I think about that cutesy image used to explain codependency from in the early 1990s that was so popular; the family as a mobile. We’re all strung by bits of thin white thread, dangling from bent wires. One of us moves and we all move, wobbling, swaying, affected. Spinning, spinning.

I make the mobile spin all the time these days, because I’m the one who says things out loud. I’m the complainer, the party pooper, the black sheep. I’m the crazy one. And that’s something I’m trying to embrace.

Losing my thin veneer of sanity and working with my therapist has given me a voice, and that’s scary. It’s scary for me and it’s scary for my family. I’m the one who says “Are you drunk? Don’t call me when you’re drunk. Don’t accuse me of things, because you’re in blackout mode.” And then I pretend saying it out loud didn’t scare the hell out of me. I’m the one who says, “You’re not going to throw a tantrum. You’re not going to scare the children. You need to be in control or you need to leave.” And then I pretend to not look for the best exit.

Pretending that things weren’t happening was their way of dealing with the madness, and witnessing – acknowledging – that things ARE happening is my way of dealing with the madness. It’s different this time, because I’m an adult and can and do protect myself. I can and do protect my children. Let them label me a bitch, a grump, an over-reactor. It’s different this time.

I like the mobile image, and I also dismiss it. If you are part of the mobile, you have no choice in when and how you move. Are moved. And while the others do affect me, still, I have decided they no longer will make me wobble and spin.