For each of us, there comes a time to let go. You will know when that time has come. When you have done all that you can do, it is time to detach. Deal with your feelings. Face your fears about losing control. Gain control of yourself and your responsibilities. Free others to be who they are. In so doing, you will set yourself free.
~ Melody Beattie, Codependent No More: How to Stop Controlling Others and Start Caring for Yourself
Dang. Melody Beattie died. Months ago, in February of this year, but I just stumbled across the news. It shook me, stirring up an array of memories and emotions. Beattie’s work was a huge part of my life in the 1990s when my life fell apart, and I learned how to rebuild it. Her bestselling books, Codependent No More (1986), Beyond Codependency (1989), Codependents’ Guide to the 12 Steps (1990), and The Language of Letting Go (1990), were my bibles as I navigated new ground. She faced challenges that would bring any of us to our knees and continued to offer hope and a pathway to healing, releasing a revised and updated version of Codependent No More in 2022. Melody Beattie died on February 27, 2025, at age 76.
Thinking about Melody reminded me of another influential author in the addiction realm, John Bradshaw. His books also served as my guide in those dark times. Homecoming: Reclaiming and Championing Your Inner Child (1984), Healing the Shame That Binds You (1988), Family Secrets (1990). John Bradshaw died on May 8, 2016, at age 82.
And oddly and paradoxically, I thought about a woman I used to know. She had it all together. Perfect (in her eyes) husband, children, and way of living life that gave her the authority (also in her eyes) to point out what was wrong in anyone else’s. She knew it all. I’d get a lump in my throat whenever we got together for coffee. Her perfection made shame burn like an inferno in my gut. I would feel myself holding back inexplicable tears while smiling, nodding, and acting “as if.” As if I had it all together as much as she did. As if I wasn’t overwhelmed by shame. As if the people she gossiped about were somehow less than the two of us. It was toxic and distasteful and anything but a healthy friendship.
With these meanderings this morning comes a renewal in my belief that those who admit being messed up in a million ways are the ones worth listening to. They’re the ones worthy of our time and trust. They’re the ones I’m most comfortable with and whose wisdom I will take to heart. Perfection? I ain’t got no time for that. Never did (though I almost wore myself out trying to attain it once upon a time).
I’m thinking about the masks we sometimes feel compelled to slip on and the curated glimpses into our lives we share online. I’m as guilty as anyone in this. It’s not all bad; we need a level of decorum in our communities. The danger comes when we believe that everyone else has their life together, and we fall short by every measure. Or when we’re tempted to follow the crowd, trying this strategy for living our best life or listening to the guru du jour. (Have you noticed how many of those so-called teachers have fallen lately?)
Someone reminded me today of the concept of a “wounded healer”. Carl Jung coined the term first to describe a therapist treating patients from a place of wisdom drawn from his own hurt. Henri Nouwen wrote a book with the same name. We’re all, potentially, wounded healers. I challenge you to find anyone who makes it out of this life unscathed. What we do with our pain is what matters.
We can lash out like a wounded animal and hurt those around us—and so on, and so on, because that’s how wars of all shapes and sizes start, and generational pain is passed on. Or, we can do the work required to understand and find a measure of personal peace and healing, and then reach out to help someone else on a similar journey. None of it’s easy. It’s uncomfortable and inconvenient and messy. And terrifying. It can seem a lot safer to live behind a mask.
But we sell ourselves short when we stay there. And lest you think I’m coming from a place of having figured anything out, let’s clear that up right now. I’m not good at any of this. In fact, I’m awful at it. I’m introverted and socially awkward and prefer the dark, back corner over center stage. Always. I can do one-on-one conversations in coffeeshops, though. Some of the sweetest connections happen over a caramel latte.
All this to say . . . what?
First, that every single one of us has something to share with someone else and a measure of ability to do so. A shoulder, an ear, a story, a piece of ourselves.
Second, it’s okay to walk away from relationships with people who cause you to feel less than anyone else and shame at your core. In fact, more than okay, it’s necessary.
Let’s spend some time thinking about lessons we’ve learned from our own woundedness and how we can walk alongside someone who needs a friend in this season.