The Day Codependency Led Me Back to Myself.

I abandoned myself again. But this time, I didn’t make it mean I was broken.

I just came back from Bali, a bit earlier than usual.

I had convinced myself that I was coming back earlier because of very logical reasons until I realized I did out of co-dependency with my parents.

I come from a culture fueled by codependency, enmeshment, and weak boundaries.

• Codependency: When someone else's emotions dictate your decisions.

• Enmeshment: When your identity and needs are so entangled with your family’s that it’s hard to distinguish where they end and you begin.

• Weak boundaries: When holding your own truth feels unsafe, so you abandon yourself to maintain connection.

These patterns are deeply embedded. Even when you become aware of them, they remain sticky. I’ve known about mine for years, and yet, they still find ways to pull me back in. I do well—until I don’t. Until I trick myself. Until the old programming whispers louder than my conscious mind.

And so, despite being an independent adult, I found myself booking a flight home within 24 hours of my father expressing anxiety about me staying in Bali. He worried I was spending too much and that I wasn’t being financially responsible. And though my financial plan was solid—my savings phase was set to begin in two months—his anxiety became my own.

What I could have done:

• Detangled myself from his fears.

• Reminded myself that I was following my own plan.

• Trusted my decisions and held my ground.

What actually happened:

For 24 hours, I stood firm, reassuring myself that nothing was wrong. But then, fear crept in—not my own fear, but my inner child's. The deep, ancient fear of disconnection from my primary caregiver. The fear that if I disappointed him, I would lose the invisible thread of love and safety that my inner child still clings to.

I caved. I changed my flight, leaving Bali a month early. And when my father validated my decision—"a wise choice"—a wave of relief washed over me.

That, right there, is textbook codependency.

Frustration.

Three weeks later, mid-flight back to Europe, the realization of what had happened hit me like a brick.

How did I let this happen?

After all the work I’ve done?

How, of all people, me—someone who writes about this stuff, who guides others through it—how did I not see this in time?

Frustration swelled in me. I had abandoned myself. Again. After years of work, I still couldn’t hold my ground for more than 24 hours. I felt like a prisoner of my own subconscious wiring. I hated it. I hated myself for it.

Exhaustion saved me from spiraling further. I fell asleep.

But once I was home and settled, frustration was waiting for me. I could feel it in my body—the tension in my jaw, the burning behind my eyes. Someone inside me was angry.

"I see your anger. And I understand it. I bailed on us. Now what?"

That startled the part of me that was furious. So, I continued:

"Yes, now what? I hear you. I understand you. And I agree with you—what I did was not cool. But can we also listen to the part that made this choice? The one who got so scared of losing connection with her father that she freaked out? The one still frozen in a time where the only way to survive was to abandon herself?"

We turned towards the part of me that had taken over—the scared one. She was terrified. Not of money, not of logic, but of loss. The fear of being untethered from parental approval was still running the show, even now, even as an adult.

“Just as I hold space for you, my frustrated part, I now hold space for her, my scared part."

She shared her heartbreaking fear:

"If I lose this connection, I die."

I closed my eyes, deeply touched by this. In my mind’s eye, I saw both parts of me—the frustrated one, desperate for me to step into my power, and the scared one, frozen, too traumatized to move.

And then, something happened.

The frustrated part stepped forward. She wrapped her arms around the scared one, holding her in a compassionate embrace. The part that had rejected my decision—labeling it weak and a mistake—now held the part behind that decision. A bit later, other parts—my inner protectors and managers—joined the embrace.

I started weeping.

Weeping for the love this scared part was finally receiving.

Weeping for the beauty of this moment.

Acceptance.

Yes, I left Bali early. I uprooted myself. I deprived myself of the rest I needed. I acted out of fear, out of old wounding, out of a place of disempowerment.

And I have two choices:

1. I can beat myself up for it, spiral into self-loathing, and be miserable.

2. Or, I can accept it. Not in a way that dismisses it, but in a way that acknowledges all parts of me—the part that wanted to stand strong and the part that was still too scared to do so.

Just like my angry part softened when she saw the pain behind my decision, I, too, can soften toward myself.

We can do the same with ourselves.

Your mistakes have a story behind them—hurt, fear, hopes. You can blame yourself, let it drain your energy, and stay stuck.

Or you can accept, with compassion, and lean in with curiosity, asking: "Who's behind this? What do you need? How can I give it to you?"

Healing doesn’t mean erasing the wounded parts of ourselves. It means welcoming them, sitting with them, loving them in ways they were never loved before. Only then will they soften, release their grip, and allow us to move from a place of true inner power.

Healing also doesn't mean that patterns just disappear. It's going to be a lifelong practice of self-awareness and self-compassion when we fall. And, then, moving forward, doing our best to change the pattern next time.

Next time, instead of letting you, my sweet scared part, take over, I will focus on soothing you. You don't have to make decisions anymore, and we all love you.

And I will remind myself that feeling big emotions is safe, that I have the tools to let them move through me without making harsh decisions.

That's my healing.

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If you know someone who could use self-compassion today, share this newsletter with them — we can all use some softening.