Being, Not Seeming: How to Stop Living in an Anxious “It Seems to Me”

What “it seems to me” means

The meeting begins with a question for participants: how much of your life is what is actually happening, and how much is what only seems to be happening? Viacheslav argues that for codependent people the second part is huge. A loved one didn't call after rehab — and the person already “knows for sure” that they have relapsed, that something terrible has happened, that they need to call right away. Even though the phone battery might simply have died.

The same thing happens beyond the person with addiction. The boss glanced at you — and the whole workday goes on thoughts that you'll be fired. In fact, the person is not working but “servicing” their guess. Viacheslav compares this to a service depot where the brain endlessly repairs a breakdown that doesn't exist.

Life passing by outside the bus window

The main image of the meeting is a bus. A person got on it long ago and has been riding for years: inside are fears, worries, endless rescuing of the person with addiction, while outside real life goes on — with feelings, victories, defeats and experience. Getting off is frightening, and inside everything is familiar, so ten, twenty years go by and nothing changes.

Viacheslav invites participants to think it over: the body sits in a room, while the mind lives in another world — in what was, or in what “might happen.” Hence the price people pay for years: time, money, health, relationships. Separation, in his words, is needed above all to return to the present and start living your own life rather than your guesses.

Participants' examples

Several participants shared their own “it seems.” One described how for years she set a high bar for her children and was sure they were obliged to meet it — and how this affected her own daughter. Viacheslav connected this to a thought he often repeats: parents' codependency often becomes fertile ground for their children's addiction.

Another participant realized right during the meeting that her certainty that “my daughter hates me” is only a guess, even though it is exactly what shapes her tone, her look and her actions at home. Another told how she gave her daughter advice and was then blamed for it. Viacheslav offered the image of a pit: unsolicited advice is a step into a pit that you then have to climb out of, taking offense and justifying yourself. It is simpler not to give advice to an adult who has not asked for it.

There were also examples of catastrophic thinking: a mother whose son hasn't answered his phone all day is already calling hospitals; a woman who feels that any talk about something missing at work must be about her. Viacheslav points out that when something seems to be “about me,” it is always something bad — and most often there is low self-esteem behind it.

Expectations and facts

A separate discussion is about how hard it can be to name a fact directly. Many parents spent years investing in their own picture of their child's future: school, education, hobbies — and then the child will be happy. When Viacheslav asks “so what do we actually have?”, answering turns out to be hard: it is easier to talk about “shattered illusions” than to admit that the child has developed an addiction.

His conclusion is tough but practical: if your approach hasn't worked for twenty years, there is no point in continuing the same thing with double the effort — fixing, rescuing and controlling again. It is more honest to step aside, let the adult take responsibility for their own life, and take care of yourself. Otherwise you can spend your whole life repairing “someone else's car” that stopped running long ago.

Why knowledge isn't enough: separation as practice

Viacheslav stresses that many relatives go to specialists for years, understand everything and can explain “how it should be done.” But in a moment of anxiety the knowledge disappears, and the person is back on the bus. The brain protects familiar beliefs — even those that destroy one's life — and serves up the darkest scenarios.

That is why he describes separation as a skill to be practiced. At the first stage the task is simple: notice the “it seems to me” and do nothing based on it — don't call, don't check, don't rescue. Over time other reactions appear, and the freed-up space is filled with sport, hobbies, a life of your own. Asked what “training the brain” means, he answers with an everyday example: make a shopping list and stick to it, whatever mood you are in when you walk into the store.

It is impossible to switch off feelings completely, and setbacks, doubts and guilt along the way are normal. One participant shared that after she began holding boundaries and taking care of herself, she felt noticeably better, although her family did not accept it right away. Viacheslav agreed: this is the usual path, and each time it becomes easier to hold the new line.

Guilt, responsibility and love

At the end, one participant asked whether what had been said contradicts the idea that “we are not to blame for our loved ones' illness.” Viacheslav explained that he is not talking about blame. Parents unconsciously pass on to their children what was once instilled in them. But they do have a responsibility — not to let the illness progress further, to take their hands off and stop trying to “treat” their adult child on their own.

He also urges parents not to expect love from their children as payment for their care: love cannot be bought with money, concessions or control. The sooner parents stop holding on to their children, the greater the chances of recovery — both for the children and for the parents themselves. Viacheslav suggested discussing separately what to do if the child is a minor — such situations require an individual approach.