It took a viewing of the 2018 film Beautiful Boy, about a father and his addict son, for me to see that my relationship had become damagingly codependent
Two summers ago, I met a man on a dating app who would become my boyfriend. The red flags were there from the start, but I ignored them all. When I stayed at his, he didn’t have a towel to offer me, and he never changed his sheets. It became obvious that he didn’t know how to look after himself. Even though, in reality, he could survive without me (similar to how a teenage boy would survive on his own, eating burgers in bed), I felt like, if I wasn’t there to buy groceries, cook and clean, he might die. He would disappear for days, on a drink- or drugs-fuelled bender, and I’d assume he’d overdosed in a basement somewhere. I lived in fear that something terrible would happen to him. I became his boyfriend and his caregiver.
This was a familiar role for me: I’d done it in all my previous relationships. I needed to be needed. If the person I was dating didn’t need me, then what value did I have? I found safety in taking care of someone. This started as a family dynamic: as the eldest child, I had to look out for my younger brothers, and learned to overlook my own needs. Then, when I was 14, my girlfriend died in a drug-related car accident. My therapist helped me to see the connection; that because I couldn’t save her, I sought romantic relationships with men or women I thought I could save instead.
