19.7 miles from Tui, Spain to Redondelo

“I learn to see myself as equal to others. My new and renewed relationships are with equal partners.”

We sat at an early morning breakfast, genuinely stunned and nervous about today’s mileage. Nervous laughter peppered the weighty silence as we watched the sunrise over the clothes line behind the hotel. It was the longest distance we would walk, and when we planned the route six months ago, we counted on our bodies being broken in and conditioned by this point of the pilgrimage. Broken in, but not broken.

I knew I could do it. I believe strongly that the brain is my strongest muscle, and my mindset alone has allowed me to overcome the big and the small, the happy and the scary, the planned and the unknowns of life. But I was scared that morning. Scared of the pain and how it would cost me so much time and comfort.

I reflected on the CoDA promise for the day – #6 – and considered my equal companion. D and I are equal in many ways, and the differences were digestible at this point in our 10-year friendship. So, as we took to the street, I was confronted with the differences. My hip pain and 4 wrapped toes, blisters busted, and fresh skin screaming, I had to evaluate myself in a new way. It was more miles than I thought we could walk in one day, but despite the marred feet and noticeable hip, I was committed to positivity. After all, it is my favorite part of myself.

We stopped for lunch at mile 12 and ate a hearty meal, flirting with the idea of taking the bus the rest of the way. Like a sign from our spirit guides, a group of 65+ year old women walked by, clearly Camino pilgrims, in Sketchers and pajama pants. I mean, we had about $1,000 worth of gear and gadgets between us, so what were we complaining about? We laughed it off, and it felt good to be on the same page.

The differences, however, came in crisis – a sudden drop to the ground as I felt another welt build in the webbing between my toes. I took a safety pin to release the liquid and attempted to wrap it. Hovering over me, crying with unrestrained sympathy pain, refusing to acknowledge my request for space, hopping from one foot to the other, my companion was less than ideal. I was caught between taking care of how this situation affected her and how my body needed my attention. First rule of codependency: others before self. Growing up in a Christian household, that was built into my bone marrow – Jesus, Others, and You spells J.O.Y.

In a crisis, I hunker down. I zero in and find comfort in tunnel vision and quick thinking. I do not doddle nor flinch. One action after another, even if it isn’t the one I should land on, I move forward and pivot as needed. I get quiet, serious, and focused. My companion micro-manages and trails emotion behind her like ribbons in every situation. Tiny papercuts of comments, second-guessing, and need covered my soul throughout the day. We were not equals in this stress, in this pain, nor in this scenario. We were at mile 17, and until then, I had forced my body into delusional acquiescence. But here I sat, in the shadow of someone’s gated driveway, along a busy road, and huddled on a skinny cobblestone sidewalk. At that moment, we were not equal, and my vision of our partnership shifted.

At the top of the next hill, we stopped in the shade so we could elevate and air out our feet and regroup. I found a card from my husband, labeled “Do not read until the 26th,” and read his encouraging words of love and affirmation. I checked my phone and listened to the voices of my three sons saying a prayer for my journey, sent the night before. I had people who knew me, saw me, and valued me back home. Life after divorce was pocked with court, sorrow, self-degradation, and then ultimately, salvation. I was on the other side, tasting the sweet fruit of care, respect, and adoration. These reminders carried me the last 2 miles to the hotel Rua do Medio.

After showering, dressing, and collapsing on the bed, I called my husband to thank him for the card, and relive the mountainous accomplishment of the day. The euphoria that you feel after doing something seemingly impossible – marathon running, childbirth, walking a Camino – helps to erase a percentage of pain and dread that previously was undeniable. We did it! We freaking did it! I was proud of myself. Proud of my body and my mindset and I floated through the evening on a cloud of possibility. I finished my phone calls, said goodnight to my sons, and ascended the stairs back to our room. I was met with an unforeseen, mountainous hurdle again. My joy was not shared.

Instead, my travelling companion was already hyper-focused on the trail for the next day, the elevation gain, the heat, the miles. She hunched over my travel book, talking about the treachery that lay ahead. “I need you to look at it.” “I need you to understand how hard it will be.” I wanted to protect my joy, so I deployed Good Girl Cheerfulness instead of getting into the mud of worry with her.

I was accused of being dismissive when she lamented about the path ahead, and I met it with cheerful optimism. I was accused of not validating her feelings when I stayed silent to listen to her worries instead of being positive. The cards, messages, voicemails, and encouragement from my loved ones back home only reminded her that she had no one. My joy made her feel like a failure. I was being insensitive to where she was in her life. On and on and on it went until 10 pm. There was no path I could take that was safe. That would be a win. That would make me an equal partner.

As a codependent, I am skilled at reading a room. Of finding the exit and planning for contingencies for my contingencies. Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C. I can morph into the funny one, the silent one, the encouraging one, the helpful one, the wise one, the sexy one, the peacemaker, or the warrior in the trenches. This kind of chameleon life kept me safe and indispensable in relationships, buying the illusion that I was never going to be discarded. But after 12 hours of walking, I was the villain in our hotel room. I couldn’t find the role I was supposed to play. I was causing her pain by just existing as I was. All of the self-worth and self-appreciation that I had fought so hard for in the last year of CoDA recovery were dissolving like sugar. It was also the most unhealthy I had ever seen my friend.

I couldn’t calm her down. I couldn’t share in her fear, sadness, or extreme tantrum. I went to bed having practiced the strength of silence and measured responses, but not with any peace. I was so enthusiastic that our bodies could handle something we thought impossible, but my partner was not equal in that elation. Instead, we were on separate islands.

I had to talk myself through the affirmations that carried me from mile to mile, day to day, lilypad to lilypad in the last few years. I knew I was a good person. I knew that I could not take on the battles of others. And I knew that tomorrow would be a new day. “His mercies are new every morning.” Lamentations 3:22-23

Whatever tomorrow had in store, I was built by a masterful Creator, and a desire was put in my heart to complete this pilgrimage. He would continue to equip and sustain me throughout, and allow for the quiet whispers to carry me through times of discomfort and uncertainty, not just in the terrain but in this friendship. Having a faith that all will be well is not just about toxic positivity, it is knowing that even if it isn’t ok, for a time, that I am not alone, nor ill-equipped. I have a bottomless resource of hope because of this knowledge.