I’m going to tell you a story, and it will be somewhat vague and very much painful. But I’ve been needing to do it for a while and today is finally the day.
It was two years ago today that I stumbled upon my husband sitting on the patio of a rented cabin in the Smokey Mountains doing drugs.
Who brings drugs on a family vacation? My husband, apparently.
What’s funny is I can remember with more clarity that moment, that instant I stepped onto the porch, than I can remember either one of my children being born. I can remember word for word the things we said to each other better than I can remember our wedding vows. Because it was that moment, that specific moment, that I knew my life was never going to be the same. My life forevermore would be broken down into two parts: before I realized I was married to an addict and after.
I’ve been living in the after for two years now.
And while those memories of July 16th, 2010 are seared into my brain like no other moment in my life, I don’t think about them every day like I thought I would. I don’t make every decision around that moment. I don’t hear whispers of he’s a drug addict every time I look at my husband anymore.
And that’s proof that God can work miracles because I was sure during that moment on the porch that I could never get past this. That I could never forgive this betrayal. That we were done.
And it got a lot worse before it got better. The things I learned about my husband in the coming weeks made me literally ill. I was more heartbroken than I thought was possible.
And God, who sometimes has a wicked sense of humor, wanted to remind me that my suffering was not the end of the world. That there were so many things bigger than me. And he reminded me by a positive pregnancy test a couple days after returning from vacation. When Chris was no longer living at our house and I was making plans to end our marriage.
July 16, 2010: I discover my husband is, and has been for some time, a drug addict.
July 20, 2010: I find out I’m pregnant.
And I couldn’t even find the strength to be happy.
So it’s been two years. If you’ve been a reader of my blog for any length of time, you’ll know that I’m still married. I’m still in love with my husband. And we seem to be pretty happy.
All those things are true.
But we weren’t for a long time.
I carried so much rage and hurt that sometimes it felt like I couldn’t breath.
There was a lot of work that had to be done. And more work being done right now.
And sometimes there’s still hurt.
Every once in while, I am shocked all over again when I remember that I’m married to a drug addict. A recovering drug addict. A drug addict that has been clean for two years, but still an addict.
Because once you’re an addict, you’re always an addict.