Lovingly Detached

At first listen, this Buddy Holly song is one of those classic, "Oh, woe is me! He done me wrong" songs.



"Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic." Anaïs Nin

Loved ones drowning in a sea of addiction or dysfunction can take us down with them, if we allow it. I don't mean to be callous. I understand a drowning man needs to be rescued, but maybe you could find a way to help that doesn't involve your own demise.

Psychologists call it detachment. Those in the 12 step programs often add the word 'loving.'" You pry those arms threatening to strangle you off your neck and throw the person a life preserver instead. It's his choice whether or not to take it. Detachment is a decision on our part, but often the toxic person drives us to it. Mr. Holly's words, "I've done everything, and now I'm sick of trying," resonate. Others might judge your detachment as being cold and cruel, but it's not. It's the only sane thing to do. It's what a normal person does. It involves a conscious decision, but is often a process that takes place over time. It is the right thing to do for yourself, for obvious reasons. And it is the right thing to do for your loved one. You step out of his way and no longer hinder him from saving himself.

Detachment is your friend. It protects you from being hurt, because you no longer give the toxic person any power over your life. It gives you time to heal from past hurts the relationship has inflicted. You'll know your detachment is complete when you reach a place of peace, a place where there is no guilt. Oh, I suppose if you were asked, you'd agree that it would be nice if the person changed. But it just doesn't matter anymore.

Susan