Do you know how to get wild mustangs to accept being penned in? You build one side of the fence and let them get used to it. Then another. And another. And, before they realize it, they’re surrounded on all four sides with no way out.

I think people pleasers are a lot like mustangs.  In an effort to keep the boat steady, we give up our spirit to others one small chunk at a time. Before we realize it, we’re someplace we don’t want to be with no idea how we got there, or how to get out.

Walt lost his cell phone last night.  He discovered it was missing while we were at the movies watching World War Z. We searched the Miata, and the Walgreen’s where we’d bought our M&M’s, the place we’d had dinner, and the parking lots. A high-tech guru, he had lots of things stored on there—videos from our trip to Ireland, pictures, apps, numbers, passwords—so he was understandably distraught.

I get really nervous when someone I love—particularly Walt— is upset. More precisely, I feel threatened.  It’s old baggage from growing up in an alcoholic household.

Back then we all knew that, if Daddy was unhappy, there would be, in the not too distant future, hell to pay. My brother and I learned that our well-being depended on smoothing ruffled feathers, defusing tension, playing the concerned therapist, flicking the right mood switch, hiding our own problems, and running around the house in an attempt to look productive and useful. Basically making ourselves agreeable so we wouldn’t be singled out to take the brunt.  We forgot what we were doing, how we were feeling, what we needed, where we were going and laser-focused on Dad.

We were conditioned to believe that, if we just tried harder to cheer Dad up, we’d spend the evening watching Get Smart instead of participating in the far less enjoyable family pastime: screaming and crying.

I have to watch my self pretty closely, now that I’m an actualized adult. (Hey! Don’t you think it’s rude to laugh?) Because I know how natural it is for me to kick into FIX IT NOW OR PAY THE PRICE mode.  How easy it would be for me to take on Walt’s distress as my own and have it hijack my evening.  Instead, I took a deep breath, asked him how he wanted me to help, then sat back down and let him feel how he felt.

Boundary stuff.  This is mine; and this is yours. A foreign concept to people like us.

It took me a long, long, long, long, long time to realize that the more you try to relieve someone of their stress or unhappiness, the more they revile you.

By trying to frantically solve another’s problem, you don’t earn gratitude; you earn disdain. You don’t make yourself indispensable; you set yourself up for abuse.

It happens one wall at a time. You forget what you’re about and focus on tamping down that first sign of trouble.   Before you know it, wild pony that you are, you’re trapped by a dynamic you didn’t intend to create. Then you can’t recall what it was you ever felt or wanted out there.

That corral you’ve built is called co-dependence. And it’s a sturdy bugger.

Do you recognize yourself?

I have to give a lot of credit to Walt.  He was horrified the first time I tried to manipulate his mood. He wasn’t down for my perky monkey dance. He didn’t appreciate me sweeping his issues under the rug.  He wanted to feel what he felt, regardless of how unpleasant. He didn’t dig me trying to fix things when he just needed to vent. Or pout. And believe me when I say he was crystal clear about this.

After a while I learned that nothing bad happens.  That, like a storm cloud, sadness and anger and frustration eventually pass.

I finally understood that it’s not my job.

By the way. Walt found his cell phone. And now he’s upstairs buying an App that will sound an alarm if his phone gets lost again, or snap the picture of anyone stupid enough to walk off with it.

Whatever.