Codependence and tolerating bad behavior

Editor’s note: The Lovefraud author Eleanor Cowan wrote “A History of a Pedophile’s Wife.” She is now working on tales intended to shock codependent people into recognizing their behavior and connecting with support and guidance to overcome it. The collection is called, “Impactful Stories for Stubborn Codependents.” Here’s the first story. See Eleanor’s comments at the end.

Graduation Day 

By Eleanor Cowan

Kim reminded herself to sell or donate or otherwise dispose of her mother’s wheelchair, still lodged behind the porch door, but first she’d have to repair the rickety back steps of the doorway. 

She felt it. That heaviness, that cloudy confusion, a murkiness she quickly dismissed, no questions asked. There was laundry to do, a huge cabbage to split and grate for the coleslaw her four kids never complained about eating, and those boxes to store.    

Queries about distress, about why these two hours of alone time were increasingly dreaded, were dismissed with task after must-do task. 

Stacking today’s unopened mail with the other ignored letters, Kim registered that yes, tonight Jim would, of course, miss Friday Fun Pancake Supper, a family habit Kim began not so much for fun as to compensate for lost pub money. In fact, Kim wondered if any of her kids would be home tonight. 

Over a year ago, Jim’s weekly beer with his workmates had stretched to every single night. Nothing was said, but Jim’s sons glanced to the floor when Dad stumbled in, a little less balanced each time. Increasingly, the eldest two made themselves scarce. 

“What a saint she is,” neighbours whispered, noting that Jim was rarely to be seen with his family, while, increasingly, even Kim had stopped tossing jovial excuses for her ‘hardworking man’. 

“Booze costs money,” the dentist murmured to his wife, “He’s too often at that damn pub,” he said, quietly shaving Kim’s bill. “Let me think,” replied his wife, a community organizer. Soon enough, a mysterious school contest found Kim’s youngest the lucky winner of useful gift cards. 

When Jim began clattering home later and later, Kim quietly got him to bed.  She set his boots side by side inside the front porch and hung up his clothes.  He’d never know he’d tracked muddy snow down the hallway or tried to climb into bed with his coat on, or that his kids witnessed it all.               

Kim took care of Jim. He’d get over this. It was just a bad patch. The man never missed a day of work. Jim was a faithful provider. Before she died, Kim’s mom reassured her daughter that, over time, men usually mature out of this kind of thing

Kim didn’t compute that, in the past two years, she’d not withdrawn a single book from the community library or that her calls to Madge for a coffee and a gab had ground to a halt or that her kids hung out at their friends’ homes instead of their own. 

Hand-shredding cabbage that day, Kim looked up quickly as the porch door slammed hard. She froze as Jim, stone-cold sober, squared his shoulders and pronounced, “I’m done, Kim. I’m done.” 

“Done?”  Looking at his stern face, Kim’s heart rate quickened.

“We’re done, Kim. I’m leaving you. I won’t do this anymore. I can’t waste my one life!”

Mute, Kim stared. 

“Kim, I’m in love. I’m madly and sincerely in love. I’ve never felt more alive. I’ve made up my mind. Kim, I’m leaving you.” 

“Someone?” Kim managed.

“Meg. Meg from the pub! I’m in love with that girl because she loves me! She loves me, and you don’t, Kim.”

The figure of a rather large and somewhat loud woman flashed in Kim’s mind. Yes, her. 

“Jim!  What…what…what are you saying? Have I not….”

“Kim,” Jim railed, with far more passion than she’d heard in years, “Kim, let me explain. And yes, you deserve a full explanation, Kim. 

Jim pulled out a kitchen chair, faced his wife and took a deep breath. 

 “Kim, last week, Meg invited me to her kitchen for one of our many little private dinners at her table.  Somehow, with yet another fine meal spread before his royalty, I got a little puffed up and made the kind of off-the-cuff rude remark you’ve always tolerated, about the meat a touch overcooked and the bread a tad stale.”

“And guess what, Kim? Guess ‘friggin’ what? “Jim raced on, pointing to himself, “I found his lordship tossed out on my sorry ass in the snow, outside her back door. Man, is she strong. She muscled me out so fast I could hardly believe I lay flat on my back on ice. And Kim, at that very moment, I knew. I came alive! I knew I was in love. I pounded her door down, apologized like crazy, begged her forgiveness, and very, very fortunately, got a final warning. Any disrespect and I can go fly a kite!” Jim finished up, his eyes suddenly moist with tears. 

“Jim,” Kim’s voice a bare whisper. “Have I not?…”  

“Yes, you have,” said Jim, pointing to the wheelchair on the porch. “Yes, Kim, you’ve treated me as kindly and caringly and soothingly as you would anyone you deemed to be multiply handicapped, disabled and incapable of more.”

Shredded to invisibility by Jim’s shattering comments, Kim could only stare.

“Meg has sky-high standards, Kim.  Towering qualifiers, soaring standards. She wants a real man, not a piddling, stumbling, incoherent weakling.  You didn’t, Kim. My disgusting behaviour disrespected both you and our beautiful kids, Kim, time and time again.  You allowed that, Kim!  My revolting performances were tolerated by you over and over.”

 Jim focused on the steel bowl of grated salad. “The guilt I’ve suffered, Kim, and my shame, has been no less than relentless. No more Kim!” 

“But Jim! I….”, Kim tried to speak, but couldn’t. She’d lost her voice 

“Meg demands the best from me. You tolerate the worst, Kim.”  Jim said gently as he stood up. 

Stepping away, he added. “I guess you could say, Kim, that I’ve graduated.

“I’ve graduated from ‘Mommy.’”

A note from Eleanor Cowan

Recently, at the end of an art group, a young woman asked to speak with me about her absolutely wonderful, brilliant boyfriend, who has trouble keeping a job and uses acid “only once a week.” She was so impressed that he refused the money she offered him and said that, despite this, she knows he is her soulmate. She so desperately wants to help him to flourish in his life and knows he’ll be a wonderful dad to the children she wants to have. I listened to her and then told her the Graduation Day story. 

At the end of it, her hands flew to her mouth, and she said, “Okay. Okay. I get it.”  And I got a sense that the story truly was impactful for her. I haven’t heard from her since, but have a sense she’ll remember this short story.