12.30 miles from Redondela to Pontevedra

“I am capable of developing and maintaining healthy and loving relationships. The need to control and manipulate others will disappear as I learn to trust those who are trustworthy.“

If there were any misconceptions about the Camino’s ability to break down artificial self-image, today was the day I felt the weight of it. Today’s walk, the supposed “rest day” or “easy miles day,” was deceptively the hardest. Like a child who doesn’t begin to cry until they stop long enough to feel their wounds in the arms of their mother, I did not feel the weight of last night’s conflict until my feet hit cobblestone this morning.

I am a “His mercies are new every morning” kind of woman. I lean heavily into my seemingly endless pit of positivity, which is both a positive attribute and a toxic one. I expect this ability to lift and buoy those around me as well. In last night’s fog of frustration, I knew that today’s walk marked a difference in many things. In me. Our friendship. My view of her. My distrust of her view of me. To use a very tired cliche, we were at a crossroads. Positivity wasn’t going to cut it.

It was a quiet day. Where there was a constant stream of chatter, observations, and laughter, there was a brick wall of uncertainty and discomfort. Though the distance was an easier 12 miles, I didn’t have a settled mind to carry me through the tender feet, raw toes, and endless turns. I was careful to only respond in generalities when D struck up conversation, as a way to not offend or reinvigorate her emotional imbalance. People-pleasing is a full-time job for a codependent, and walking on eggshells becomes second-nature. I knew that after last night, there was little I could do or say safely without the potential of upsetting the apple cart.

After all, how was I to know that the simple act of not worrying about the elevation gain in the coming walks would be an insult? Or, that the simple act of talking with my husband on the phone would seem to be a point of aggression in the face of her recent singlehood? Or not being as emotional about my ripped-up feet and aching bones to make her feel like we were on equal ground? Or just being in general? At her request, I photographed her smiling and tried to smile in the ones we had together.

I realized that today’s CoDA promise would be one I might not be able to settle into. I might not be able to conquer or master this one today:

“I am capable of developing and maintaining healthy and loving relationships. The need to control and manipulate others will disappear as I learn to trust those who are trustworthy.“

Do I know I am capable? Yes. I can develop and maintain relationships, usually by sheer will and enthusiasm. The need to control and manipulate others is always a difficult phrase to accept as a recovering codependent because it asks me to admit that there is a negative side, or selfish motivation, for anticipating the needs of others. It is a big, fat mirror of introspection, pointing out that the gifts I often bring to relationships come with the expectation of reciprocity, and therefore, are not true gifts. They are currency. Everything has a cost, and I use love, affection, and acts of service to ensure they will accept these gifts and give relational security back to me. I weaponize the love languages to get the outcome I want or need.

What became very clear was that this is not a place where today’s promise will get me to the other side. It was clear that this was the spiritual breaking point for my resolve. I crawled inside myself, careful to not offend or invite more hysteria. I did not say I needed to slow down, but rather chose to slow down. I did not say I needed a rest, but rather, took rest when she recommended. I did not talk about the pain or the discomfort, because that was mine. My vulnerability wasn’t on display, and it revealed the chasm that had formed in our friendship.

I chose to give more to my body than I had before. I let my feet soak in a cold creek and felt the damp sand between my aching shoulder blades. I knew that if I gave my body more, it would give me more in return. I allowed myself the quiet cocoon of contemplation to heal what the emotional waves had disrupted. I used soothing self-talk and child-like observations of trees, birds, and flowers to settle into my soul’s base. I remembered my love for earthing, smelling the trees, and harnessing the energy of nature.

How many miles have I walked hungry, tired, sore, and thirsty, yet expected my body to give me even more? How many other areas of my life do I give the bare minimum and yet expect more and more fruit from the small labor? It is one thing to parent my kids, but am I putting anything real into them? Into my marriage? Into my home or job, or friendships? The take, take, take can deplete the source so quickly, and how much time do I give, give, give?

The same can be applied to my spiritual walk. If I only go to prayer when I need something, then how is my relationship with God a pure one? Are my prayers bossy and directive, or grateful and open? A codependent prayer looks like asking God for a specific outcome, as if He would only decide to do so if I asked. “God, help me to get the job I am applying for,” or “Jesus, please heal Grandma from her pain.” Trusting God’s plan and not praying those kinds of prayers instead looks very different, but not devoid of hope. “God, I trust and receive whatever outcome I get from that job interview,” or “God, I trust that you will give the doctors wisdom in how they treat Grandma in today’s surgery.” Instead of giving God a to-do list, I can communicate trust, loyalty, and gratitude for all I see Him doing in my life.

Tomorrow has a scheduled 24-mile day. The longest since we began our pilgrimage. I want to attempt it, but I spent the day contemplating the cost of it all. In each choice, I will pay in some way and need to make peace with that cost. It is that way in all things. If we press ahead, I truly didn’t think D would make it – physically or mentally. I would be disappointed, and I was aware of how difficult it is for me to move beyond that emotion. In this way, I assumed that I knew the outcome of her mind and body, which is the same trespass that falsely justifies me in acting on behalf of others. It is a perceived reality, not an actual one.

Or, my partner may suffer more the day after that long trek, as we walk from Padron to Santiago, making joy impossible or at least unbearable. That day should be one of finality and celebration. I want that moment to be protected for us both. Finally, we had the option of setting out separately, each choosing our own Camino and trusting that the other would make peace in the separation. But I was not confident in our relationship after today, or how it would fare in the distance. Trusting others and myself has been the hardest part of healing from codependency. Trusting that someone’s “yes” is a pure “yes” and their “no” is a pure “no.” Trusting that I can also give a pure-hearted “yes” and “no” without fear of fall-out or punishment.

Would agreeing to walk separately tamper with the final arrival into Santiago? Would we arrive as strangers and not kindred spirits? Have I already decided what that picture would look like, and am I holding us both to an unrealistic expectation?

As we settled into the Peregino Hostel, I knew a decision would have to be made for the following day. To separate or to forge ahead? To pay the price in body and possibly relationship, or sacrifice the purity of the Camino by taking a bus for the day? She looked at train schedules, bus schedules, and even talked about going home and not finishing at all. I climbed into the shower with my backpack, determined to scrub the stench of sweat and disappointment off of both of us. Soaking wet, I looked in the mirror and decided that whatever it took for my friendship to cross the finish line, I would do it. I needed to trust that this was the outcome I most desired, and I was willing to pay the price.