Maybe You Should Talk to Someon - Lori Gottlieb Page 0,124

a game of Chutes and Ladders. Stress or certain triggers for the old behavior (a particular restaurant, a call from an old drinking buddy) can result in relapse. This stage is hard because the behaviors people want to modify are embedded in the fabric of their lives; people with addiction issues (whether that addiction is to a substance, drama, negativity, or self-defeating ways of being) tend to hang out with other addicts. But by the time a person is in maintenance, she can usually get back on track with the right support.

Without wine or vodka, Charlotte was able to focus better; her memory improved, and she felt less tired and more motivated. She applied to graduate school. She got involved with a charitable organization for animals that she felt passionate about. She was also able to talk with me about her difficult relationship with her mother for the first time in her life and begin to interact with her in a calmer, less reactive way. She stayed away from “friends” who invited her out to have just one birthday drink—“Because you only turn twenty-seven once, right?” Instead, she spent the night of her birthday with a new group of friends who served her her favorite meal and toasted her with a creative assortment of festive nonalcoholic drinks.

But there was one addiction she couldn’t quite kick: the Dude.

Full disclosure: I disliked the Dude. His swagger, his dishonesty, his dicking Charlotte around—literally and figuratively. One week he was with his girlfriend, the next he wasn’t. One month he was with Charlotte, the next he wasn’t. I’m onto you I wanted my look to say when I opened the waiting-room door and saw him sitting near Charlotte. I felt protective, like the mommy dog in the driver’s seat in the car commercial. But I stayed out of the fray.

Charlotte would often wiggle her thumbs in the air while narrating the latest installment: “And then I said . . .” “And then he’s like . . .” “And then I’m like . . .”

“You had this conversation in text?” I asked, surprised, the first time she did this. When I suggested that discussing the state of their relationship via text might be limiting—you can’t look into somebody’s eyes or take someone’s hand to offer reassurance even though you’re upset—she replied, “Oh, no, we use emojis too.”

I thought of the deafening silence and twitching foot that clued me in to Boyfriend’s desire to break up; had we been texting about the movie tickets that night, he might have waited months more to tell me. But with Charlotte, I knew I sounded like an old fogy; her generation wasn’t going to change, so I’d have to change to keep up with the times.

Today Charlotte’s eyes are red. She found out on Instagram that the Dude is back with his supposedly ex-girlfriend.

“He keeps saying he wants to change, but then this happens,” she says, sighing. “Do you think he’ll ever change?”

I think about the stages of change—where Charlotte is, where the Dude might be—and about how Charlotte’s father’s constant disappearing act is being replayed with the Dude. It’s hard for her to accept that while she might change, other people might not.

“He won’t change, will he?” she says.

“He may not want to change,” I say gently. “And your father might not either.”

Charlotte squeezes her lips together, as if considering a possibility that had never occurred to her before. After all of her efforts to try to get these men to love her the way she wants to be loved, she can’t change them because they don’t want to change. This is a familiar scenario in therapy. A patient’s boyfriend doesn’t want to stop smoking pot and watching video games on weekends. A patient’s child doesn’t want to study harder for tests at the expense of doing musical productions. A patient’s spouse doesn’t want to travel less for work. Sometimes the changes you want in another person aren’t on that person’s agenda—even if he tells you they are.

“But—” she says, then stops herself.

I watch her, sensing the shift happening inside her.

“I keep trying to get them to change,” she says, almost to herself.

I nod. He won’t change, so she’ll have to.

Every relationship is a dance. The Dude does his dance steps (approach/retreat), and Charlotte does hers (approach/get hurt)—that’s how they dance. But once Charlotte changes her steps, one of two things will happen—the Dude will be forced to change his steps so that he doesn’t trip and fall