heart.

Deviate from those mentioned examples, however, and I risk being the exact opposite? A selfish, unloving, uncaring person?

Can you see the agonizing, double-bind trap to it all?

Translation: Codependency:

We all need to do our part. Yes.

However, spoiler alert, misuses of power and codependency can thrive. And, as we’ve heard of many scandals over the years, church is not immune from those exploitative behaviors.

But, again, this goes beyond the church. Think of any “well-meaning cause.”

“The greater good.”

Think of organizations and groups that have set such high bars of curing humanity’s ills. To make any and all of that happen, even the most well-intentioned group can fall prey to encouraging codependency. There can, without anyone realizing it, emerge the message…

“You need to keep giving and doing at this high level, for the cause, so we can experience the results of it.”

Yet, there is less realization and appreciation to OTHER results which can occur if we try to keep up this impossible pace…

An emotional and mental breakdown…

Depression…

Anxiety…

Addictive behaviors…

Broken marriages and relationships…

Deterioration of one’s physical health…

And, while I was impacted by much of the above listed, what, again, got my attention the most was that last one, via my cancer diagnosis.

Now, to employ church terminology, my “temple,” my “vessel,” was at risk.

Translating Codependency:

I wish I could say that my epiphany was one distinct moment. It wasn’t, even with my diagnosis. Rather, it was a subtle awakening, like slowly coming out of anesthesia.

I think that’s what it can be like for most of us codependents. We often don’t know what we’ve experienced until, perhaps, years- even decades- after the fact.

Hindsight, 20/20 stuff.

But, sooner or later, we come to recognize the dysfunction, the pattern. And, sooner or later, we recognize it’s not working. Our way of dealing with life must change.

People pleasing and being viewed as “nice” can bombard us with guilt and obligation. But we need to look closer at what those connotations are all about.

And, within the framework of codependency, it’s about others’ needs being more important than our own. Each of us needs to recognize our needs, wants and desires are JUST as valid as someone else’s. And sometimes, they take priority over that other person’s situation.

It’s the cliché example of the Oxygen mask on an airline flight. You need to put your own mask on FIRST before you can help anyone else.

And, even if there is no one else around to help, you are worthy enough to pay attention to.

That is the translating we codependents need to be doing.

All by ourselves, without anyone else’s needs or demands, we are worth it.
Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

To Write Something...

 

If you don't fit in...

 

The OTHER Serenity Prayer

 

Somewhere Out There...

 

Handling My Inner Yosemite Sam

 

Cancer, enmeshment, and caregiving have introduced me to such terms as, “vulnerable adult,” “self-care,” and “Grey Rock.” They are daily parts of my life now.

I can soldier on with the best of them. But, inevitably, there reaches such a point, that I, well… you know the cartoon character, Yosemite Sam?

Yeah, it’s like that.

I devolve into him, maybe with steam escaping my ear holes.

Indeed, Mom and I have an enmeshed, mother-daughter relationship. I truly am astounded I haven’t committed a felony (yet).

Coming from both verbal and emotional abuse from my dad, my mother and I were traumatized, trauma bonded, from the start. 

Within that dynamic, my mother was in denial. “At least he doesn’t hit us” and “He’s a good provider” were her responses when I challenged things as a child.

Mom, to keep life running smoothly, often employed the technique of gaslighting to protect the status quo.

“No, you didn’t see that. No, it’s not that bad.”

And I believed her instead of believing my child’s intuition.

But I saw the hypocrisy. Therefore, my inner Yosemite Sam arose. I was rageful, with no safe place to put it.

By adolescence, I descended into the full-on flareup of my disordered eating issues, via Anorexia and Bulimia.

As much as Mom downplayed my dad’s abuse, she also refused to accept her own dysfunction as well. She was depressed. Of course, she never got help for that depression.

And she further nullified mine. She dismissed and criticized me.

Life moved on. I finally went to some solid therapy at the age of twenty-seven.

My inner Yosemite Sam intensely processed a large amount of the abuse, neglect and rage in the 2006 book I wrote about my experiences. By the time it was published, my dad had died. I was safe from his fury.

But, my mother…

Again, Mom, anti-therapy, never sought help. She couldn’t because she would not access her own dark, painful emotions and experiences. She still operates in denial and shame.

This has continued, in more recent years, with devastating consequences.

As my mother aged, I pleaded for her to take care of herself. Morbidly obese for decades, she was adamant about downplaying her reality.

And that led to her 2009 stroke. Since then, she resides in a care facility.

Of course, mother-daughter enmeshment issues are is still quite evident. I have done my best to be as non-reactive as possible. And I didn’t know it then, but I was already practicing Grey Rock, a technique used within the context of Narcissistic abuse. The goal is to be as boring as possible, just like… a grey rock.

I am her health care agent. Typically, I deal with her needs and issues, speaking with the care facility’s social worker, dietician and nurse case manager. And, typically, Mom mocks me.

Years of this.

I thought I could go on like this indefinitely. Mom’s elderly. I’m her only child. We have precious time left. I love her. I can tough it out.

Not so fast.

For in 2017, I received my Breast cancer diagnosis. But even then, it took a while for me to see things clearly. A year after my diagnosis, I discovered that my sweet, vulnerable adult of a mother was, more than likely, a Covert Narcissist.

That was a fun day.

Because of my abusive childhood and her abusive marriage, my mother had no voice.

And, I believe that, in the middle of those stifling circumstances, Mom made her choice. Her refusal to see how bad it was, her desire to be taken care of, to be viewed as a “nice woman,” and to have affirmation any way she could get it, all led her to be covert about obtaining and executing power and control, via me, the powerless child.

(I know, this is not an objective stance).

But my mother is passive-aggressive. She doesn’t directly voice what she wants. She undermines. She comments. She asks a question, instilling doubt and guilt.

But she does it all sweetly. She’s “nice” about it.

She did this even after my cancer diagnosis. She just couldn’t-or wouldn’t- get that I was preoccupied with treatment and healing, not orbiting around her.

And that’s what she wanted. Me orbiting her until she dies.

Only now, there was a possibility I could die before her.

My attempts to reason with her led to one critical exchange, exposing her victim mentality. She told me that I disappointed her, even though what I was doing was recovering from my cancer experiences.

To her, that was unacceptable.

Something had to change. I had to change.

I had to fight for my life.

Therefore, the “Grey Rock” technique would hold my psyche together and keep Yosemite Sam at bay. It’s not a perfect method, but it helps me, nonetheless.

I needed some go-to phrases in response to her. Staples like...

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

This remark plainly communicates I have heard and am responding, but she is not getting any further past the protective barrier.

Boundaries. “Do not cross.”

Sometimes, she insists on mocking me. Sometimes, she is quiet. In any case, I am resolute. I’m taking care of myself. Simple.

“That’s interesting.”

I use this response whenever Mom insists that I make lifestyle choices that would move me geographically closer to her. Perhaps, now, she posits that because of “the cancer,” the only logical option for me is to move into her care facility, residing right next door.

Or better yet, bunk beds in her room! My husband could assemble a cot nearby for himself, I guess.

So, “That’s interesting.” I give no other spirited Yosemite Sam feedback. Now, I do my best to “observe, not absorb” what is being said to me. Her comments are faulty, anyway.

“I’m hanging in there.”

I say this whenever she asks me how I am doing.

At first, she didn’t know what to say to that. Sometimes, she comes back with the question, “What does that mean?” and I retort with, “Just that, Mom. I’m hanging in there.” Sometimes, she laughs at me.

It probably frustrates her, sure. But that’s because she’s not getting “the intel” she desires: the attention/sympathy from her care facility, which she can use against me later.

Early in my diagnosis, I did try to inform her, with as little gore and fear as possible. She just didn’t want to hear anything other than “I’m back to normal and I’ll soon be focusing on you again.”

But energy is finite now; I need to be mercenary, even with this seemingly, sweet, meek, old woman. Mom’s still “covert.” Sneaky. Agenda-filled.

She has not- and will not- change. Therefore, I need to.

It’s surface chit-chat, a surface relationship. I grieve and resign myself to that. Sometimes, we don’t get what we need from the important loved ones in our lives.

But I am worth being in a healing, peaceful place. Change concerning Mom is helping get me there. I’m still her caregiver, but I do things concerning her more at a distance. I employ the speaker phone concerning her care conferences. I see her, but now, it’s less frequently.  I tend to her needs as best as I can…mostly, from afar. And that must be enough.

I love my mother. But needs and relationships must change. I’m aware of that now.

Do you see yourself here?

Are you a diagnosed caregiver, embattled with a vulnerable adult who is toxic to your condition?

There’s so much emphasis on the designated “vulnerable” person. We, as caregivers, can often get lost in the shuffle. It’s just assumed that we’ll be bulletproof indefinitely. Don’t worry about us. We can take it.

Only, sometimes, we can’t take it.

Sometimes, we are the adults that need to choose self over duty. And that is what caregiving is, isn’t it?

Loving, mixed emotion, challenging duty, but duty, all the same.

Dysfunction, abuse, codependency, aging and any myriad of health or personal issues don’t resolve themselves, by themselves. All of this requires our action. Yosemite Sam can be our alarm, alerting us to danger, informing us of our need to change. But WE must make that change.

It’s not selfish; it’s self-care.

It can be a matter of life and death. And you and I, no matter what, deserve life.

Therefore, care-give yourself!

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

 

Gaslighting’s Laughter

 

Gaslighting has become a trendy buzzword lately. It’s used to describe the crazymaking tactics often employed within an abusive dynamic.

Indeed, Wikipedia offers its own definition…

“Gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation in which a person seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or in members of a targeted group, making them question their own memory, perception, and sanity. Using persistent denial, misdirection, contradiction, and lying, gaslighting involves attempts to destabilize the victim and delegitimize the victim's belief.”

It's about creating a nagging self-doubt, in which we question what we see, hear, believe and feel. Some common phrases?

“You’re crazy. You’ve lost your mind.”

“What’s wrong with you?

“Why are you so sensitive? This is no big deal.”

“You’re imagining things.”

In my personal experience, I encountered those uttered words. But I also ran into another tactic: laughter.

I’m not talking about jovial laughter, good- natured stuff.

Instead, often in tandem with these pointed phrases, I ran into dismissive, mocking laughter, utilized to deflect from real, serious issues and situations.

One family member, uncomfortable with their own angst concerning the abuse existing with our family structure, used laughter as deflection, to minimize how dangerous things were and how much behaviors needed to change.

Once, as an adolescent in pain, responding to the abuse, I bared my soul, sharing how I was experiencing suicidal thoughts. Within seconds of disclosing that revelation, this person started laughing at me, telling me I was silly. Chuckles bubbled up as I was labeled as being a” too-intense” teenager.

I felt betrayed. But even more of a betrayal?

Well, I’m sure you’ve heard how laughter can be contagious. If fact, there are actual laughing groups, sharing a human experience of contagious laughter as stress relief and bonding.

Think of that contagious reality and now visualize me, this upset teen, being laughed at over my suicidal thoughts. Soon, that contagious laughter spread to me.

I was laughing, and it betrayed my very truth. I had betrayed myself because I had succumbed to the dismissive laughter, offered by an individual whose sole agenda was to stop dealing with the seriousness of the discussed subject matter. As I laughed, as I betrayed myself, it was mission accomplished.

The message was further strengthened to both this family member and to me alike: the pain I was experiencing was silly and unimportant. I shouldn’t take my feelings seriously.

For years, I had numerous experiences with me being upset, and then, ultimately, joining in the betraying, contagious laughter.

But this suicidal discussion was the final straw.

I learned, at the tender age of thirteen, I was no longer safe discussing anything important with this person. Moreover, I learned another harmful lesson: people, in general, were unsafe. I could not risk vulnerability, for fear of being laughed at…or worse.

I also learned distrust of my feelings. Was my pain really that bad? That real? That important? After all, it was so easily “laughed off,” even by me?

What could- should- I believe about that?

Laughter, in and of itself, is not evil or wrong. We’ve all had those moments with loved ones, in which we burst out laughing, even at inopportune times, like a funeral. It’s spontaneous. The more you try to suppress the giggles, the more explosive it gets. We have a hard time controlling our laughter. We have all had that.

That, however, is a stark difference to the laughter of gaslighting.

Within that context, there is no spontaneity, no loving, “in the moment” experience of being collectively human, having a human, if not ridiculous and free, moment.

No, gaslighting’s laughter is all about agenda. What is it?

Some purposeful device to try to…

… Stop an uncomfortable conversation…

… Make someone question the validity of their pain and upset…

… Redirect focus to something or someone else…

… “Make” a problem go away.

The laughter of gaslighting is never about resolving an issue; it seeks to negate it, to manipulate it.

So, do you see your experiences here? Have you ever encountered laughter, that may have appeared innocent and jolly, but still, never felt quite right?

Have you felt the laughter was at your expense?

Have you felt it was a diversionary tactic to avoid dealing with an important issue?

Not all laughter is equal. Some of it is sinister.

And yes, some of it IS abuse.

If an episode of laughter makes you feel unheard, unseen, violated or manipulated, it’s probably because it is aimed at doing just that.

Trust your gut.

Laughter is supposed to make us feel better, not worse.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse

Honesty

 

It Shouldn't...

 

Be Proud of Yourself

 

Check the Check Engine Light

 

I recently had some hindsight revelations about ignoring the gut instinct.

First Blinking: Not “Business as Usual” Business:

Years ago, my husband and I were relocating to a new apartment complex.

Right from the jump, it seemed to be an exercise in red flags. We met the apartment manager; let’s call her “Lissy.” When we shook hands with her, it was like grabbing a limp fish. There was a passivity and an apathy to the introduction. It was a signpost of things to come, things we should not have ignored.

But despite Lissy’s fish handshake, we took the apartment. We called the movers, packed our way-too-much- stuff into boxes and believed this move was going to be good for us.

Eh, not so fast.

Let’s see how moving day went, shall we?

Around nine in the morning, as we gathered our stuff, and our spicy calico cats, we got a phone call from Lissy.

It turned out we could not move into the apartment that day… the agreed upon day, listed in our lease…on the first day of the month.

What? Why NOT?

She “explained” that the previous tenant had moved out last minute and left it in dire need of repair.

Oh, and Lissy was “sorry.”

Um, that lip service was pretty, but it didn’t change the fact that we had shelled out massive moolah for the movers that were scheduled to arrive at the new apartment and unload our stuff that day.

The train was leaving the station; it was already in transit.

So, after arriving at the leasing office, we demanded the apartment complex foot the bill for the extra move-in day. Our movers would need to shlep our way-too-much-stuff to a different location, a temporary squatter’s dwelling place, offered to us for the duration of the apartment’s repairs.

As I was on the phone, laying out the situation to the movers, I asked for Lissy’s full name. The movers would be in contact with her for the obvious payment arrangements. In response to my question, she only gave her first name. Like Cher. Like Prince. Like Madonna.

I quickly grabbed a business card I spotted on her desk and read her full name to the movers. My husband and I fought to keep our cool, as we were given the address to our temporary dwelling place.

Oh, and we asked if we could see the “in shambles” apartment for ourselves before we left.

Not surprisingly, Lissy told us “no.”

“Hmmm… Why Not?” (I silently simmered).

But we didn’t challenge things. We were exhausted and it was barely ten in the morning now. We just wanted to be squatters in our temporary home, surrounded by packed boxes, living out of them. We would have three weeks of this fun to look forward to.

Oh, let’s get started now.

“Hmmm… Why Not?”

What we do we do when you and I are stuck in moments of “Hmmm… Why (or Why Not?)”

We all have them.

Where there are question marks, there are usually some exclamation points.

We experience some odd behavior or interaction that JUST doesn’t track well. Our check engine light, known as our intuition, is blinking furiously, alerting us that all is not well, and certainly NOT to be trusted at face value. But we dismiss the question mark, the check engine light, the gut reaction that blares at us.

We often like to, instead, “explain” it away…

“Well, I’m sure it’s a simple mistake…”

“Anyone can have a bad day…”

“I’m sure my boyfriend and this woman are “just friends…”

But the simple mistake and the bad day keep happening over and over.

And we caught that boyfriend having sex with this new girl on our brand-new couch (adding new furniture insult to current relationship injury).

What is getting our check engine light attention?

And what are we refusing to admit or see?

It’s probably worth taking a second look, isn’t it?

More Check Engine Blinking: Outright Lies:

Okay, so back to the apartment saga.

Hubby and I are dwelling amongst our boxes in this temporary abode. Finally, we get word from Lissy that our actual apartment is ready, is fully repaired and is complete with angel choir to serenade our arrival.

Move-in day, take two then.

Our stuff travels from temporary dwelling place to “permanent” apartment home. Second time’s the charm, perhaps?

The day went smoothly, uneventful. No dishes were broken; we got the cable hooked up. Free and clear, hallelujah, right?

(Come on, you know what’s coming).

We moved in on a Friday. There were no leasing office business hours on weekends. I mention this because, first thing, when we woke up on Saturday morning, we encountered multiple cockroaches squirming around our cats’ food and water dishes!

How’s that for a welcome wagon?

After the initial freak out, my husband and I had no choice other than to ride out the weekend with our disgusting nocturnal roomies.

Did I mention how much fun it was to participate in this nocturnal activity?

Our sleep deprived states were further heightened as both of our cats were especially stimulated by these night creatures; they viewed them only viewed as their prey. One of our cats loved grabbing a roach in her mouth and whisking herself into our bedroom to drop her wiggly prey onto the carpet at all hours of the night.

Fun.

First thing, Monday morning, I phoned Lissy, bringing up the roaches.

“Oh, really?’ was her response. She seemed surprised.

I’d soon find out she was lying.

Liar, Liar, What’s on Fire?

We have all be lied to. But, at what point, do we override our instincts to willingly choose to believe the lies?

Primrose path. This explanation connects to that explanation… and so on, and so forth.

Yet, often, when we get to the end of the explanations, all that is left is a lie. What’s yours?

A relationship that’s been on the skids for years, only to have an explosion, confirming a lie?

How about a business deal that seems to be too good to be true, going exactly your way… until it sells you out?

How about that one person in your life you thought would NEVER betray you until one day, Hello, Judas?

Our check engine light detects the presence of lies, even if all we see are happy, uneventful truths and fairytale endings.

Our intuition knows better.

What does your intuition know, right now, that you are clueless about?

More Check Engine Blinking, More Lies:

So, I spoke to Lissy about the roaches first thing on Monday morning. She seemed surprised, but I was already suspicious.

We had not been able to move in on the original lease date because the previous tenant moved out at the last minute and trashed the joint. Uh-huh.

We were denied our request to see the trashed apartment before we spent the next few weeks in a temporary residence. Uh-huh.

And now, her innocent, wide-eyed reaction to the creepy crawlies. Uh-huh.

Nope. Not buying it.

So, I insisted on an action plan to rid the roaches. Not too unreasonable, right?

I was informed that the current exterminator they used would be in touch with me shortly.

Uh-huh.

Upon meeting this guy, I gingerly asked if he had been treating this complex for more than this “isolated” incident. He did not answer, but the pregnant pause and look on his face told me what I needed to know. This place was infested. Plus, when the exterminator arrived at our apartment, fellow neighbor tenants peeked out the doors and knocked on mine, asking when their apartments would be dealt with also.

Uh-huh.

Can you hear my boiling blood? Shall I put on some music to drown out its sound?

What I DID find out from Mr. Exterminator was that he had diligently been on the scene for the past three weeks.

The past three weeks.

Uh-huh.

Unbeknownst to us, the new, trusting tenants.

So, far, the extermination was not that effective, because, well, roaches. Night after night now, they were creeping nocturnally, keeping us up at night all night, forcing me to keep the lights on at night, so that they would be kept somewhat at bay.

Yet, the leasing office and our new BFF, Lissy, kept minimizing and downplaying how bad all of it was.

(Easy for you to say. You’re well-rested in your roach-free home).

Anyway, supposedly, the exterminator stepped things up. But the bug action continued. In fact, it got worse. Now, these night creatures were visible and crawling around during the day.

Especially unnerving was when the roaches were dazed and confused, crawling on the ceilings, right above our heads. By this point, I wanted to live outside, safely under the open sky. No danger of roaches pelting me from above that way!

This was not working. So, I called the city’s health inspector. This WAS a health and safety issue. Roaches can carry disease; they certainly weren’t hygienic. And we couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.

A couple of days later, a health inspection walked throughout our apartment and the ones nearby, including units one floor below us. While we’re all doing this fun walkthrough, I asked Lissy for a copy of the extermination order, set up a few weeks’ earlier. This followed on the heels of the health inspector, busting her on how she should have not withheld this information from us, as the new tenants.

She produced copies of the extermination order, and I discovered something “curious.” At the exact time of nine or ten in the morning, while we were in the leasing office, dealing with one-name Lissy, making new arrangements with the movers and temporarily being relocated, the exterminators were spraying creepy crawlies. That was why we could we not see that apartment. We would see the bug guy… and the corresponding bugs. We would catch Lissy and the entire apartment management company in a big fat lie!

It took us being displaced, being disturbed by our undeniably predatory feline cats, roping in a city health inspector, who subsequently, gave the apartment complex a hefty fine from that city, and employing an entomologist carpet bombing the roaches, all to shine light on this lie and work toward a solution.

If only we had checked all of the check engine lights that were insistently blinking. If only.

How Many Check Engine Lights Does It Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?

It feels like the setup to a bad joke, doesn’t it? We keep getting signs that we somehow, keep ignoring.

The lipstick on the collar…

The hang up phone calls…

The person who never seems to be where they say they will be…

The multiple stone- in- our- stomach feelings as we try to convince ourselves that something is “okay…”

The Check Engine Light Means Business the First Time.

How many times do we need to keep experiencing this wrongness BEFORE we BELIEVE it?

Intuition is there for our safety: physically, spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. The check engine light blinks only to get our attention and bring us to safety.

Something is wrong, dangerous, unhealthy.

Blink, blink! Pay Attention!

Unfortunately, that can be inconvenient. Scary. Messy. Not fun. Not what we want at the time. So, we talk ourselves out of the warning.

It’s nothing…

It’s my imagination…

It’s not that bad…

It’s too good to pass up…

On and on. You get the point. We all get the point. Yet, we all seem to have a habit of ignoring that check engine light.

My personal hindsight: we should have run from Lissy’s fishy handshake. We should have demanded to see the buggy apartment.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

We can all visit that land from time to time. I do. My passport is up-to-date.

Still, what happened cannot be changed. Bad vibes, lies, displacement, roaches.

But I learned what happens when you repeatedly hush the intuition that tells you to pay attention to something that is not right.

Therefore, overs the years, I have been learning to heed that check engine light. I pay attention when a person seems a little too hinky or creepy for comfort. I don’t hang around them. If a situation doesn’t feel right, for any reason, I no longer give it the “benefit of the doubt.” Doing so could be harmful to me now. I know that.

Each of us has our own check engine light; it’s not just bestowed on a lucky few. We can tap into what that message system is trying to tell us. It takes time and, yes, practice.

But you and I can learn the life lessons that are there for the taking, should we decide to take them up on their offers to teach us.

And hopefully, we can also avoid cockroaches in our futures.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse