19 Feb 2026
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Illness an Mess

Neither one has noticed what’s up ahead

They haven’t even noticed the lights have changed

One moment with your head turned can really change your life.

Worship money, you’ll lose it all

Then you’ll really pay

And I almost had it my way

I almost had it made

The best money can buy

I could have had the best there was

I would have sacrificed the love

(From The Best Money Can Buy, from Beloved, by Juliet A. Wright, copyright 2003, all rights reserved.)

In his mid-60s, Dad was diagnosed with Pick’s disease, a form of dementia.  I am uncertain of the date as he kept it a secret from everyone but Seleste, his secretary and apparent girlfriend.   He lost the ability to read and write, answer and dial a telephone, and eventually drive. He couldn’t put on his jacket or find the door handle by himself.  He got lost walking around the farm and in the town where he worked. 

Eventually, he moved into the apartment upstairs from his office and had Seleste taking care of him and driving him to Stockbridge on the weekends. 

Ultimately, his illness was revealed to the family.  At least it explained a few things.

Very shortly after that, my parents were in a very serious car accident.  Mom was driving. Neither one of them was wearing their seatbelt.   We never wore them as kids either.

Mom had been drinking and there was booze in the cubby, but due to her amazing acting abilities the police never found it.

Both of my parents refused initial medical treatment.

A short time later, Dad ended up in the hospital with pneumonia due to a cracked rib. He eventually went into a nursing home and never came out. 

Since Dad had lost the ability to read, write, and dial a telephone, Seleste was conducting all of his business affairs.  This means that she had her name on all of the accounts, including the liquid assets.  Dad had lost a lot in the Crash of 1991, so he had much of his money in cash.  None of my father’s affairs were in order at the time of his illness.

So, Dad was in a nursing home, Mom was self-medicating to dangerous extents, and the secretary was in control of all the money.  What a mess! 

Watching Dad fail and pass away was difficult for all of us.  It took a huge toll on everyone emotionally, physically, spiritually, and financially and this changed everyone’s lives forever.  The financial and legal mess we were left with was even worse.  Top it off with Mom’s struggles with her disease and you’ve got chaos with lots of stress for anyone to deal with. 

Fast forward through the nursing homes, hospital visits, attorneys, accountants, investors, guardians, heaps of legal documents, real estate matters, and secretary clean-up duty, and we get to the result. My sister and I finally got the whole mess sorted out and kept our parents as safe as we could.  It took twelve years. 

I wrote my song The Best Money Can Buy about the car accident and Seleste’s intentions with my father’s money. 

Worship money and you’re bound to lose; that’s my motto.  You can’t take it with you.  In the end, six feet of dirt make us all one size.[1] 

I, of course, tried to blame myself.  If I had forced Dad to tell me what was wrong with him and not been such a wimp, somehow I could have prevented all of this.

Are we responsible for our parents?  I think it’s difficult for anyone to say without any guilt at all that they are not responsible for their parents.  I mean who else was going to muddle through this confusion and take care of these people if we didn’t do it?  Saddle an overly responsible codependent with this and you’ve got some real stress on your hands.

It was my responsibility to fix all of this.  And it was obviously all my fault.

[1] Ola Belle Reed, “Six Feet of Earth Makes Us All of One Size,” The Angels Are Singing. (Cambridge, MA: Rounder Records, 2002). 

Since I have been in recovery, I have learned a few things. Everything is not my fault. 

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns at work:

  • Your moods and actions are my fault.
  •  If you hurt, I hurt; I think I have to fix you.
  • I don’t know what I need, I focus on what you need.
  •  I am obsessed with making you happy, with saving you. 
  • My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection determine how I behave.
  • I think I have to be perfect and so do you.  Nothing less will do.

Juliet’s Feelings Patterns at work:

  • They are right, I am wrong.
  • They are going to abandon me.
  • They are going to reject me.
  • I don’t deserve good things.
  • I am less than. 
  • I am ashamed. 
  • I’m bad and now everyone knows it.  I’ll be alone forever.

I have positive affirmations which help me with this:

  • I am only responsible for myself
  • God loves me. God is in control. I am safe. 
  • Trust God and do the next right thing.
  • Everything is as it is supposed to be at this moment. 
  • Nothing happens in God’s world by mistake. 
  • Just relax.
  • Breathe.
  • What other people think of me is none of my business. 
  • Other people’s behavior has nothing to do with me. 
  • Stop all or nothing catastrophic thinking, little steps at a time.
  • Stop patterns of negative thinking. I think only positive thoughts about myself and others.
  • I live in abundance and gratitude in that I have everything I need to sustain me in this life.

I have mantras that help me with this too:

  • This too shall pass
  • Easy does it.
  • I can’t. God can. I think I’ll let him. 
  • Let go and let God. 

Thank you, God, for this learning.

06 Dec 2025
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Disbarment

I feel like you’ve done me wrong

Your will to win was strong

One false move

And then your kingdom came crashing down

The walls went up

And you were gone.

(Where Are You Now? from Fearless Moral Inventory, by Juliet A. Wright, copyright 2007, all rights reserved.)

One of the pieces of my history that I’ve really struggled with is the issue of my father’s professional integrity.  This is the man I worshiped, obeyed, trusted, and made my God.  What were his values?  Did he have integrity?  Did he tell the truth?  Was he generous?  Greedy?  Self-centered? 

Because he was my father and I believed everything he said, I took his values as my own and felt like I had to do everything that he asked of me.  I thought he was always right about everything. It never occurred to me that he might be wrong.  It doesn’t occur to a six-year-old child that their dad might be wrong.


That’s why I needed to know the truth about the disbarment, the truth about him and what he did.  Did he do it or was he a victim?  Was Mom a victim? 

Everyone who really knew something about the details of the case is gone.  I didn’t know the specifics of what happened and I didn’t trust my mother’s memory about it.  Therefore I researched it myself so I could learn more about my history and what happened with my father. 

Dad was a very successful prosecuting attorney. He put three murderers in jail his first year in office and was at the top of his game in no time.  His achievements and political ambitions raised some eyebrows.  News articles I’ve read suggest that he had the Governor’s office in mind as a career goal, although we never discussed it. He was clearly on a successful political career path when things derailed. 

The fact that my parents were from out of town and successful didn’t set well with some people. Vermont can be a pretty closed-off place and newcomers are not often accepted, especially in the small towns (and most of the towns are small). If your grandparents weren’t born in that town, you’re an outsider and will be treated as such. 

Somewhere around 1969, Dad’s doctor wrote him a letter that went something like this:

Your mother is smoking way too much and your wife is on enough drugs to stock a small pharmacy.  Please resign from your job.

Dad was the district prosecuting attorney for Windsor County at the time this letter was written.  Working in such a high profile job that put murderers behind bars and dealt with so much death and darkness put a lot of stress on Dad.  When he was stressed out, everyone was stressed out.  That’s the way it worked.

After he received this letter from his Doctor, Dad went into private practice as an estate-planning lawyer. That’s when the trouble started.  Apparently, he would “be nice” to older ladies and they would will him all their money.  Dad was really handsome and could be very sweet when he wanted to be.  He could easily charm his way into your heart and make you feel like the most important person in the world. 

A popular news magazine article from that period reported that Dad drew up one woman’s will just eight days before her death. This document willed significant amounts of stocks to my mother, the property to my grandmother, and money to my sister and me.  There was also cash willed to my mother that was designed for specific purposes. Grandpa Roman was mentioned as being the beneficiary in wills of other women he drew up wills for.  This article actually mentioned my sister and me.  So the other kids at school were looking at me funny and no wonder. It wasn’t just my imagination.  

At the trial, Dad’s doctor testified that this woman, Sonja, said that she would kill herself if she couldn’t will all her money to Dad.  The twist here is that Sonja had terminal throat cancer and had already had several cobalt treatments that were unsuccessful. I mean eight days before her death.  She knew she was dying.  Why would she say she’d kill herself?  I understand she didn’t know the exact day and time she would die, but she was dying.  Was she having an affair with Dad? Was she even well enough to do that?  Or was he just buttering her up with candy and his overwhelming charm, making her feel good, to get her money? I remember reading something in the newspaper about him watering her plants or something. I’m thinking there might have been more to it than that. The courts apparently had these same questions.

Dad was accused of doing this to several older ladies, but it was Sonja’s case that brought him to court.

Dad’s legal troubles had a devastating effect on both of my parents. They both started drinking way too much and Mom continued to abuse prescription medication.  Dad would frequently take us out to dinner during and after this period of time.  He would proceed to get very drunk and then drive us home.  The car would be going all over the road.  Alice and I would be in the back, pretending to be asleep, too scared to open our eyes.  Mom would be begging him to let her drive, but of course the control freak would never allow that.  It’s a miracle any of us survived. 

The fact that the trial was very public didn’t help.  My mother-in-law said she used to watch updates on Dad’s trial on television and used to feel bad for Mom.  In reading the newspaper articles that reported on the case, it was evident to me how much Mom supported Dad. She really stood up for him and underwent hours of grilling on the witness stand by the prosecutor.  That couldn’t have been easy. 

Alice remembers Mom looking through her closet and saying, “I have to put on my go-to-court clothes.”  Maybe that is part of the reason that Alice is closer to Mom than I am.  She remembers more of what went on and has more compassion for her. 

Mom said Dad had to give most of the money back.  She remembers him sitting on the floor crying, saying, “I’m going to jail, I’m going to jail.” 

At least now I know that I wasn’t crazy.  Kids at school were aware of my family’s troubles and were treating me differently.  They knew more about what was going on than I did.  No wonder they thought I was clueless.  I was.

Although I didn’t know or understand what was going on with my father’s career troubles, I was affected by them. I thought that the extreme unrest that enveloped the house like a cloud was the result of something I had done wrong. 

Newspaper articles and news magazines of the day presented fairly damning evidence against Dad and he did get disbarred.  I guess that means he did it.  He was engaged in this dishonest activity and that is his behavior.  I don’t have to own it. But I can as an adult look back on his actions from a new perspective and think, I don’t have to believe everything he said about me because he was not God, he was a man, he was flawed, he was not perfect.  So, he may have told me things about myself that weren’t true.  I don’t have to take any of that in as truth or blame. 

11 Nov 2025
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Goody Two-Shoes

I was a wimp, a “goody-two shoes,” and I seemed to want the world to know about it, especially my parents. 

For example, my sister had an annual tradition of having a group of friends over for a sleepover in our dining room.  On one such evening, all of the girls took a walk up the hill and I went with them.  Some boys met them up there and they took out some beer and started drinking.  I was very upset.  Mom and Dad are letting her have this party and this is how she says thank you?

I started crying and went down the hill to the house, marching right into my parents’ bedroom (where they were actually sleeping together, believe it or not). Maybe they felt they had to save face in front of Alice’s friends. They were both reading at the time.  I spilled the beans and Dad just kind of looked at me and laughed.

Mom told me that he did end up walking up there to see what was going on.

When Dad and I talked about it later, he looked at me and said, “Yeah, you were being a real wimp that night.”

 
I think Dad would have liked me better if I had done drugs, or been a teenage drinker.  Maybe he just wanted me to loosen up.  I guess he felt like a little horseplay never hurt anyone. He should know; he partook in enough of it.  But that was him. Excuse me for wanting to be a good girl. 

During those parties, all of us girls would all lie on the dining room floor and talk until all hours of the night.  On one particular evening, each girl had to fess up about what boys they had been with and how far they had gone with them.  One girl rattled off quite a long list of boys she had had sex with. The dining room was underneath Mom and Dad’s bedroom so I’m sure they were up all night.  Some of the girls got on one girl’s case for never having sex.  So what? She wanted to wait until she was married. She was a girl after my own heart.  One girl told me her father was a pastor and had been molesting her since she was little.

My sister was more popular than me. Being clean and clinging to my virginity was no way to make friends in public school.  It just didn’t work.  Combine that with my parents being from out of town, having money that was possibly stolen, plus an alcoholic mother ― I would have been better off if I’d had cooties.  I guess I wasn’t willing to pay the price it was going to cost me to be popular.  So, I remained a goodie two-shoes.

The bottom line was that I was a nerd and was doing none of the naughty things.  I was listening to Donny Osmond, the Bee Gees, Barry Manilow, the Bay City Rollers, Kiss, and later Pink Floyd and Peter Frampton.  I was also talking to my one friend Betty on the phone and eating constantly. 

Back then, I was waiting for Donny Osmond to appear and carry me away on his noble Mormon steed and I was going to be ready, darn it!  I was going to be a virgin.  I wasn’t going to smoke or drink or curse. I never really latched onto the Mormon thing though. I have always been proud of my Quaker heritage and feel comfortable there. It’s me.  It’s who I am. 

I never stopped cursing, and I do drink.  I didn’t wait until marriage to have sex either, unfortunately. I wish I had.  My first experience was completely lame.  What a letdown.  That’s another chapter though.  I guess the only thing I was successful in was not smoking, although Alex did convince me to try one puff of a clove cigarette after we were married.  I took one puff but didn’t inhale.  (Really!)

I guess I flunked Mormonism.  Sorry Donny. No spirit babies for me apparently.

I was the goody two-shoes, determined to be perfect so everyone would love me, all the problems would be solved, and life would be beautiful. I was a good girl, whether my father liked it or not.

At the time, I told on my sister I felt like I was saving the world and doing the right thing.  After my father told me what a wimp I was, I just felt ashamed.

What I know now is summed up in the following positive affirmations:

  • I am only responsible for myself.
  • What other people think of me is none of my business.
  • I am worthy of love just because I exist
  • It’s okay to make mistakes every day.
  • I make mistakes, I’m not a mistake.

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns Before RecoveryJuliet’s Codependency Patterns In Recovery
I think I have to be perfect and so do you.  Nothing less will do.No one is perfect but God. We all do our best. Perfectionism is one of my biggest defects of character. I am very aware of when it raises its ugly head.
Juliet’s Feelings Patterns Before RecoveryJuliet’s Feelings Patterns In Recovery
This is all my fault, I did something wrong.This may or may not be my fault. Chances are it has nothing to do with me. If I did something wrong I will admit it, make amends and move on. 
They are right, I am wrong.They may or may not be right. Other people don’t necessarily know more than me. Let’s find out. 
They are going to abandon me.They may or may not abandon me. Even if they do, it is about them, not me. 
They are going to reject me. They may or may not reject me. Even if they do it doesn’t mean that they are right, or that I am a bad person. 
I don’t deserve good things.I am a beloved child of God. I deserve all of the good that God has to offer me. 
I am less than.I am not less than. I am God’s perfect creation just the way I am. I am not better or less than anyone else. 
I am ashamed.I don’t need to be ashamed. I am not bad. Maybe I make mistakes, but I am not a mistake. It is okay to make mistakes. I am human. 
I’m bad and now everyone knows it.  I’ll be alone forever.I am not bad. My actions don’t define me. And not everyone knows or thinks I am bad. Even if they did “know it” it doesn’t mean they are right. People are usually focused on themselves.
Different from everyoneEveryone is different. That is what makes us all unique and beautiful. Different isn’t wrong, it’s just different. 
I am only worth what I accomplish.I am worthy of God’s love just because I am me and am His child. I am a worthy person aside from my accomplishments. 
I’m not good enough to be here.I am good enough to be here. I am as good as anyone else. 

14 Aug 2025
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Control Freak

Dad was a real control freak. He insisted on controlling everything in the house.  It was his kingdom and you better not forget it.  He was in charge, the man of the house, the breadwinner, and the most important person.  And who could blame him really?  He had a lot on his shoulders.  He had all that property to take care of, his restaurant, and a real estate business to run. He was the sole breadwinner and had to try and hide all of the family secrets on top of that.  That’s a lot of pressure for one person.

Dad’s control was far reaching.  I felt like he really wanted to control my entire life to make sure I was perfect enough to make him look good.  That meant controlling how I looked, what I did, how well I performed in school, who I dated, how well I performed at horse shows, and how I expressed myself in all situations.  If I was sick, he got mad at me.  I remember one time we were in Northampton at a horse show, and I had a very bad sore throat. Instead of taking care of me and getting me the medicine I needed, he scolded me.

If I was emotional, he would get mad.  When I was 15 I won the youth park saddle class at the Massachusetts Morgan Horse Show on my horse Ben.  This was the only time he didn’t get mad at me for being emotional.  Every other time, it was completely unacceptable.  I was supposed to be his perfect, stone-faced, little soldier.  He really wanted me to act and look a certain way at all times.   No wonder I tried to change, diminish, or refute my moods.  Why would I want more of his rage? 

When I was in the show ring, he even tried to control the outcome of the class or show.  It had to be arranged for victory.  He never paid off any judges or anything like that, but he did arrange the qualifications of one show to not include equitation so that my score would be higher. 

At one point, Mom wanted to go back to work and he wouldn’t let her.

“I am the breadwinner of this family,” he would yell. 

Mom would have been better off working, but she bowed down to his demands.  Everyone did.

Dad attempted to control everything around him.

Below I have listed the Codependency Patterns that were active during these experiences, which are on the left. The responses to the right reflect the new Juliet who is in recovery from codependency.  

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns Before RecoveryJuliet’s Codependency Patterns In Recovery
I am not conscious of my own moods, I am conscious of your moods.I am conscious of my moods as well as your moods. My moods matter too now. 
If you’re happy, I’m happy.I can be happy even if you are not happy. My mood is no longer dependent on yours. 
Your moods and actions are my fault.I no longer assume responsibility for your moods and actions. They belong to you. If I catch myself feeling overly responsible for you and what is going on in your life, I put myself in check and work my program by doing stepwork, journaling and putting my mind on something else.
If you hurt, I hurt; I think I have to fix you.I have compassion and empathy for you when you are hurting. But it doesn’t mean I have to feel your feelings. I don’t feel like I have to fix you. I can listen.
It’s difficult for me to recognize my moods or articulate them.I am more in touch with what my moods are. If necessary, I take the time to discern how I  am feeling and why. 
I am inclined to diminish, change, or refute my moods.I let my moods be what they are without denying or trying to change them. If I am in a setting where it is not safe to do this, I maintain my composure and limit my sharing until I am in a safe place. 
If you like me, I like me.Now I can like myself even if you don’t. This can still take some work depending on how close I am to the person involved. 
If you think I’m good, I think I’m good.Today I know that I am a beloved child of God just because God loves me. It no longer depends solely on what you think. 
I don’t know what I need, I focus on what you need.What I need is just as important as what you need. 
I like to do whatever you like to do. What I like to do isn’t important.What I like to do is just as important as what you like to do. If we disagree, we can compromise to find a balance in our activity that works for both of us. 
Your customs and thoughts are always right. I’m always wrong. You are no longer always right and I am no longer always wrong. I have the ability to know the right thing to do. When I catch myself struggling with this, I go back to my recovery materials to get back in balance.
I am obsessed with making you happy, with saving you.My happiness and safety no longer depend on whether you stay or go. I have God, my CoDA and spiritual communities. If I catch myself falling into this trap with others, students or parents of students, I go back to my recovery materials to get back in balance.
My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection determine how I behave.My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection no longer determine how I behave. I am very aware of what triggers me and have tools to deal with them. If I catch myself  falling into this pattern, I get out my recovery materials or get to a meeting to get back in balance.
Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll do or be whatever you say. I don’t like it when people are mad at me, but I no longer turn into a chameleon to avoid conflict. Conflict is part of the human condition. However, this can be a sensitive situation with my students’ parents. But I take time out, assess the situation, get support as necessary and make decisions that are appropriate.
Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll feel however you want me to feel.I don’t like it when people are mad at me, but their anger doesn’t change my feelings. If I am uncertain about how I’m feeling, I will journal, call my sponsor or a program friend. 
I think I have to be perfect and so do you.  Nothing less will do.No one is perfect but God. We all do our best. Perfectionism is one of my biggest defects of character. I am very aware of when it raises its ugly head.
I am less than.I am enough just because I am me. I am equal to others. 

So what about my control issues? And what about my control issues in relation to my father?

  • In a way, my efforts to hide my moods and be what he wanted me to be was a control pattern because I figured if I felt the way he wanted me to feel, then he would love me and I would feel safe. 
  • If I take on his actions and moods as being my fault, then that gives me control as I can try to fix them. To confront him with his actions and give his moods back to him might result in conflict. In that situation love would be taken away. 
  • All of my actions are designed to avoid fear of abandonment, fear of rejection and shame. 
  • If I am perfect, how can he abandon or reject me? Won’t he love me? This is another attempt at controlling the situation so that I will get the love I need and feel safe. 
  • I so wanted his love and approval. I tried for years and years to acquire it. 

I don’t have to live that way today. My Higher Power, whom I choose to call God reigns supreme. I focus on him now. Sure, I have my slips where I worry too much about what someone thinks, but I go back to working my program and gain my center back.  

07 Aug 2025
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The Barn and Anita Flew into Action

The Barn

The barn was the place where he would vent his anger at me.  Perhaps a horse would fright at something, or a grain bucket wouldn’t hang right. Or maybe the water bucket would spill on him on his way to the stall, or he’d drop some hay, or I wouldn’t hear him and would do something wrong.   The slightest thing would make him go off like a time bomb.  

My biggest sin was being too sensitive.  I remember one time he said to me, “I feel like I can’t say anything to you because you’re so sensitive.”  In my typical fashion, I may well have said nothing.  But somehow the subject got brought up again with me saying I didn’t want him to feel like he couldn’t talk to me because I’m too sensitive. 

“I don’t feel that way,” he said.  Okay, mixed signals. 

“I’ve had a hard life with a lot of disappointments,” I remember him saying.  I remember him getting so rageful I thought he was going to cry.  Poor guy.  He was really hurting.  I see myself in him.


The animals could sense his stress too, especially the horses.

My sister and I would always dread it when he would get the horses out as they would always freak out.  We’d typically be hitching them to a cart.  They would often not want to stand still during this process.  Either that or they wouldn’t want to go up the hill from the big barn to the ring. They would be hitched to the cart, refusing his commands to go up the hill and balking at moving forward. He would get frustrated and start yelling and cursing.  That wouldn’t really help.  So, the rage would start again.  It was a continuous cycle. Eventually they would obey and we would get them up to the ring for a workout. But what we had to go through to get to that point stunk.

Anita Flew into Action

Alice and I competed at the New England Morgan Horse Show every summer.  During one of those summers, while Alice was preparing for a very important equitation class (where the rider’s form is judged), Mom and I decided to go back to the hotel.  Unfortunately for everyone, we failed to realize that the coat for Alice’s riding habit was still in Mom’s car. 

Dad went to see Anita at Bridlevale Farms for help. 

Anita found a new habit for Alice to wear   Somehow, Mom and I got back just in time for Alice to change into her own habit and enter the show ring on time. Then the shit really hit the fan.  Dad yelled and went into a completely out of control, blaming tantrum that could be heard all over the fairgrounds.

“Anita flew into action!” he repeated like a broken record, his eyes wide with a face so expressive that one would think that he had just witnessed Christ rising from the dead.

“Alright, alright,” Mom finally interrupted in her shaky, yet I’ve-had-enough voice.

“So what, you’re going to get mad now?” he said, laughing at her.

He was completely impossible to argue with, so it was useless trying.  He always won.   Always.  I was always being prosecuted when I was talking to him.  He was trying to trip me up and he would succeed in spades every time.  He would just hammer and hammer and hammer and hammer me to death until I broke.  He was great at it.  That’s why he won so many cases.  I didn’t stand a chance at defending myself. I was toast.

He did that to my mother too. So she got back at him by drinking.  It was the only defense she really had.  This was their game and they played it all the time.

Naturally I felt like if I was perfect, he wouldn’t have to get so upset. 

Below I have listed the Codependency Patterns that were active during these experiences, which are on the left. The responses to the right reflect the new Juliet who is in recovery from codependency.  

 

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns Before RecoveryJuliet’s Codependency Patterns In Recovery
I am not conscious of my own moods, I am conscious of your moods.I am conscious of my moods as well as your moods. My moods matter too now. 
If you’re happy, I’m happy.I can be happy even if you are not happy. My mood is no longer dependent on yours. 
Your moods and actions are my fault.I no longer assume responsibility for your moods and actions. They belong to you. If I catch myself feeling overly responsible for you and what is going on in your life, I put myself in check and work my program by doing stepwork, journaling and putting my mind on something else.
If you hurt, I hurt; I think I have to fix you.I have compassion and empathy for you when you are hurting. But it doesn’t mean I have to feel your feelings. I don’t feel like I have to fix you. I can listen.
It’s difficult for me to recognize my moods or articulate them.I am more in touch with what my moods are. If necessary, I take the time to discern how I  am feeling and why. 
I am inclined to diminish, change, or refute my moods.I let my moods be what they are without denying or trying to change them. If I am in a setting where it is not safe to do this, I maintain my composure and limit my sharing until I am in a safe place. 
If you like me, I like me.Now I can like myself even if you don’t. This can still take some work depending on how close I am to the person involved. 
If you think I’m good, I think I’m good.Today I know that I am a beloved child of God just because God loves me. It no longer depends solely on what you think. 
I don’t know what I need, I focus on what you need.What I need is just as important as what you need. 
Your customs and thoughts are always right. I’m always wrong. You are no longer always right and I am no longer always wrong. I have the ability to know the right thing to do. When I catch myself struggling with this, I go back to my recovery materials to get back in balance.
I am obsessed with making you happy, with saving you.My happiness and safety no longer depend on whether you stay or go. I have God, my CoDA and spiritual communities. If I catch myself falling into this trap with others, students or parents of students, I go back to my recovery materials to get back in balance.
My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection determine how I behave.My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection no longer determine how I behave. I am very aware of what triggers me and have tools to deal with them. If I catch myself  falling into this pattern, I get out my recovery materials or get to a meeting to get back in balance.
Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll do or be whatever you say. I don’t like it when people are mad at me, but I no longer turn into a chameleon to avoid conflict. Conflict is part of the human condition. However, this can be a sensitive situation with my students’ parents. But I take time out, assess the situation, get support as necessary and make decisions that are appropriate.
Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll feel however you want me to feel.I don’t like it when people are mad at me, but their anger doesn’t change my feelings. If I am uncertain about how I’m feeling, I will journal, call my sponsor or a program friend. 
I think I have to be perfect and so do you.  Nothing less will do.No one is perfect but God. We all do our best. Perfectionism is one of my biggest defects of character. I am very aware of when it raises its ugly head.
I am less than.I am enough just because I am me. I am equal to others. 

This is progress. Huge progress. Am I perfect? No. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But progress, not perfection, right? One foot in front of the other foot. 

I also had a big list of Juliet’s Feelings Patterns. Again, thanks to 20 years of recovery, these patterns have changed as follows: 

Juliet’s Feelings Patterns Before RecoveryJuliet’s Feelings Patterns In Recovery
This is all my fault, I did something wrong.This may or may not be my fault. Chances are it has nothing to do with me. If I did something wrong I will admit it, make amends and move on. 
They are right, I am wrong.They may or may not be right. Other people don’t necessarily know more than me. Let’s find out. 
They are going to abandon me.They may or may not abandon me. Even if they do, it is about them, not me. 
They are going to reject me. They may or may not reject me. Even if they do it doesn’t mean that they are right, or that I am a bad person. 
I don’t deserve good things.I am a beloved child of God. I deserve all of the good that God has to offer me. 
I am less than.I am not less than. I am God’s perfect creation just the way I am. I am not better or less than anyone else. 
I am ashamed.I don’t need to be ashamed. I am not bad. Maybe I make mistakes, but I am not a mistake. It is okay to make mistakes. I am human. 
I’m bad and now everyone knows it.  I’ll be alone forever.I am not bad. My actions don’t define me. And not everyone knows or thinks I am bad. Even if they did “know it” it doesn’t mean they are right. People are usually focused on themselves.
Different from everyoneEveryone is different. That is what makes us all unique and beautiful. Different isn’t wrong, it’s just different. 
I’m not good enough to be here.I am good enough to be here. I am as good as anyone else. 
If you think I’m good, I think I’m good.Other people’s opinions have nothing to do with me. I have good in me because I am a beloved child of God just the way I am. 
Your customs and thoughts are always right. I’m always wrong. Others don’t necessarily know better than me. Sometimes they might, but sometimes I might be right too. I no longer automatically discount myself. 
I don’t matter. I don’t count. This is a message that my inner child automatically goes to. When this thought enters my mind, I know that she is upset about something and we need to connect. I do matter. I do count. 
I am not worthy of love. I am worthy of love just because I exist. 

Now back then, as a kid, I did the best I could. I didn’t have this recovery then. I think my parents did the best they could too. They were going through a lot of tough stuff during this time in their careers, marriage and life in general. They were difficult years.

31 Jul 2025
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Dad’s Addictions

Dad’s addictions included money, power, sex, women, perfectionism, and control. He had to control everyone and everything in his path. Especially me.

Sex was one of Dad’s addictions. I even met one of his girlfriends once when he and Mom were having problems.  She was skinny and she smoked.  I couldn’t believe Dad would date someone who smoked.  I mean he had asthma.  How could he stand it?  

“Your father does whatever he wants with whomever he wants,” my mother snapped at me over a huge pile of unfolded laundry and a coffee mug full of vodka. I was no more than 11 or 12 at the time.  Oh… okay.   That’s why he was always so “friendly” with the Rumbleseat waitress and Busch Gardens tour guide.  I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight when we went to the Busch Gardens amusement park in Tampa, Florida. I clearly remember Dad flirting with the busty redheaded tour guide who showed us around. 

Dad lived in an era that was tolerant of men cheating on their wives because “that’s just what men did.”  Work all day, have a scotch, get laid.  That was the schedule.  All of his buddies had this same routine.

Above all, his biggest addiction, or defect, was rage.

Dad and Rage

I dread the dream

Your anger reigns

It’s all anxiety

Nobody gains

You’re never satisfied

With what you’ve got

Or anybody else

And it’s got to stop

(Dread the Dream, from Fearless Moral Inventory, by Juliet A. Wright, copyright 2008, all rights reserved.)


Dad was a rager.  He really could blow up and go nuts to the point that the whole earth would shake.  Usually he would take everything out on me at the barn.  Again, I don’t mean in a physical sense, as he never actually hit me.  Instead, he could yell and scare the dickens out of me.  He really had a terrible temper, which I’ve inherited.  Lucky me.

Fuck Ass

Sometimes Alice would take showers in Dad’s bathroom.  I don’t remember exactly why.  Normally it was kind of off limits.  Not officially, of course, but on an unspoken level.  The downstairs bathroom was Dad’s and the upstairs bathroom was for the girls.  We would never catch him using ours.  Even in the middle of the night, he’d go downstairs to his. 

Alice had hair down past her waist.  She used this conditioner called Long & Silky on her hair. Well, one day, she left a bunch of empty and half-empty bottles in his shower and he had a canary about it. 

“All these fuck ass bottles,” he screamed at the top of his lungs.  “Fuck ass, fuck ass, fuck ass!” Gosh, I can still hear him yelling.  I can still feel his rage.  He started throwing the bottles everywhere, some empty, some half-full.  Finally Mom came in. 

“It’s alright, I’m here now,” she said, trying to keep the top of his head from blowing off. 

“I don’t care!” he screamed.  “Fuck ass, fuck ass, fuck ass!!”

Wow!  So that’s where I get it.  No wonder it comes so naturally to me.  That’s a relief.  Whew? Is there a cure?  I shudder to think.

Grammy Amy and the Toilet Incident

Grammy Amy (Dad’s mom) and Dad got in a fight at the Florida house one night around happy hour. He was mad at her for drinking too much.  He also was accusing her of cleaning the toilet with the wrong cleanser.  This cleanser had speckled the once entirely green toilet seat with light blue polkadots.  A seemingly unimportant, fixable situation such as this was enough to send my dad into a ballistic rage to the moon, similar to the “fuckass” Long & Silky bottles incident. I’m not saying be sloppy and treat your furniture like garbage, but, I mean, the way he went off, you would have thought that she had lost all of his money at the racetrack or something.

It is difficult to be around someone who is addicted to rage, especially when you are a little kid and the rager is your father. You kind of just have to put up with it. I have had my own issues with rage, which I will speak of later. But now, as an adult, I can choose to not be around people who have rage habits. 

I also can use some of my mantras as a tool to help me in this area:

  • Observe, don’t react.  The Observer is who you really are.
  • Relax and watch.
  • You have a choice.
  • Go for process, not content.
  • You are only responsible for yourself.
  • You are only in control of where you put your attention.
  • Treat it like the front page of the paper. This is another technique that my therapist taught me. Whatever I’m going through, I can imagine it is a headline on the front page of the paper that doesn’t really affect me. I find it helpful. 
  • Change your how high habit. When someone says jump, I have a habit of saying “how high?” I don’t have to do what everyone else wants me to do anymore.
  • Change your self-judgment habit.
  • Set boundaries for yourself.
  • Remember your bubble. My therapist told me to imagine a protective bubble around myself so that when hurtful things happen, I am not affected. The bad stuff only hits the outside of the bubble.
  • It’s not my fault.
  • This has nothing to do with me because even if I had not (been in the room, done something wrong), this would have happened anyway. This is about their process, not mine.
  • Go do something that makes you happy.
  • When I am feeling emotional, I can make an excuse and get out of the house.
  • I am clear and up front in my communication.
  • Be patient.
  • Take care of yourself.

28 Jul 2025
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Dad

Standing at the water’s edge

Wrapped in your arms

Warm and safe

I looked at you and said

I’m still cold so don’t let go,

Stay with me awhile

I really just wanted to keep you close

Remembering makes me smile

(Where Are You Now? from Fearless Moral Inventory, by Juliet A. Wright, copyright 2007, all rights reserved.)

My father was a very strong person.  He could be the kindest, warmest, most outgoing man I’d ever met.  He could also turn on me in a second, give me a holler and an icy stare that would stop me in my tracks and chill me to the bone.  He never hit me.  He never had to resort to that.  A stern look and a yell were all it took to scare me stiff.

My father gave me a lot.  He put me through school, and provided a roof over my head, food in my belly and, at times, love in my heart.  I’m very grateful to him for all of that.  

I don’t know much about his childhood, except that he was sent to military school when he was young.  I guess he was unruly.  This is hard to imagine, but my dad had been known to be a hell raiser at times. 

He really hated military school.  For one thing, he said the food there was really awful.  One night he and some buddies stole a chicken, brought it back to their room, plucked it and cooked the chicken over a candle.  Yuck!  I guess it was awful and made them all sick.  No wonder. 

Dad was an actor too.  That’s how he met Mom.  They met on Broadway in New York.  He also had a law career until he got disbarred in 1971 for conflict of interest.

I have really good memories of my father during the early years.  I was only around four years old when I sailed our Morgan 34 yacht in Lake Champlain.  He was proud of me.


I remember one time we were either sitting near Lake Champlain or our pond, I don’t remember which.  He was holding me in my towel, keeping me warm. I had been with him for a while and wasn’t really that cold anymore, but my sister was getting out of the water and I wanted him all to myself.

“I’m still cold, Daddy,” I said, fibbing. 

“I know you are,” he said, taking my cue and holding me tighter.  That was one of the few times I remember him being there for me.

The next happiest memory I have of Dad and me was one late summer afternoon when we went to the pond to feed the fish and got caught in a downpour.  We hid together underneath an old table.  He and I were already soaked to the skin, but we laughed the whole time. In those few moments, I felt close to him.  There were no problems, just us and the joy of a sudden Vermont thunderstorm. 


When I was 15, I finally won a blue ribbon at a major horse show.  I was so happy about it that I cried in his arms.  I was finally good enough.  And he was sweet and comforted me. He didn’t lay blame for being emotional like he usually did.  I really appreciated that.

Times like those were few and far between for Dad and me.  It’s not like he never expressed love or pride or gratitude for me but he didn’t do it very often. I remember his absence more than anything.  He never seemed to be home.

I don’t agree with much of the way my father lived his life, but I accept it.  I do acknowledge that there is a reason I chose him to be my father. There were lessons I needed to learn from him.

My father died of complications from Alzheimer’s disease in February of 2003. 

In the end, I have respect and love for the man that was my father.  I do think I made peace with him before he died. I am grateful to Dad for all he gave me and for all I learned from him.

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns

I am not conscious of my own moods, I am conscious of your moods.

If you’re happy, I’m happy.

Your moods and actions are my fault.

If you hurt, I hurt; I think I have to fix you.

It’s difficult for me to recognize my moods or articulate them.

I am inclined to diminish, change, or refute my moods.

If you like me, I like me.

If you think I’m good, I think I’m good.

Your customs and thoughts are always right. I’m always wrong. 

I am obsessed with making you happy, with saving you.

I shower you with favors and pleasures to make you stay.

My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection determine how I behave.

Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll do or be whatever you say.

Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll feel however you want me to feel.

I think I have to be perfect and so do you.  Nothing less will do.

I am less than.

Juliet’s Feelings

This is all my fault, I did something wrong.

They are right, I am wrong.

They are going to abandon me.

They are going to reject me.

I don’t deserve good things.

I am less than.

I am ashamed.

I’m bad and now everyone knows it.  I’ll be alone forever.

Different from everyone

I am only worth what I accomplish.

I’m not good enough to be here.

Now that I am an adult, I have done my recovery work to eliminate these behavior and feelings patterns from my life and replace them with behaviors and feelings patterns that work better for me. I do this through attending meetings, doing step work, meetings with my sponsor, journaling, time with my Higher Power whom I choose to call God, meditation, positive affirmations, slogans, service work, gratitude lists and gratitude journals.

24 Jul 2025
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If You Don’t Stop I’m Leaving You

When Dad got fed up with Mom’s drinking, we’d have family meetings.  The night before we left for Madison Square Garden, we had one such meeting that began with a huge fight between my parents.   It was a fight to top all fights.

Dad had been acting weird all night.  He was walking in and out of the house with garbage bags, cleaning out every empty booze bottle, or “dead soldier” as my uncle called them, that he could find.  He carried out so many bags that night.  I was pretending not to watch (denial) but there were a lot.  Mom was looking concerned, a “I know I’m going to get it for this” kind of look. This search went on all night until my sister and I went to bed.

Fights for them were common and frequent. My sister and I often went to bed with them yelling at each other.  But this one got violent.  I went into Alice’s room when the fighting became louder than usual. Then we heard Mom scream.

“I’m going down there,” Alice said.  I followed her downstairs.


Mom was sitting in the middle of the floor, hugging her legs.  Dad was standing over her raging.

He went on and on about how much booze he had taken out of her suitcase before they went to Kansas City and Devon because he wanted the trip to go well. “A half a bottle of white rum,” I remember him saying.  But that wasn’t the only booze in there.  There was a lot more. 

He went on and on and on. He was frustrated, blaming her, at the end of his rope, spewing his rage at us while he was telling us what was going on. 

“You’ve been a good provider and you’ve never tried to hurt me physically until tonight,” Mom said, still crouching on the floor. 

“There you go blaming it all on me; do you think it’s all my fault?” Dad replied defensively.


“I don’t want her to drink anymore either,” I stuttered through my inevitable tears.

“Now, don’t you get involved in this,” Dad said.  Hello? You wake me up with your screaming fights but tell me not to get involved?  What is that?   I didn’t say that, of course.

“Don’t I live in this house?  Aren’t I a member of this family?  Don’t I matter?” I cried.  Wow, for a passive codependent that never expressed herself that was pretty good!

“Of course, you matter,” Dad said, softening his tone.

“I hate it when Mom drinks.  I hate it when I come home and she’s drunk.”

I’m sure there was more drama embedded in this scene. However, what I remember happening next is Dad standing there with his coat on, looking at Mom and saying, “If you don’t stop drinking, I’m leaving you.  Will you stop drinking?” 

She said she would.

We got into a Quaker circle and held hands.  “This is a good Quaker tradition,” Dad said.  “Are we going to work on this?” He said, or something to that affect.  We all agreed we would.


So what did Mom do in response?  She stayed up all night and got even more hammered. She was completely blasted by the time I woke up the next morning. She drank AT him, to get even with him, to piss Dad off and she succeeded admirably. She knew he couldn’t do anything about it, it made him angry and she liked that. It was her way of getting back at him.  He did not leave her.  Just another empty threat and she knew it.


Besides all that, she was really physically addicted. That’s what people do not understand.  Alcoholism is a disease.  The body gets to a point where it cannot live without the booze.   Going too long without booze at this stage leads to sweating, shaking, gagging, vomiting and diarrhea.

This all happened the night before we went to Madison Square Garden where my sister was competing in a horse show.

We had other “family meetings” like this.  They were always focused on Mom and her drinking.
There were so many problems with these meetings.  I know Dad probably meant them as an intervention.  But they all just ended up being a session during which Mom would get shamed, then promise to stop on her own. But she didn’t want to go into rehab.  Dad didn’t do anything but sit there and lay blame.  I understand he was desperate. 


In the end, it felt like there would not have been such a dramatic, painful fight that night before the Madison Square Garden trip if I had just kept my mouth shut and not gotten emotional.  Now I know that is not true.

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns at work here were: 

I am not conscious of my own moods, I am conscious of your moods.

If you’re happy, I’m happy.

Your moods and actions are my fault.

If you hurt, I hurt; I think I have to fix you.

It’s difficult for me to recognize my moods or articulate them.

I am inclined to diminish, change, or refute my moods.

If you like me, I like me.

If you think I’m good, I think I’m good.

I don’t know what I need, I focus on what you need.

Your customs and thoughts are always right. I’m always wrong. 

I am obsessed with making you happy, with saving you.

My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection determine how I behave.

Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll do or be whatever you say.

Please don’t get mad at me, I’ll feel however you want me to feel.

I think I have to be perfect and so do you.  Nothing less will do.

I am less than.

[1] Adapted from the Family of Origin packet materials provided by the Sequoia Recovery Center.

Juliet’s Feelings Patterns that were at work here were: 

This is all my fault, I did something wrong.

They are right, I am wrong.

They are going to abandon me.

They are going to reject me.

I don’t deserve good things.

I am less than.

I am ashamed.

I’m bad and now everyone knows it.  I’ll be alone forever.

Different from everyone

[1] Ibid.

 

 

23 Jul 2025
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My Resolution With Mom

My relationship with my mother in the later years of her life was a healthier one.  I won’t say it was perfect, because it wasn’t, but I think I learned how to take care of myself. 

Taking care of myself involved a few things.  I lived on the opposite side of the country.  I saw her a few times a year.  I talked to her often on the phone.  My sister and her significant other lived close to her and assumed the responsibility for taking care of Mom.  I am very appreciative of that.

I tried not to let her get under my skin. One way I supported myself in this endeavor was to not stay with her for more than a few days at a time.  She always said that guests are like fish; after three days they smell.  She never came to my place in Vermont. The state of Vermont had bad memories for her and I understood that.  

I am trying hard to work on myself.  I’m learning healthier behaviors that work better for me and for those around me.  I’m hoping it is having a positive effect on my family of origin. 

If I’m angry, I either hit my punching bag and yell and scream or I journal and then burn what I’ve written.  If I’m sad, I’m learning to let myself cry. If I’m happy, I try to share it with people.  And I try not to let my happiness be diminished if the person I am sharing it with doesn’t share my excitement.

My real test came when Mom fell off the wagon and started actively drinking again in October of 2010.  I was proud of the way I was able to let go and not get panicked about it.  I was able to observe, not react, at least for the most part.  Yay me!!! Unfortunately she also had cancer at the time.  Her alcohol use as well as her chemo aggravated her seizure disorder and she failed quickly.  She died on Saturday, April 30, 2011 at 5:05 am in hospice.

I have known several people who have had cancer and it gets to me every time. I can’t help thinking, What if it was me?  What would I be thinking and feeling if I were the one that was just diagnosed with cancer?  How would I make it okay with myself?  I wrote my song Something to Believe In as my response to those questions.

The moment I woke up

Was the day the tests came back

With ev’ry word that left his lips

Sweat poured down my back.

Heart pounding, mind racing,

Soul screaming, paralyzing,

Knee buckling,

blood draining disbelief.

(God this isn’t real.)

And my resolution…

But I guess that’s the way he wants it,

To end it would be a sin

This is our trial, our test of faith

Endure the suffering, and win the race


It’s not our show

It’s his to run, we can only come home

Like the prodigal son

Do our best to give up control

Bide our time, walk in faith

And search for

Something to believe in

Something to hold

Something to dream about

Before my blood runs cold

Inject it like a serum

let the truth be told

Cuz Lord I need it now.

(Something to Believe In, from Fearless Moral Inventory, by Juliet A. Wright, copyright 2010, all rights reserved,)

I really miss Mom.  I miss the good times.  I’m glad she didn’t suffer. 

I think Mom was broken for a really long time and couldn’t dig her way out of her brokenness.  Maybe the gift she gave me was that I saw her leaning on the sink, too numbed out to cope with the pain of losing the love of her life.  She gave me that experience so that when I went through that experience myself, I could be strong enough not to lean against the sink and numb myself out.

I did choose to dig my way out and not destroy myself for the sake of my relationship with my husband.  I chose differently than Mom did.  I wish things had turned out differently for me and for Mom, but like CoDA teaches, it’s not Juliet’s will be done, it’s Thy will be done.

Life is not perfect. It’s not a fairy tale.  Things happen.  People get hurt.  People get sick.  People make mistakes.  People cheat.  People lie. People die.  People check out and die before situations are resolved and it makes for a very uncomfortable departure.  So one does their best to grieve, heal, go on and become the person God intends for her to be.  That is what I am doing.

22 Jul 2025
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Family Meeting at Sequoia

We went to a family/Al Anon type meeting at the Sequoia Center.  It was a coed meeting that was full of young people. 

When it was my turn to talk, I suddenly felt the urge to start crying.   It happened to quite a few people.

“I am really afraid that this is Mom’s last chance for sobriety because she has dried out so many times and is in her late sixties,” I mumbled through my sobs. “The older you get, the harder the habits are to break.  I am also afraid she is in denial and isn’t aware of the extent of her disease. I think she’s drying out because we want her to, not because she wants to.”

When we met privately with her counselor, Mom expressed an interest in getting sober and possibly staying in California.


Staying in California would be key to Mom’s sobriety. Vermont just had too many memories for her.  She needed a fresh start that had an identity all its own. California could offer her that, especially Northern California.

She finally got sober in 2005 and was sober again until October 30, 2010.

I was trained to never talk about her drinking and I did my best to not talk about it. Evidently, she did confess to Alice that she knew that drinking was no longer an option for her, if she wanted to survive. 


Mom seemed to be much closer to Alice than she was to me and I accept that.