My Road Beyond The Codependent Divorce

It is a miracle my story breaths at all. When I was twelve I tempted suicide. At the time death seemed to be a more pleasing option than life. Exhausted by the need to continuously shield myself from the ones that I loved only made tolerating the repeated bullying I received from the kids at school impossible. As if I were a log being hacked into at both ends, I felt safe nowhere, neither at home nor at school. Death I presumed would at least stop the pain. It was not a bullet that altered my life that day. It was a single positive thought that did.
Many decades later, I find myself humbled by memories of the past. So much of what I have My preview text is:

It is a miracle my story breaths at all. When I was twelve I tempted suicide. At the time death seemed to be a more pleasing option than life. Exhausted by the need to continuously shield myself from the ones that I loved only made tolerating the repeated bullying I received from the kids at school impossible. As if I were a log being hacked into at both ends, I felt safe nowhere, neither at home nor at school. Death I presumed would at least stop the pain. It was not a bullet that altered my life that day. It was a single positive thought that did.
Many decades later, I find myself humbled by memories of the past. So much of what I have endured now seems so unnecessary, and frivolous even. Time, patience and a commitment to self has taught me to understand that every moment of my life, including the painful ones, were manifestations of what was going on within me on an emotional, and thus a vibrational level. What I thought about, I brought about, and that included all the doom and the gloom. The most difficult part of my journey has been to accept full responsibility for my unhappiness. Once I did not know about this thing called choice. Mastering my own self however, has made it abundantly clear how simple life was intended to be. Reflection not only blankets me with humility, but it also tickles my funny bones.
My books are not written for those interested in collecting data on codependency or for anyone interested in researching case studies on emotional disorders. Although I am confident that anyone interested in understanding the root causes of a conditioned codependent mind would benefit tremendously by coming along for the ride my story offers, I feel it is only fair that I make it perfectly clear that my books are intended for the brokenhearted, and not exclusively for members of clinical communities.
My books are written for people who are struggling to gain control over their lives, and who are in search of a roadmap out of the swamp ones own mind can be. I offer my compelling story up as a beacon of hope for anyone who may be feeling lost within the anxieties of their own thoughts, and who are uncertain as to how to gain control back over their lives. My story is an example of how I slowly learned to tame fear, and to prevail over unconscious dysfunctional childhood programming step-by-step, thought-by-thought, and how I ultimately learned to appreciate the power of creative intent.
I am an author whose greatest desire is to help others bridge within their own consciousness a connection between their inner being and their mind. I have been the self-hating child programmed to believe in her unworthiness. I too have been the anxiety riddled young mother, who regardless of all the things in her life that should have made her happy was deeply unhappy and sadly preoccupied with emptiness. I have spent decades in search of a peace that would never come, believing in ideas that were never my own, and intend to spend the remainder of my life teaching others, through the telling of my own triumphant story, how to look within for the peace that was always there.
My Road—Beyond the Codependent Divorce begins immediately where my first book ended. My family and I are gathered around the kitchen table. We are having spaghetti for dinner. That same afternoon, as I was preparing the meal, Steven offered me an unthinkable ultimatum. Making his position about our relationship abundantly clear, he defiantly announced that he had no intentions of working on our marriage. Dizzying emotions have me by my spine, as I fork spaghetti out of its large bowl and onto the green and white dinner plates that are sitting on the table immediately in front of my three small children and their father. My hands are trembling, and my knees are weak. I understand what Steven’s ultimatum means.
There is no time to waste. My body has been failing for years. Asthma is gaining ground. I am tired, debilitated and no longer able to pretend for the sake of white picket fences, and carousels. The walls of my marriage are snuffing the life out of me and my husband has become like an elephant on my chest. I now know what is at the root of our woes. We are a codependent couple playing out our histories. Our only chance of survival lies in our willingness and in our ability to change. It is going to take a commitment from us both to heal who and what we have become, in order to keep our marriage and me alive. Steven’s adamant position however, has left me feeling exasperated and without hope.
My teeth are all in place, and my husband has no mistress I know about. My body shows no signs of black and blues. Steven does not drink, smoke or even swear. Our home is custom built, and we have a three-car garage. The pool in our yard is oversized, and our retirement plan is in place. Aware of how perfect my life seems, I have for so long doubted my own right to be unhappy. I can no longer deny the gap between what I see and what I feel. My marriage is terminal, and I know no one I love will agree with my diagnosis. Alone in my newfound awareness, I am struggling to stay detached from the emotions that have been held hostage for so long, as I simultaneously witness what I know will most likely be one of our last spaghetti meals together as a family.
The shit is about to hit the fan, and my innocent babies will not be spared. The glass house they live in that I helped build will soon be shattered, and their mother will be the one wielding the sledgehammer that brought it down. Intellectually I understand what needs to be done. This knowing however, does little to soothe my weeping mothers heart. My children’s perfect little lives are about to change forever, and there is nothing I can do to prevent the chaos that is about to come. If I am going to survive, this marriage has to die.