Blog of Juliet Wright, Author and Musician

16 Jul 2025

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Have Another Drink

Mom’s disease made my ride bumpy as a kid. She was drunk a lot and would typically be a very critical, mean drunk. When she was drunk, I could rarely do anything right. According to her, I should have been getting straight A’s, should be skinnier, less selfish, etc.

Mom never praised me much as a kid. I was just expected to do well. I don’t think her mother praised her very much and that’s where she received her training. She did praise me more when I got older.

Grammy Mona just expected Mom to do well and Mom has been that way with me most of the time. It’s just what you do. You succeed. And you are strong. You don’t complain or cry. You are never weak or sad. You are always a big strong girl. No weakness allowed. “Of course, you’ll do well, you’re my daughter” was her basic thinking.

I think Mom really preferred her dad, whom we called Grandpa Roman. She remembered him fondly to me on several occasions. She brought him to our farm and took care of him when he got sick with cancer.

I was six going on seven when I noticed my mother drinking heavily. I would come home from school and she would be hammered. Sometimes she would be passed out on the couch. Other times she would be leaning on the kitchen counter trying to cook dinner. Her disease made things especially difficult when I was attending Rochester Junior Senior High because she was supposed to pick me up either at school or at the end of the bus route. If she was drunk and passed out, I had no way of contacting her. Sometimes I would wait for her for what seemed like hours.

Up until the age of five, I had always remembered my parents being very affectionate towards one another when my dad would come home from work. But that suddenly stopped when I was six. A thick cloud of tension, dread and impending chaos hung over the house. It replaced the affection and love.

I remember once Dad came into the kitchen while we were sitting at the dinner table and Mom was finishing up preparing the food. He started looking through all of the cabinets and banging all of the pots, etc. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing. She started yelling at him

“Get out of my kitchen!” she screamed at him.

“I’m not going to get out of your kitchen,” he retorted defensively. I couldn’t understand what the problem was at the time but now I know he was looking for booze.

I remember being put in bathtub water that was way too hot, and my sister, myself, and our neighbor Doreen hiding from my mother behind Doreen’s woodpile when Mom was drunk and raging. Now, did we do something to provoke her? Probably. I don’t remember what. I do remember being scared.

Somewhere around that time, Mom dragged me out onto the lawn, slapped me, then made me go to bed at 7:30. I don’t remember her ever telling me what I did wrong. I remember feeling stunned, hurt, and very confused by all of it. I do remember telling her it was difficult to be the youngest child. To this day, I don’t know what I did wrong to make her so upset. If I had known, maybe I could have fixed it.

Mom was the choreographer for the musicals at Rochester Junior Senior high school and would frequently show up to rehearsals drunk. I don’t know if anyone else noticed but it was obvious to me and I was embarrassed. Still, I rarely ever dared to speak of it. We were never supposed to talk about it to anyone. We just pretended everything was okay. And it was okay, right? I was the problem. I was nuts. I was defective. There was something inherently wrong with me and pretty soon everyone would find that out and I would be alone forever. That’s what I thought about myself. All of this was my fault.

My role was that of peacemaker, caretaker, fixer, keeper of secrets. Just smile and everything is okay. I learned very early on that I was responsible for everyone and everything all the time. Everything was and is my fault. If something went wrong, it was because of something I did wrong. My parents’ marital problems were my fault. Mom’s drinking was my fault. If I were a good girl, this wouldn’t have happened. As I entered my teens, I tried desperately to get her to stop drinking. It didn’t work.

I thought if I was perfect, I could fix all Mom and Dad’s problems and if I was a better kid, they wouldn’t have any problems at all. Mom wouldn’t drink. Dad wouldn’t be gone so much at night, doing God only knows what with God only knows whom.

I developed and practiced all of Juliet’s Codependency Patterns with my mother. I practiced these behaviors as a means of survival. I am the Codependency Poster Child. It’s still overwhelming to me. But what can I do, except work on my defects one at a time?

The CoDA Book says it like this:

even with our Higher power’s help, none of us loves or lives life perfectly. Our humanity continues to evolve. We begin to realize that perfectionism is merely an illusion. …recovery is a lifelong process. … each of us is learning at our own.. pace.

(Note: Alcoholics Anonymous is another 12-Step Program, and it forms the basis for Codependents Anonymous.)

When I wasn’t fulfilling my role of the overly responsible, everything-is-my-fault person, I was the fixer. I felt Mom was not capable of taking care of herself. She needed my help. It was my job to fix her, make her see the error of her ways, stop drinking, and save her marriage. Then everyone would be happy, including me.

I would embark on the never-ending, impossible task of trying to get her to stop drinking.

“Don’t you know how bad drinking is for you?” I would repeatedly ask.

“Sort of,” she would respond.

Then other times I would ask her how long it had been since she and Dad had made love and why were they sleeping in different bedrooms?

She would try to reassure me by telling me that everything was okay.

Clearly I had no boundaries then.

During the summer of 1985, I went up to Burlington to see my sister and some friends. During this trip, Mom called me and said Dad was being mean to her and she was worried about her safety. She was scared he was going to come back and beat her up. She wanted me to come home and be with her.

I had been down this road with her before. I always drove home immediately to be with her, save her, and protect her. But she would forget all about her call for help and be completely fine. Frustrating?! It made me angry and resentful.

Still, I felt completely obligated to go home and protect her, because I was responsible for her. If something happened to her and I wasn’t there, it would be my fault that it happened. That was how I saw it. So I got myself ready to leave.

My sister and friends talked me out of going home. They knew that I’d go home to be with her, and she would have forgotten all about it. Then I would be angry and resentful that I cut my weekend with my friends short for no reason. I would later learn from my therapist that if something makes you resentful, it’s not a choice. So I didn’t go. Good for you, Juliet!

Did I obsess about it? Absolutely. My mind was constantly going back to my mother. Was she okay? Did Dad come back and beat her up? Is she passed out on the couch? Did she forget all about it? When I did go home, she was fine. I’m glad I stayed in Burlington.

Mom did dry out in 1989 and was sober for about seven years. I called her the day after Valentine’s Day in February of 1996 and told her I was getting married. We both cried. We were so happy. I was marrying my childhood sweetheart. What could be cooler than that?

Well, for some reason, right after that she started drinking again. I, of course, blamed myself. If I weren’t getting married, she wouldn’t be drinking again.

Now there is my codependency staring me in the face. Give me a chance and I will find a way to blame myself for everything. Mom’s drinking, Dad’s messing around, the economy, world peace, world hunger… you name it.

I constantly feel overly responsible for others and their feelings.

Looking back, I think Mom was watching Dad’s painful decline into dementia and just couldn’t take it, so she numbed herself out.

I remember worrying about my parents on my wedding night. I called to make sure they were okay.

After that, she was in and out of sobriety for the next few years.

In February of 1999, both she and Dad were involved in a car accident that would have devastating consequences.

After that, she would almost drink herself to death.

In the past, my sister and I have done just about everything to stop her from drinking. This has included:

Taking the car keys

Taking the car

Dumping out her booze

Trying to get her arrested for drunk driving

Putting her in assisted living with a 24-hour guard at the door

Buying her more booze when she was in a severe state of the DTs(Delirium Tremens), based on the hope of getting her to stop drinking later

Begging her to stop drinking

Yelling at her for drinking

Trying to reason with her when she’s drunk

Trying to tell her about the negative affects of alcoholism

Trying to be perfect in an effort to get her to stop drinking

Temporarily cutting off contact with Mom to get her to stop

Trying to protect her from Dad by spending time with her so he wouldn’t get mad at her and maybe hit her. (This totally did not work.)

Lying for her to cover up for her being drunk, or absent from something

Looking for her in bars

Looking through her purse, closets, car, cabinets and suitcases

Guess what? None of it worked.

This is the perfect example of a codependent who doesn’t think another person can control his or her own life. So the codependent tries to play God and stop bad things from happening.

In the case of taking the car keys, my sister and I were very afraid Mom was going to drink and drive and either severely injure or kill herself or someone else. We worried that then a lawsuit would come, leaving Mom with no place to live or in jail or worse! We can control this, right? We can fix it. We DO have power over others, right? My sister and I have physically removed the car and the car keys many times in an effort to keep Mom and others safe.

We even tried to get her arrested for drunk driving. This didn’t work for us. The police didn’t respond.

“This is a very unusual request,” the officer commented to my sister.

I remember one time when Mom relapsed and I really overreacted. She was in a really expensive assisted-living place where she wasn’t supposed to be drinking. But she sneaked in some alcohol. She had just been through rehab again too. The director pulled out an empty booze bottle in front of us and I really got upset. Then I started beating myself up for overreacting.

This wasn’t about me. It affected me but it wasn’t about me.

Mom was in and out of sobriety for the next few years.

By February 14, 2005, she would be found on the floor passed out for quite a few days.

She had apparently taken sleeping pills with a booze chaser, which is never a good combination.

I remember when I found out about it. Of course, I hit the panic button. I asked my sister if I should go back and somehow take care of Mom.

Will I ever learn to observe and not react? Maybe.

Mom was taken to Dartmouth-Hitchcock Memorial Hospital, treated and released. They encouraged her to dry out, but she declined the offer saying she would rather do it on her own.

A few days after her release, my sister flew back to Vermont and brought Mom out to California. Alice did what she could to keep Mom stable until our mother checked in to the Sequoia Recovery Center.

Thankfully, Mom checked into Sequoia soon after her arrival in California. We had a family weekend that all family of origin members were encouraged to attend. It involved some 12-step support group meetings and a family meeting with Mom’s counselor.

They sent me preparatory materials to look over before my arrival.

This packet contained two sheets about Codependency Patterns and Characteristics. Reading these sheets would change my life. These are the sheets from which I adapted Juliet’s Codependency Patterns List. I am forever grateful for the Seqoiua Center Welcome packet.

[1] Codependents Anonymous. (Dallas, TX: Codependents Anonymous, Inc. 1995), p. 20-21.

10 Jul 2025

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My Compulsiveness around Mom

I had a tendency to compulsively overeat around Mom, especially food with sugar in it. I remember one particular incident back when my sister Alice was competing in the Miss Vermont Pageant. I went to the liquor store with Mom and bought a whole bag of dark chocolate Oreos.

This is my compulsion rearing its ugly head. My sponsor says this is my way of trying to be in control. Perhaps it is how I relieved stress when I was around her. I guess it was an escape mechanism.

I am trying to recreate myself. I am trying to actively work a program of recovery from codependency, which includes new habits and healthier behaviors, while ridding myself of the old ones that no longer serve me. When I enter into the environment of my family of origin where I am expected to behave a certain way, it’s easy to slip into old behaviors and habits. It’s what is expected. It’s almost comfortable. I think that is where the sugar thing comes from. I was always eating when I was younger. I think my mother planned for it and bought that kind of stuff so it would be there for me so I could gorge myself.

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns[1] During Compulsive Overeating

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

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

I ignore and ditch all my other friends as you are the center of my world. (Meaning the food.)

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

I shove my morals under the carpet to be with you.

I avoid my uncomfortable feelings by stuffing them down with food.

I am less than.

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

Juliet’s Feelings[1]

I am less than.

I am ashamed.

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

Different from everyone

I’m not good enough to be here.

I don’t feel good about myself, so I eat to stuff those feelings down and make them go away.

[1] Ibid.

09 Jul 2025

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Other Mom Games

Mom did not limit her badgering of me to just food. She would get on me for other things too.

For example, let’s say I planned to take a flight to go home, but the weather called for a snowstorm. Mom would totally press my buttons about that, and I would react right on cue.

“Now you probably won’t get out of town. Your flight will be cancelled so you might as well get used to it.”

Then when I’d wig out, she’d say, “Are you going to win the prize for worry wart? Are you going to win the prize for drama queen? What are you getting so upset about?”

These statements lay blame. I’d get defensive and snap back. And she knew that was how it would play out. Why do people do that to each other?

Mom and I did not do well in the car together, either. I would hand her the directions so she could read them to me, but then she couldn’t read them right. So then I would turn onto the wrong street.

“Well, shoot, this isn’t right,” I’d say. Then I’d take the directions in my own hands and try to figure out where in the blazes we were.

Then when we got to our destination, she would complain about me.

“Julie started bawling me out,” she’d say. See? From my point of view, she did this on purpose.

She always enjoyed comparing me to my father. She knew it would totally send me flying. And of course it worked like a charm. I would react just as she planned.

When I was younger, it was worse. She would sit in the passenger seat while I was driving and nitpick at me nonstop until I snapped. One time I got so full of rage that I slammed on the brakes of her brown Mercedes right in the middle of the road and the car skidded. Mom got really mad at me and told me she wouldn’t let me drive anymore. I guess I wasn’t acting like the perfect little soldier then was I? The whole scene felt like one big manipulation. Let’s pick at Juliet until she explodes, won’t that be fun? She’s just like her father.

Sometimes, however, she was really intuitive and sweet.

She took me shopping the Christmas after my divorce and bought me some really pretty, very expensive jeans. I felt bad about her spending so much money on me.

“I would buy you the world if I thought it could take away one ounce of the pain of this divorce.” That was very sweet of her.

That same night, however, she retreated to her bedroom, pretending to watch something on television that I didn’t want to watch, so she could drink instead of spending time with me. It’s times like those that I felt she shut me out.

After I broke up with Brad, she gave me a new watch. (When I was dating Brad, he had given me a nice watch for Christmas.) Mom said she didn’t want me to have to look at a watch every day that had been given to me by him. How very intuitive of her. Thanks Mom!!!!

That was really nice and it felt good. I really appreciated it.

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns Present in Mom Games

Your moods and actions are my fault.

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

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

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.

[1] Ibid.

Now that I am in recovery, if I were in the same situations with her again, I would handle it differently. I would give her comments, opinions and feelings back to her. They are about her, not me. This would probably create conflict, which is something that I have always run from, due to my fear of abandonment and fear of rejection. But since we are all different people, we are never going to agree on everything. Conflict is a part of any human relationship. So I would stick up for myself. It probably would have worked out fine. Maybe this is practice for future relationships.

08 Jul 2025

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Mom and Food

Out they come

My worms

They’re here

Blame, obsession,

Self-hate and fear

It’s time to weed this wormwood

From my fruitful brain

Mom knew how to push my buttons, especially when it came to my weight and eating habits. When I was a teenager, she would often pick at me for being fat and then give me a big bowl of coffee ice-cream, urging me to devour it.

“Have another bowl of ice cream, Fats.”

It was hurtful and mean. She would complain repeatedly about my weight, my acne, my temper, my weakness, or some other defect of mine until I would wig out. She knew how to get to me. I felt like she really enjoyed this whole process, which made me sad.

During my whole life, she seemed to be obsessed with everything that I ate. I felt that she was watching me like a hawk. Yet she was the one pushing the food at me. I’m lucky I’m not schizophrenic.

One evening we went to the Los Altos Farmers Market and my sister’s boyfriend Zeb brought over a quesadilla for us all to try. I had just finished my potato, but wanted to try a bite. So I did.

“Juliet!” Mom snapped at me.

I felt my whole being sink into the depths of despair. I snapped back at her. Zeb said he thought I was misjudging the situation. So then I started shaming myself, not only for being fat and eating too much, but also for misjudging the situation and making my mother feel bad. Because, after all, I felt responsible for her feelings.

Wrong words fall

Like rain in summer

Sad eyes pierce my skin

My flower turns upon itself

Puts me in this fix I’m in

Nary is a petal left

Beauty destroyed by blame

In prison I have placed myself

Built with bricks of shame

Then I embrace my anguish

It fits me like a glove

The rest of the night I was in a severe codependent crazies shame spiral. I had completely sunk and couldn’t save myself.

Mom asked me, “What’s the matter with you?”

“Severe self-loathing,” I told her.

“So what do you do in that case, call your shrink?” she asked.

“I guess,” I muttered.

Somehow I got myself to give Zeb a guitar lesson. That helped get me through the night. Thanks Zeb.

Later my therapist would tell me that it was Mom’s problem; that she was obsessed with my food and I should have told her to back off.

I got picked on for eating too much. I got picked on for eating too little. I got picked on for being too fat. I got picked on for being too thin.

Why couldn’t she just love me for who I am?

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns Present In My Relationship With Mom and Food

Your moods and actions are my fault.

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.

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.

I am less than.

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

Juliet’s Feelings[1][RKQ1]

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’m not good enough to be here.

I am so grateful to be in recovery. Now I know that my weight and appearance don’t determine my worth. I also know that what other people think of me is none of my business. It is about them, not me. I can give their opinions back to them where they belong.

[1] Ibid.

07 Jul 2025

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My Relationship with Mom

Are you tired of feeling sad, my friend?

Another night alone again?

Pray to Dionysus tonight.

One of the scariest experiences I have is looking in the mirror and seeing my mother’s reflection staring back at me. I panic; my heart races. Breathe in and out. Did I become her? How did that happen?

What scares me about this reflection? I fear I have become the things in her that I tried to fix. This includes compulsiveness with and addiction to alcohol, food, relationships, and very nearly medication. I fear my life will echo her separation from God. I strive every day to avoid this.

What are the good parts of the reflection in the mirror? I did get my inner strength from her. I did get my stamina from her. I got my musical abilities from her. I didn’t inherit her dancing talent. Oh, well.

There were times that she was really there for me. For example, she is the one who talked Dad into letting me go to both the Interlochen Arts Academy and the music department at the University of Miami. She is the one who bawled out one of my riding instructors when she didn’t support me during a western seat class. She is the one who was caring and supportive after Dad reamed me out about being fat in a restaurant that was full of people. She helped me write a naughty card to a potential boyfriend once. (It really wasn’t that naughty … just a little suggestive. Okay, it was pretty suggestive. It was her idea.)

In more recent times, she helped me buy my laptop and music notation and recording software so I could record and write the notation for my music. I really appreciate that.

She bought me clothes for my teaching job every year. I think she was proud of the fact that I went back to school and got a credential and a master’s degree in music education. I built a career that allows me to support myself.

Ever since I got my divorce, Mom would tell me that she was proud of me and that she admired my guts. That felt really good. I think she was proud of the way I lived through that painful time in my life. Instead of sinking into depression and substance abuse, I moved on and built a new life.

I do feel that she kept me at arm’s length for most of my life. She didn’t really want me to know who she was and she didn’t seem to want to know who I was either. She didn’t want to know the real, emotional, vulnerable, incredibly honest, heart-on-her-sleeve, 12-stepper Juliet. She’d rather just make small talk, or talk about my teaching job, or watch a movie. I felt that there was something missing in our relationship. I feel sadness and regret about this.

Every time I called Mom to see how she was, she would always say, “I’m fine.” I think even if she was falling off a cliff, she would still say she was fine. Now that reminds me of myself. I’m like that. My song Let the Child Speak, from Fearless Moral Inventory, has a lyric about that very trait.

Is she falling off a cliff?

She tries so hard to act as if she’s fine.

She never really wanted to hear about my sadness, struggles, or weaknesses. I was supposed to be her big strong girl and never show any emotions. She showed absolutely no interest in my 12-step work or my book. She did make an effort to support my musical endeavors by coming to see me play and by buying me that software.

Eventually, I tried to avoid sharing with her the parts of my life for which she was not supportive, like my book and my 12-step work.

“Who told you to write this book?” she asked me once. Ouch. Like I have absolutely no initiative of my own whatsoever, right?

When she needled me about something, like my weight, my worrying, or how I’m handling my music career the wrong way, my custom was to take it in as blame. Later, I told myself that this was about her, not me. I am not responsible for her feelings, even if it seems like I am. My belief that I am responsible for her is just an old habit. I can build in a new one. I can let go.

Albert Einstein said, “Taking the same action time after time and expecting different results is insane!” So I tried to avoid discussing certain subjects and found my support at CoDA meetings, with my sponsor and program friends. Sometimes I did slip and talk about it with Mom. My recovery from codependency is so much a part of my life that I tend to talk about it a lot, especially with people who are close to me. But I’m trying to learn different behaviors, ones that may serve me better.

Mom said that she thought my music could be an outlet for me in my life. She was right. In that way she was supportive. But I don’t think she ever really listened to my lyrics or tried to understand what they were trying to say. She either wasn’t interested or didn’t care enough for my style of music to listen to it.

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns Present In My Relationship With Mom

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.

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.

Thank heavens I am in recovery and am learning to replace these old behaviors and feelings patterns with ones that serve me better. I am also no longer in a direct relationship with an alcoholic caregiver, which really helps.

[1] Ibid.

04 Jul 2025

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Mom’s Drinking

When I look into your eyes

There’s just emptiness inside

Half-seas-over one more time

There’s no turning back

There’s nothing left for me

Are you falling on the floor again?

Wishing he were home again

You know I feel the same my friend

I think it’s time for this to end

I guess it’s me and Jack again

Tonight

My mother was an alcoholic. She drank heavily as I was growing up and spent the larger part of 40 years going in and out of recovery.

Her drinking started when my father got disbarred due to a conflict of interest scandal in his law practice. I was six going on seven at the time. Mom had to testify and stand by his side in a very public trial. She had been abusing barbiturates and that abuse escalated at that time also.

It’s not easy living with someone who has the disease of alcoholism. The way the disease works, the whole family has it, so everyone ends up feeding each other the same garbage over and over in different ways. No one gets better until someone gets into treatment. And getting someone into treatment is difficult, especially if they don’t want to go. And if they don’t want to go, don’t send them because it’s not going to work. This was the 70s and I didn’t know about Al-Anon and CoDA wasn’t around yet. And if you think you could ever get my dad to go to one of those groups, forget it.

My mother’s disease was severe. When Mom was drinking, she had to have alcohol in her system all the time or she started going through withdrawal. As a result, when she was using, there was booze hidden all over the house. You could find it in the cupboards, behind the canned goods, under the butcher’s block, in the orange juice, in the corner of every closet, in the flowerbed, under the bathroom sink, in the bathroom cabinets, in her purse in a flask, and in the car in the cubby.

She definitely used to drink and drive. Mom drove drunk all the time with us in the car, with a toddy in the cubby and never got caught. You could drive drunk forever in Vermont and not get caught in the 70s. Or maybe it was just my mother who never got caught. She had an angel on her shoulder. My sponsor told me most alcoholics do.

She dried out several times before finally committing to sobriety. The last time she dried out was in February of 2005. She remained in recovery until October 30, 2010, when she unfortunately relapsed. I was sad, but tried to detach.

For most of my life, I thought that Mom’s drinking was my fault. If I was perfect, she wouldn’t drink.

Here is a list of Juliet’s Codependency Patterns[1] that tend to raise their heads in relationship to my mothers drinking:

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.

Here is a list of Juliet’s Feelings[1] that tend to raise their heads in relationship to my mothers drinking:

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.

Thank heavens I am in recovery and am learning to replace these old behaviors and feelings patterns with ones that serve me better.

[1] Ibid.

30 Jun 2025

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Mom

My mother was one of the strongest people I knew. She died 14 years ago come April. I can only hope to be as strong as she was someday. I trust that she is looking down on me from heaven, sending me some of her strength because I sure need it. Despite everything she had been through, which was a lot, she still got up every day, put her makeup on, and did what she could to fulfill her dreams. I admire that. She was one of the most loving, giving, caring, sensitive, compassionate, creative, and talented people I have ever met.

She could also be one of the most cunning, manipulative, critical, judgmental, and dishonest people I ever knew. Mom would put her acting talents to work and pull the wool over people’s eyes on a regular basis. She could talk anyone into and make anyone believe anything.

It is only after going through some of the most painful emotional experiences and lessons of recent times that I can even begin to fathom the horrible garbage she went through. But she still kept going. We didn’t see eye to eye on that much stuff. But I sure admired her stamina and strength of spirit.

As I look back now on our history together, I believe that she did the best she could to be a good mother to me. That was the most she could give and she gave it.

My relationship with my mother is one of the primary relationships that brought me to Codependents Anonymous (CoDA).

Juliet’s Codependency Patterns[1] Present With Mom

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 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.

I am less than.

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

Juliet’s Feelings Patterns Present With Mom

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.

It would take many years of program work to undo these codependency and feelings patterns.

[1] Ibid.

27 Jun 2025

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Early Memories of a Ham

I started my music career in the first grade when I got a solo in the Christmas show at Stockbridge Central School. I don’t remember what I sang. I think I was always a ham though.

When my sister and I had our first dance recital, I saw Dad in the audience, so I stopped and said, “Hi Daddy,” and waved to him. Everyone laughed.

I used to play Karen Carpenter songs on my guitar for my seventh-grade friends and I think they liked it.

I was the Artful Dodger in the musical Oliver Twist eighth grade and did well in the role. I never missed a line.

I played “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner to Greg Carpenter, my first guitar teacher, but was too shy to sing.

By the time I got to the Arts Academy, the private music high school I attended, I would develop stage fright to such an extent that I could barely play.

These were my earliest memories of codependent behaviors.

Juliet’s codependency patterns:

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

If you like me, I like me.

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

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.

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 am 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.

15 Feb 2025

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Grandpa Roman

Darlin’, won’t you come over here And sit on my lap?
I need some cheering up .
Let your skirt slip up,
Your mamma will never know . Don’t tell anyone .

I dread the dream, You know it’s you . On the kitchen counter, What you shouldn’t do . Your curiosity
Got the best of me .
I know it wasn’t right Your little fantasy .

I was doing some inner-child work and uncovered a memory I had buried from long ago. This memory involved my maternal grandfather, Grandpa Roman. While visiting our farm one summer, he was down in the kitchen cooking.

I had, in my typical fashion, gotten up before anyone else so I could sneak downstairs and eat brown sugar right out of the box. When I arrived downstairs, Grandpa was already down there cooking. I remember being with him for a few minutes and then feeling really sad. He asked me what was wrong. I couldn’t express to him what was wrong, I just cried. I don’t remember what else happened then except that I felt unsafe around him.

Many years later, I spoke with a woman who acted as a governess to my sister and me in the summer and on the weekends. She said that Grandpa Roman was inappropriate with her. He would make suggestive comments and hold her in ways that made her feel uncomfortable. She never said aword about it to anyone. I didn’t either. Don’t tell anyone.

21 Jan 2025

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My Earliest Memories

I have a few early memories that I believe foreshadowed my Codependency.

One of these memories took place at a ski area daycare center. I must have been too young to ski, probably around the age of three or four. As I recall, I did something that called for attention from the daycare workers, and they yelled at me severely for it. I was crying hard. I thought, I’m a bad person because I did this . I still have residual effects of this treatment to this day.

I have another memory of my sister, Alice, and me playing in the downstairs hallway on a Sunday afternoon. We had little plastic horses and dolls we were playing with. One of the dolls was named Little Linda. Alice said that Little Linda was going away for a while. The fact that Linda was leaving made me feel really sad. As I look back on it now, Linda represented my sister Alice somehow. This was the first time I was fearful of being abandoned and rejected by my sister.

I remember crying when my first grade teacher, Mrs. Powell, moved me into the second-grade reading group. I had been separated from my peers, which, to me, meant I had done something wrong and was being punished. I felt very sad and didn’t understand what I had done wrong. I cried the whole time I sat there. Mrs. Powell was reading us a story about a girl crying at the breakfast table.

“Annie sat at the breakfast table and her tears landed with a plop in her cereal bowl. Just like Juliet’s,” Mrs. Powell said as I sobbed.

Mrs. Powell was very sweet and would never hurt a fly. I think she probably couldn’t understand why I was so upset. I think subconsciously I was afraid my sister wouldn’t love me anymore if I was as smart as her or at her level in school. So I stayed in first grade.

When I was still in grade school, a lady at a restaurant scolded me and I lied about why. I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. I was at a salad bar fixing myself a plate. I saw some pickles that looked interesting. I selected one, took a bite, decided I didn’t like it, and put it back in the bucket on the salad bar. A woman saw me perform this angelic transaction.

“Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” she said, shaking her head and frowning at me.

I just happened to have a heaping pile of apple butter on my plate right then. So I went back to the table and told everyone that the lady yelled at me for taking too much apple butter. Fibber! I knew what she was mad at me for. I felt shame about this for a long time. When I did my CoDA 9th Step, I confessed to this little sin. I forgave myself for judging myself for not being perfect.