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A major element of my codependence is that it’s incredibly hard to say no to things or cancel if I find myself overcommitted. As soon as I made a plan, I’d immediately be overcome with dread and regret and spend most of the time between making it and the event itself trying to figure out a way to get out of it, sometimes praying I’d get injured or have a baby so I’d have an excuse. At the time I didn’t realize how arrogant it is to fear saying no to an invite. This is something that cracks me up about my codependence—that I’m very insecure, yet still think if I say no to an invite, the person inviting me is going to have an emotional meltdown if I don’t attend. When we fear canceling plans, essentially the thought process is “If I don’t say yes, this person will implode with sadness and have no reason to live!” I didn’t understand that no one’s life is shattered because I declined an invitation. As Vera once said, “Codependents obsess over what other people think about us until we realize they’re not.” Trust me, at parties nobody is in a fetal position, sobbing over the fact that I didn’t make it; they’re preoccupied with taking selfies and picking a flattering filter for their aforementioned selfies.
Maybe this isn’t always true. Let’s say someone does freak out when you honor yourself and say no because you’re too tired, or simply don’t want to do whatever thing they ask. If that’s the case, there’s something going on with that person that’s way bigger than you (self-absorption, immaturity, narcissism, borderline personality disorder, addiction, or just general punk-ass-ness), or they may be possessed by their own codependent demons, like I was, leading them to believe that friendships are about attendance sheets. If this type of person is in your life making you feel guilty for taking care of yourself, try control alt delete—that is, take control, make an alt choice, and delete their contact in your phone.
It took me a long time to understand that friendships shouldn’t feel like work, and the ones that do eventually corrode because you grow resentful of them. But sometimes when relationships feel draining, it’s because we’re not being direct and honest about what we need; then when we don’t get it, we’re annoyed. I used to exhibit what’s called “magical thinking,” in which I expected people to just know what I wanted, since I was too afraid to tell them outright. I expected them to know that when I said “Sure, I’ll go,” what I really meant was “I would rather have hot-sauce-covered sea urchins on my eyeball than do that.” I was angry at people for not knowing mysterious things about me, like that I didn’t really want to go to an art walk or whatever probably very fun thing people do these days that gives me crippling anxiety.
Once I got a handle on my codependence, I faced my fear of saying no and canceling on people. It never occurred to me that I was allowed to say, “Thanks for asking, but I’m gonna pass.” I realized that it’s okay to not want to do things. For example, I really don’t vibe on karaoke. It’s just not my thing. I know I come off as the type of person who would love to get up there and belt out bad ironic nineties songs, maybe even the actual nineties song “Ironic,” since Alanis Morissette and I seem to have a shockingly similar approach to relationships. But no, the truth is I do not like karaoke. There, I said it. I hate karaoke! Goddamn, that feels good to say. I hate karaoke! Okay, I’m done. I can see why it’s fun for people, but for me, bad singing is something I enjoy doing in the privacy of my own home, not for strangers and Snapchat. I yell into a microphone and embarrass myself for a living, so I don’t feel I need to do it in my free time as well. Also, my singing is shockingly bad. I promise I’m not being self-deprecating here. My singing voice is truly horrendous, and not even, like, funny horrendous. It, like, makes people sad. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve forced myself to do karaoke with people. I’m terrible at singing and the thought of being bad at something in front of a crowd is probably my least favorite of every worst-case scenario, so I’d pretend to have fun when the truth was I was consumed by anxiety as I forced laughs and woo-hoos. After the third or fourth night of waiting for three hours just to get up and yell “Wild Thing” with three drunk girls I barely know, I finally hit rock bottom. I had to find the courage to start saying no to things I didn’t want to do because once you turn thirty, pretending starts taking a toll on your immune system. I had to learn how to say no to others and yes to myself, and today I no longer feel ashamed for not being “fun” and being down for every draining activity I’m asked to do. I’m no longer terrified I’ll be judged, abandoned, rejected, or left out. And if I am, good. Turns out it’s kind of my dream to be left out of doing things I don’t want to do. What this means is that unless your invite involves cheese, Netflix, Mexican wrestling, Moscow mules, or actual mules, chances are, in the words of Randy Jackson, “That’s gonna be a no for me, dog.”
I’ve also learned that I am allowed to change my mind after I have already made a plan to do something. This was previously anathema to my codependent brain, because when I was a kid, I learned to always give in to guilt, no matter how uncomfortable the situation made me. I now know that I’m allowed to RSVP yes to a seventies theme party, but then the next day, once I realize I have to go to a vintage clothing store and wear musty-ass high-waisted bell-bottoms that give me a camel toe, I can rethink the plan and politely bow out. Instead, I can do what I really want to do, which is stay home and stare at photos of my dogs even though they’re sitting right next to me.
Now I find it amusing to think how scared I used to be to cancel on people. When people cancel on me, I’m never upset. In fact, I’m usually downright thrilled. When someone texts, “Not feeling great tonight, rain check?” I almost pull a muscle doing a victory dance. I love my friends, I love spending time with them, but when one of them flakes on dinner plans, I feel even more love for them. If you truly want to be nice to someone, cancel if that’s what you really want. Showing up to a plan feeling tired, sick, resentful, or rushed isn’t nice or fair to you or the person you have the plan with. I realize now that when I cancel, I’m probably giving someone the greatest gift of all: the opportunity to stay home, throw on some Crest Whitestrips, and not have to hold in their farts for a night.