I am grateful for the unmanageability in my life.

When I was in the throes of my addiction, my life was defined by unmanageability. It was turbulent, chaotic and unstable. Early on in my battle, it became increasingly difficult for me to be productive and even more difficult for me to be dependable. I was completely at the mercy of the obsession. In later years, as I began to strive for healing, that obsession became progressively unpredictable. I sometimes would think it had finally left me only to discover it hiding in the dark or lurking around a corner. I never knew when it was going to rise up, lash the whip, and have me scrambling to meet its demands. It was a time in my life that was full of turmoil and completely void of harmony. Self-reflection, however, does not journey alone. On its heels follows self-awareness and, subsequently, the steps toward self-correction often present themselves. I do not believe that all who are afflicted with the disease of addiction are blessed with the willingness to embark on the journey of self-correction. I think many get stuck at self-awareness, mistaking it for victory, but change doesn’t happen there. I was in that place for many years. I knew my life was unmanageable, but I did not know how to do it differently. I knew exactly what would happen when I would turn to substances; that is the insanity of it. I knew that destruction and turmoil would be the end result. But I also knew that when I gave into the merciless obsession, it would get quiet for a time. And that quiet was the only relief I experienced during those years. When the obsession was quieted, I was soothed. I realized that my solution of quieting the obsession was temporary, but I was at a complete loss of how I could silence it any other way. I had surrendered to the idea that my life was going to consist of periods of temporary-obsession-remission, followed by bursts of chaotic destruction when the obsession would inevitably surface once again. For me, this level of unmanageability led to a desperation to look for a way to permanently silence the compulsive thoughts and behaviors that had hijacked my life. A little at a time, a light was shone onto the path toward healing. Unbeknownst to me, it was a path that would eventually lead to permanent liberation from the smothering weight of the merciless obsession of my addiction. Like any journey, however, while the overall trajectory was forward, there were many challenges along the way. Initially, these challenges felt overwhelming, and while I was desperate to never drink or use again, I wondered often how on earth I was going to learn to live soberly. And so, as they say, I was at the jumping off place. Without consciously recognizing what was happening within myself, my perception had shifted, and I began to view the obstacles and challenges I was facing like rungs on a ladder. Each time I overcame something that once felt unsurmountable, I put my foot on the next rung of my ladder and forged ahead. Day by day, week by week, month by month, I used that ladder to climb out of my chaotic, unmanageable, and hopeless state of mind and body. Now, years later, I am still climbing my ladder. If I am lucky, I will always be climbing. For me, if I stop climbing, I stop learning. But each step I take provides a deeper level of understanding and willingness. As I look at my life today, from the proverbial rung of my ladder, I still see things I’d like to do better, and I still have struggles that require attention. But the level of unmanageability I have today- the kind that is about softening harsh edges and building on positive traits- feels exponentially more manageable than the kind of life I had when I was merely trying to survive. I have realized that experiencing relief and experiencing peace are not at all the same. Relief is felt as a byproduct of the ease of pain or discomfort. Peace, however, is cultivated. It doesn’t happen on accident. It is something we create space for and it’s something we actively bring into our lives as a result of living harmoniously and with intention. More than that, however, I have realized there is a terrible difference between surviving and living and I am so grateful to have been given the opportunity to participate in the latter.

“What if I fall? Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?” ~Erin Hanson

I am grateful to know my worth.

It has taken decades for me to get to know myself. For many years, I allowed my value to be defined by my peers. Their acceptance, or lack of it, told me if I was smart enough, pretty enough, cool enough, talented enough, nice enough… “good” enough. I worked tirelessly to earn my worth among the people I interacted with, but I never could get it quite“right.” I stumbled through my youth and young adult life feeling like a piece of a puzzle that had been placed in the wrong box- I didn’t really fit. Initially, these feelings of separation created confusion, and the question that would haunt me for the next 20 years was birthed: “What is wrong with me?” As I searched for the answer to this question, I became increasingly lonely. Eventually, as my loneliness became more and more uncomfortable to live with, I began to pluck at the strings of an emotion that felt much more empowering, and I settled into an anger that shaded decades of my life. For years, I lashed out at the world as I spiraled into the depths of depression, alcoholism, and drug addiction. During this time, the moldable, humble pieces of my soul slowly began to dry up into a parched and desolate landscape. Those lonely, uninhabitable, wilted fragments of my spirit began absorbing all of the nutrients that were nourishing the very essence of who I was until, a little at a time, my once energetic and compassionate heart began to get swallowed up by shadows of uncertainty and feelings of inadequacy. On the outside, I suppose I looked like any other young girl struggling to find her place. But on the inside, the vibrant spirit that had defined me became fractured with anxiety and wrought with depression. Every time I looked in the mirror I became more and more afraid of who looked back at me. In an effort to still the madness that raged within, I sought relief in every wrong way. I looked for it in things, in substances, and in people. It took a long time for me to realize that as long as I was looking for fulfillment outside of myself, I was never going to experience it where it mattered- on the inside. It was at this place in my journey that I believe God began answering the prayers of others in my life and He slowly began to do for me what I could not do for myself. I was no longer able to push aside the destruction I was creating, and, with strength I cannot take credit for, I began to examine what values my life represented. I began to get honest about whether those values spoke truth to who I was at my core. I recognized that I had become someone I did not respect -someone I did not admire. It had nothing to do with the outside world; I simply had to humbly accept that I did not like who I saw in the mirror. With great relief, in that moment, I also realized I was no longer alone in my agonizing pit of despair. I had a redeeming savior who was full of mercy, compassion, and strength. I laid the broken pieces of my spirit at His feet knowing that when we surrender, He promises to create a new spirit within us. He promises to give us a heart capable of feeling peace and harmony. He promises to be the refreshing rain that brings blessing, comfort and growth to the scorched, withered wasteland of a heart that has looked away from Him. In this place of desperate awareness, I turned my face toward Him and as His light shone on all of my weaknesses, mistakes and imperfections, I no longer ignored them or wished they weren’t a part of me. I looked at them absent of judgment and to my redeeming savior I simply said, “I need your help.” And, slowly but surely, that’s what I got. I got His help. He did not do it for me, but He showed me the way, and He gave me the strength to walk it. A little at a time, I quit looking to others to determine if I was living “right.” A step at a time, I began to climb out of the dark, hopeless pit I once thought provided shelter and protection from the harsh world around me. As I emerged into the freeing, bright light of reflection, I knew my gauge for right living would no longer be determined by anything other than my relationship with Jesus, the amount of peace in my heart, and the measure of love in my relationships.

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” - Mathew 11:28

I am grateful for my husband.

My husband has been there since the beginning. We crashed into one another during a time in our lives when we were both unsure of who we were and what our place was in the world. Even before we knew each other well, it was clear that he saw the best pieces of me in a way even I couldn't. It was evident from the start that we were both struggling to make sense of who we were, where we had come from, and how to forge our own path forward. Looking from the outside in, it had disaster written all over it. But we always trusted that God brought us together in a very intentional way, and so while there were many occasions where we doubted ourselves, we never doubted God or His plan for us. So, we forged ahead, and we were blessed to get to celebrate many victories, but we had many challenges too. Addiction was, by far, the greatest of those challenges and it was a family affair- no one emerged unscathed. There were many times I know we both wondered if we were going to make it, and during those times, the fear of the future was like a wet rag pressed to our faces. It was smothering, horrifying and all-encompassing. In retrospect, I know we both experienced a lot of fear when we would consider the days to come. But I believe we survived because we just refused to give up the day we were in. There were many weeks and years full of promise and happiness, but every time the addiction was roused from its slumber, the ferocity with which it emerged thrust us into separate corners. From his own place, while wrestling with disappointment, anger, and fear, when the dust would settle, my husband would crawl to my corner and help me up. It wasn't always gentle- he forced me to look at the destruction that lay around us. He pressed me into the wreckage with urgency- begging me to find a way to silence the beast that raged within my soul. All the while, when he looked at me, he saw something beautiful. And so, slowly but surely, I calmed that raging beast and a little at a time, together, we found a place for each broken piece of our lives and in so doing, we forged an abstract and glorious thing of beauty. Those years of our union were in stark contrast to what one hopes a happy marriage will be. It was heart-wrenching each time we saw the beautiful mural of our future severed by the blade of addiction. But we stayed the course. On the days where laughter and love were prevalent, we embraced them with gratitude. And on the days when the raging seas of addiction were violently tossing our boat about, we simply held on. Today, we understand why God brought us together. We know that God recognized that where one was weak, the other was strong. God knew that only together would we be able to keep our boat upright as we continue to navigate the unpredictable ebb and flow of life. My husband has loved me way past the point of it making sense. He has loved me when it would have been so much easier not to. He has loved me in the better and he has loved me through the worse. He has met me in my darkest place and he has loved me there. And I am forever grateful.

Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12 

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not easily broken.

I am grateful for forgiveness.

I do not deserve forgiveness. I have hurt others. I have taken advantage of others. I have mistreated others. I have been selfish and inconsiderate and have lived the kind of life that was deplorable. Multitudes of people have died from making the kind of choices I have made in my life and in times of retrospect, I am shocked to have survived much less be happy. Nonetheless, today my life is abundant with laughter, love, trust, forgiveness and joy. Many of the people that are in my life today have been witness to, or victims of, my destructive and manipulative behavior. But for reasons I don't always know or understand, they have chosen to forgive me in spite of that. They have chosen to love. And I do believe that is what love is...it is a choice. It is not a feeling. It's something that has to be chosen over and over and over. I have come to understand forgiveness in the same way. I now recognize it's not merely a feeling. It is something that can only be fully experienced if I take action. I used to pray that God would bring relief to my heart and my spirit if I needed to forgive someone or myself. I would ask Him to simply give me a feeling. But now I fully grasp how misdirected that line of thinking was. If God had granted me the feeling of forgiveness I longed for, I would not have had to put in the work required to truly experience the blessing that comes just on the other side of forgiveness. Getting to that place of forgiveness is a journey just like everything else. It is there to teach me something about myself and about God. It is there to make me stronger in some ways and gentler in others. The journey requires that I examine my heart, my mind, my motives- often my most sensitive and vulnerable hurts. I have to break open the grief, the trauma, and the pain and look at that piece of my life courageously and with rigorous honesty. Then I give all of that to God. For a time, I may experience a measure of peace, but I usually take the hurt back again. And then, just like before, I have to examine it and give it over. It is a process and, more often than not, it is a slow one. It's picking it up and turning it over. Again and again and again until little by little I realize that the burden doesn't feel quite as heavy. I realize that my heart doesn't hurt quite as much. I realize that I have come to the place in my journey where I can recognize the pain, but I no longer need to carry it with me. I can let go and it is only then I realize I have forgiven. I Know the people I have hurt that are still a part of my journey have had to go through this same process. And I know it was painful for them. It took a long time for forgiveness to transpire in my relationships. It was difficult for people to begin to trust that what I was saying carried truth- that I was going to be where I said I was going to be, and I was going to do what I said I was going to do. Over and over and over I had to show them. I trusted my sanity long before they did and that was sometimes frustrating. But I also recognized that it was my fault and all I could do was the next right thing. All I could do was put in the effort and trust God with the outcome. Little by little, laughter, and joy began to seep back into my relationships and then, one day, I knew the trust had been restored as well- I knew I had been forgiven. So, no, I do not deserve forgiveness. But thankfully, I do not have a God who gives me what I deserve. He carries that burden for me when I allow Him to. 

"I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night." - Khaled Hosseini

I am grateful that all I need is enough faith to touch the hem of His garment. (Mathew 9: 20-22)

I have spent a lot of time in church.  Church is a sacred place to me. It is where I was introduced to my Lord and Savior. It is where I learned what prayer is and it is where I was initially encouraged to practice seeking God. Most importantly though, it is where I first became acquainted with Him and began to participate in the deep, precious work that laid the foundation for my spiritual walk. In those early years of my faith, I would have told you I had a personal relationship with Jesus, and perhaps I did. I certainly experienced a portion of Him. But as I look back, it's clear that the portion I experienced was shallow compared to the God I encountered out of complete desperation- far from the pews of my church. The first time I experienced God in a way that was undeniable, I was on the floor in my bedroom in my last treatment center. I was broken, alone, and afraid. The pieces of my life were strewn about in a way that was impossible for me to make sense of. I felt stripped of everything that had become comforting to me. I was without direction, without stability, and without clarity. I was utterly lost. But although I had turned my face from God and could not feel His presence, I knew He was still with me, and I knew He was waiting. I had long since abandoned operating from a place of composure, and in a moment absent of restraint I allowed my undeniable and absolute anguish to pull me to my knees. From that place, kneeling amongst the shards of my broken life, I prostrated myself - emphatically desperate to feel any measure of His peace. I was in the proverbial desert aching for the sweet, life-saving water that only He can provide. There, on my knees, I reached out to Him in surrender and with heaving sobs from the pit of my belly I wept and cried out to God. I couldn't put together a sentence. In fact, I didn't say a thing. But He heard every word. I do not believe any prayer I say is for God- He already knows my prayers. I believe my prayers are to align my will with His; they are a way to prepare my heart so that I can become willing for Him to work through me. And that is exactly what He did. I got up off of that floor and for the first time in sixteen years I felt hope. And isn't that exactly what He is? He is hope. It was just a thread I pulled that day, but I grabbed hold of it and used it to weave together a day of sobriety and then another. And that is what I have done every day since. That thread from the hem of His garment has become the material and the fabric that I have used to weave together a life of peace, purpose, and hope. A life I would not have if not for His incomprehensible mercy, compassion, and grace. 

Philippians 2:12 "So then, my beloved, even as you have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but how much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling."

I am grateful for the differences in others.

I once felt I had no choice but to surround myself with whomever was willing to put up with me. I often felt like people were doing me a favor by allowing me to be around them. Today, I am grateful that perspective has shifted. Today I know I get to choose who I surround myself with and I choose carefully. I am fortunate to get to engage with a plethora of colorful personalities and the people I allow to influence the canvas of my life are not necessarily the same as me. They often have different world views, different beliefs, and different experiences. Despite our differences, however, we have one thing in common: we try our best to respect those differences and, in so doing, we open ourselves up to learning from one another. It is from this seat on the windowsill of life and relationships that I have learned how to soften the bold outlines I had once drawn around ideas of "right:" and "wrong" so I might compose my view of the world with a more humble stroke of my brush. There is a lot of value in examining beliefs with people from the same background. It can often feel more predictable and allows for a deeper dive into the topics we feel require better understanding and sharpened application. But when I allow myself to open my mind to the possibility that I can learn something from all of the people I come in contact with, my tapestry bursts with color as the lines of my understanding expand. When I approach my life with this kind of humility then I am teachable. When I am teachable, I can continue to grow. And If I am growing, there is endless possibility to the array of color and glorious contrast that splashes upon my life.

"Out beyond ideas of right and wrong there is a field. I will meet you there. - Rumi

I am grateful for a God that pursues us fiercely.

I have never had a hard time hearing the voice of God. Sometimes I hear it in the chaos. Sometimes I hear it in the silence. Sometimes I hear it in others. Sometimes I hear it in what I see, and sometimes I hear it in what I don't. But His voice is always there when I'm paying attention. Nonetheless, there have been many times where I have pretended not to hear. Time and again I have set my feet on a path He was urging me to avoid, and more than once I have opened doors I knew would lead to darkness. Again and again, I have relied on my own understanding and turned my back on God, but even in my deceit, He would not leave me. Even when I wanted His voice to stop calling my name, even when I denied Him over and over, He would not relent and still, He pursued me. Every day I heard Him call, and every day I turned up the noise in my life so I could pretend not to hear. Every day He reached out, and every day I ignored Him. Every day He softly spoke my name, and every day I rolled my eyes. As time passed, it became easier and easier for me to wallow in the lie that His voice didn't matter. Still, He never stopped calling. Even in my ugliest places, I could hear Him whisper to me in the dark. After I had pushed Him away over and over, I came face to face with the kingdom of devastation my will had built, and in that horrifying moment I wanted nothing more than to feel His peace again. I was desperate to fall into His reliable, loving embrace and I longed to listen to the voice that I knew would be the balm to soothe the wounds I had inflicted upon myself. I was desperate for Him to renew my spirit. I knew He would be justified to leave me in my puddle of despair, but He had promised that is not what He would do. And so, when I finally crashed to my knees, He gently brushed the tears from my face and helped me up. He gave me the strength to stand on my own two feet, to breathe in and out, and to start again. He granted me the courage to clean up the wreckage of my past, a day at a time, and carve a new beginning for myself. And when I shamefully looked into His face, instead of seeing disappointment or disgust, He only smiled- grateful to be reunited with His wayward child. Even when I was denying His presence, there was no denying the truth of who He is. He is the same today, tomorrow, and forever. He never stops reaching for His children that go astray, no matter how we disappoint Him. My God is not a God who passively hopes or flippantly calls. He is a God that pursues with the ferocity of a lion. He will chase. He will persist. He will persevere. And when I am willing to listen there is no denying where my deliverance can be found. 

I am grateful for freedom from fear.

 I often wonder how it all began. How did the feet of a girl who was once so determined and directed get set on the path of such mayhem? The answer to this question is not simple. I suppose the answers we need most rarely are. Nonetheless, it is a question that has carried a great deal of weight throughout my journey. In an effort to understand how it all transpired, I replayed the records of my life until the stylus jumped out of the groove. When my heart felt that snag, I stopped and I listened. What I heard was the voice of a young girl who was sent the message early on by her peers at school that she wasn't quite enough as she was. She learned that she had to show up with a little extra if she was going to get a seat at the table of acceptance. She had to work a little harder; do a little more; be a little...something else.  It was in this small space, the space between the easy rhythm of getting along with others and fitting in, that a seed was planted deep within my soul. Every time I experienced rejection or embarrassment that seed grew. In an effort to keep the seed hidden, I overcompensated by trying to earn the approval of others. I learned how to show others only what I thought they would be interested in seeing. I learned how to be whoever people wanted me to be and eventually I forgot who I was altogether. I was so disconnected from myself that I would have told you the seed was gone. I would have told you I learned how to keep it from growing. I would have told you I understood how to overcome that fear. In reality, I had only become a slave to it. I had painstakingly put up glass walls around my heart. Around my spirit. Around my soul. And I danced within those miserable walls completely unaware that I had built myself a prison. I would sometimes see the shadow of myself hovering in the corners of my cell but each time I saw her I would push her out. Gradually, she came to me less and less and my guilt at having treated her so poorly would haunt me. My solution was as it always was: ignore what I could and drown the rest. As the years went on, the walls of that cell steadily pushed in until I could not ignore the reflection that looked back at me. What I saw was horrifying. I would like to say that in that moment I smashed the glass walls of my cage in a victorious rage, but that was not how it went. Instead, I crawled on bloodied hands and knees out of that box and into my last treatment center. It was there, where the God-given gift of desperation became my saving grace and I was given the opportunity to reconnect with that long-lost girl for the first time in years. At first it was confusing. It was dramatic and exhausting as these two people converged and became reacquainted. But as the days and weeks went on, I felt that stylus fall back into the groove of the reliable, steady rhythm of my heart. I heard the sweet music of my soul once again and I knew I was free. 

I no longer live in fear over who will or will not accept me. I sometimes wonder but I know that how other people treat me has way more to do with how they feel about themselves than how they feel about me. Besides, as the saying goes, what other people think of me is none of my business. Some will be drawn to my music and some will not. Whatever the case, the important thing is that I dance to the rhythm I choose and THAT is freedom.

The Beginning

 It does not take a lot for me to remember where I've been. When I close my eyes with the intent to remember, I can practically grasp my past with my fingertips. I can almost taste the loneliness as it slides down the back of my throat; I can nearly feel the weight of hopelessness as it drapes around my body; I can all but grab hold of the intense guilt, shame and humiliation that once wrapped like a noose around my neck and smothered my every breath. But, today, these are but memories. Like so many other wary souls, I have experienced the demoralizing grasp of addiction and have been caught in its' strangling tentacles. As I look back, it is not unlike how I imagine a labyrinth to be: an impossible, endless maze of destruction and chaos. Few people ever find their way out; I am blessed that I am one. My life (and that of those I love) was ravaged and, I believed, beyond repair. But, after handfuls of treatment centers, hospitals, jails, and institutions, I have emerged from the fiery inferno. I have put the pieces of my life back together, and in the process, I have been overcome with gratitude for the opportunity to simply live. I am grateful for deep belly laughs, for authentic tears, and for healed relationships. I have been given the gift of a new life, and I want to live it with intention, kindness, passion, integrity and, above all, joy. Of all the places I have looked for purpose and happiness, I never in my wildest dreams imagined I would find it in the ashes of my destructive past. Nonetheless, it is in that very place where my serenity took root and the meaning in my life blossomed.

This is a blog sharing pieces of my journey and how gratitude has become my tool for wiping the mirror clean so that I can look upon my reflection and see the unabashed, imperfect beauty that lies there.