Mary Graham

Trusty Chucks Blog

Social distancing: week one (March 15-21)

If you visit Ellis Island, the St. Louis Arch Museum, or the National Archives, you’ll see them: first-person accounts of unprecedented times in our history.

And now, for this uncharted territory we’re all navigating, is the time we add the Trusty Chucks blog to the history books.

Just kidding.

I’m just going to tell you about our first week of social distancing, it’s not that big of a deal. Calm down. Our week probably looked a lot like yours. There were lots of snacks and whatnot.

You know when a major event happens in your life and then years or decades later, you look back on it and it all feels fuzzy and surreal? I think that’s what going to happen to us. I think we’ll forget what our day-to-day lives looked like when we had no where to go and nothing to do. I think my girls will get older, and this will be just a small blip on their timelines.

I think it’s good to write down what we’re doing, not because it’s special or important, but because it’s our life and one day we’ll forget the details. That’s what my blog has always been for me: trying to remember the details.

My daughters haven’t left the house since Saturday, March 14th. Friday night was full of fun, a school dance for Ellie and a slumber party for Harper. It was a last hurrah before the lockdown.

We did church online for the first time Sunday morning; we sat around the kitchen table with our dogs and hot coffee, singing worship songs and listening to a sermon. We took communion with stale Italian bread from the grocery store and water. (Services at 9:15, 11:00, and 4:30 if you want to join us!)

Chris worked as normal. His job is considered an essential service for safety and infrastructure so he was gone during the week. My workweek got really busy. I write for a digital learning platform, articles and high-interest texts for students and I design lesson plans and curriculum for teachers. (Some day I’ll write about how I tried to turn down this dream job and God didn’t let me.) My company is based in Seattle so I work from home, and I’ve had a front row view to the coronavirus as it ravaged its first city. We’d hold meetings and get emails about the measures the city was taking far before the rest of the country was really paying attention.

Full disclosure: I’ve been writing news stories for the coronavirus and China’s response to it since January. Me, a lowly educational writer in Indianapolis, knew this was coming months ago. Anyone who was paying attention knew this. I’m not here to share opinions about our government’s handling, but we messed up here. And, like so many times, the people who get the brunt of the consequences are those on the fringes. I know–because the Bible tells me so–that God is grieving our actions.

Because I was researching China’s response, how their political system was containing it, and the symptoms of those living in makeshift hospitals, I went shopping early. My friends made fun of me: at Bible study, at dinner, and on text message. I made fun of myself too, but I kept shopping and planning.

I hoped I was wrong and then I just wouldn’t have to shop for a month.

I wasn’t wrong. What a bummer for us.

We cancelled our spring break trip to Florida. Things weren’t completely shut down when we did this, but we knew it was selfish and dangerous to travel. The news was showing Florida beaches overflowing with people, and I didn’t want to be there. I mean, I really wanted to be there, but not like this.

Social media is brimming with small businesses and local businesses having sales, COVID-19 specials, and gift card deals. I have mixed feelings about this. If I have extra money right now, how great would it be if I just gave without expecting things in return? On the surface, it seems generous and kind to support these businesses. You’re giving them money to stay open, but you’re taking something from them too. I wonder if, right now, Christians aren’t called to buy local, but just give local. Give what you have, give what you can and make it hurt a little. This pandemic just upped my job security about 400 degrees. Even if Chris is laid off or his hours are cut, we’re going to be fine. We’ve spent our whole marriage living with less, following a strict budget, and staying below our means. I know the privilege that is, and right now when our favorite Chinese restaurant is suffering, our dog groomer Pam is without her income, and our tattoo artist-friend is out of work, wouldn’t it be great to just support them? Not with more work, but with generous, no-strings-attached giving?

I know this isn’t for everyone and lots of people are hurting and worried right now. But if you’re not, we have to make sure we’re not hoarding resources out of fear. If much has been given, much is expected, friends. Don’t forget that.

How an Enneagram Eight responds to chaos: Everyone stay calm and follow me. On Instagram.

What? Okay, here’s what I’m doing: distracting and encouraging. We all have our roles during a crisis and mine is to make sure we don’t lose anyone. Eights try to alleviate pain when they see it, either big or small. So while some people are sounding alarms, sharing infection rates, and reminding everyone to wash their hands, I’m encouraging people to train their hair to go with less washing, creating a dog parade in Instagram stories, and giving helpful work-from-home outfit tips. All tongue-in-cheek, all meant to distract and bring joy.

My friend Jessica dropped off pickle dip and chips to our friend groups’ doorsteps. I shared it on IG and everyone used cream cheese and pickles from their stockpiles to join the party. We’re going to soothe the world’s ails one dip at a time.

Ellie and Harper were technically on break from school this week so there was no e-learning or school work to be done. But since I work from home and have a ton to do, I knew we’d kill each other if there wasn’t some structure. Every family is different, but ours runs well on a schedule. It’s probably too loose for some people and too rigid for others, but I can tell you the girls did not once complain about being bored during the week. I was at my computer 10 hours a day and their dad was at work, and they managed to keep themselves alive, fed, and entertained.

Things that helped:
-This 30-day LEGO challenge; they’re designing backgrounds and taking a picture each day. Then we’re creating Chatbooks for them as keepsakes. They spend an hour plus on this every day.
-If you’ve been around here for a while, you know my kids don’t watch much TV. (We went TV free in the summer of 2015 and never looked back.) That has come in really handy as we social distance. Allowing them one hour of TV time a day feels like a luxury to them–they can’t believe I’m being so generous–and then they don’t complain when it’s over. I’m pretty anti-TV and electronics, but one hour of TV and one hour of iPad/Chromebook time during this chaos has thrilled my children to no end.
-Getting dressed and ready each day. My girls really want to stay in their pajamas all day. I’m asking them to get dressed and brush their hair and teeth every weekday just like normal. Two reasons: we feel better and do more when we act like it’s a normal day and this helps the weekends still feel special. We go schedule free on the weekends; it’s helping it to still feel like a weekend and retain some magic. (And that’s hard to do when every single day looks the same for them. I highly recommend this, it does break up the monotony.)


I hesitate to share this because it’s not pretty, fancy, or special, but just in case you need some inspiration for a daily schedule, here’s ours from our first week of lockdown. You’ll notice there is still a lot of time that just says go play or go outside. I’m not here to entertain my kids, I just know from being a teacher, most kids thrive when they know what’s happening and what the day will look like. We’re doing an hour of quiet time in their rooms every afternoon. My girls are 8 and 11 so they don’t nap, but they still need some rest time. Or maybe that’s just me, whatever. (You’ll also notice this PDF is not in the right order, it’s messy, and I didn’t write it with the intention of others seeing it; so grace, thanks.)

The weather kinda sucked this week so we didn’t get outside as much as we would have liked. I’m trying to go on a 30+ minute walk with them every day so I don’t sit too long. They’re doing yoga or an exercise video every day and I join them if I can.

Things we read, listened to, or watched:
-New Girl episodes; Chris and I are rewatching the whole series at night after the girls go to bed. We laugh so much, please watch it.
–KidsNuz podcast; we started this in December (?) and listen while the girls eat breakfast. It’s a five-minute news show for kids, there’s a fun quiz at the end, and they love it.
–Up First podcast; I’ve listened to this every morning for a few years now. I don’t watch TV or read much news, but I need to stay informed for my job and this is the right amount of information without feeling hopeless and overwhelmed with the world.
-I finished The Edge of Every Day: Sketches of Schizophrenia by Marin Sardy this week. It’s good but heavy. If you’re struggling at all with mental health right now, maybe skip it for the time being.
–Fearless Faith: 100 Devotions for Girls by Melanie Shankle is the devotion I’m reading to the girls every morning. It’s a good, quick way to read some scripture and encouragement with your kids every day. It looks pretty girly and has “girls” in the title, but I think it could work for boys or girls.
-I’m using Beholding and Becoming by Ruth Chou Simons and Every Moment Holy by Douglas Kaine McKelvey for my morning quiet time. I LOVE Simon’s book. I borrowed it from the library, didn’t get it finished before it was due, and then during a mad dash to the library right before it closed, it was on the shelf again. It was a miracle, it even had the bookmark in the spot I left off. So now the library is closed indefinitely and I get to enjoy it without buying it. But I will buy it eventually, it’s that good. I’m purposefully spending 2020 on focusing on prayer: liturgical prayers, what prayer is, how to pray more often, etc. and Every Moment Holy is a beautiful way to focus each morning.
-I’m listening to the audiobook of The Floating Feldmans by Elyssa Friedland right now. I dislike every single character, but I can’t stop it now because I want to know what happens.
-The girls and Chris are watching The World According to Jeff Goldblum on Disney+. It’s interesting and entertaining. They watched a few episodes without him this week, so we had to have a talk about TV etiquette and how you can’t watch a series with someone and then move on without them. This is the kind of homeschooling curriculum I’m here for: how to binge watch TV shows with respect.

I left the house on Saturday, March 21st. Exciting trip to Kroger for groceries for my aunt, Wal-Mart for random things, and Home Depot for supplies for some home improvement projects if we get really bored. Oh, and I bought a new plant. I’ve named it my COVID-19 plant, and it will be a great souvenir for this weird time we’re living in.

What’s for dinner?
Sunday: leftovers
Monday: bean burritos and chips & salsa
Tuesday: grilled chicken, zucchini, and salad
Wednesday: biscuits and gravy
Thursday: frozen pizza
Friday: chili and cornbread
Saturday: lunch meat sandwiches and chips

Bible verse that got me through the week:
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.
-1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

We survived the first week well. I hope you did too.
(Tell me something that helped you make it through it you want. We need all the help we can get.)

DISCLOSURE: affiliate links used; I’ll make a few pennies if you use the links to shop.

You were not made to heal on your own.

“Perhaps, in the age of pinging alerts, status updates, and other kinds of instant contact, we have been lured into thinking it is simple to say what we mean and be understood.” -Joe Moran in First You Write a Sentence.

I’ve been thinking about that sentence for a while, wondering if what I mean is being understood. That’s what we all want, right? To be understood? To understand ourselves and, in turn, others?

Maybe my stories the past few weeks have been misunderstood. Maybe not. I don’t really worry about what you do with my stories once they’re on the internet. I only write stories I’m ready for others to have, never giving away the ones I need to keep for myself or my family or for my friends.

These stories are for everyone.

At life group a few weeks ago, Kathy said, “There’s that laugh, I just love hearing Chris’ laugh.”

I laughed in response, agreeing. We all love Chris Graham’s laugh. If I had to describe life right now, in this moment, it would be we are living inside Chris Graham’s laugh.

You know when you hear something true and honest, something you just know is free?

That’s what my husband’s laugh sounds like. It feels light and unbound.

It’s comes up often, his laugh. People who knew him before he got clean and sober have mentioned it for a few years now. But Kathy’s comment stood out to me, because she wasn’t here for the other laugh. She didn’t know addicted-and-trapped Chris. She didn’t know what the fake, muted laugh was like.

So when someone new notices the laugh, I remember all over again what we’ve gained in the past few years.

I hesitate to tell you about the healing or health we have at home because if you’re not familiar with the whole story, it feels too simple. I’m not good at telling happy stories without throwing in the hard parts so you know it wasn’t easy, it’s still not easy.

But right now, I just want to coast on Chris Graham’s laugh.

We’ve been walking alongside enough people struggling with addiction to know a lot of people don’t get to this part. We feel lucky and thankful and committed, but also aware that it slips away quickly when you’re not paying attention to it.

We fight for healing and recovery every day.

So we keep going to therapy, both of us on our own. Chris still goes to AA meetings, still checks in on the people he’s encouraging in sobriety. We still don’t allow alcohol in the house and rarely go places where people are drinking. Chris has done a lot of hard work related to co-dependency and now leads others in a recovery study. He recently started a new therapy to help address some of the things he’s still not able to say out loud, some hurts that still feel too dangerous to look at. He’s still taking depression medicine and a drug that would make him seriously ill if he drank.

He only takes it because I haven’t asked him to stop yet. It’s probably time to discontinue it. I want to tell you I’m not scared about that, but that would be a lie.

Chris doesn’t have the desire to drink anymore. His brain doesn’t obsess about it; it does not consume his day like it used to. But the memory of him drinking in secret for years is still a little tender for me. I know it’s time to say enough with the medicine, but something in the medicine makes me feel safe. I could rationalize that away; I could tell you what that means for me in relationship to my own struggles and hurts, but I won’t. I’m not looking for your assurance or explanation. I’m just telling you the truth.

I know why I like the medicine.

I also know why I need to allow him to stop taking it.

Do you know what I mean? Do you understand what I’m saying?

It doesn’t matter. It is what it is.

Aundi Kolber in Try Softer says, “We can heal and that’s a miracle.”

We are living in a miracle, inside Chris Graham’s laughter and healing.

There’s this popular idea that we can heal ourselves, that everything we need to make ourselves whole and happy is inside of us.

That is a dangerous, dangerous lie.

The idea we can heal ourselves, that we were made to heal ourselves, infers that the things that broke us were meant to happen. It infers that we were made to withstand horrors and heartbreak and betrayal, like it is just part of the human experience. If we were made to heal trauma, then it also means we were meant to experience trauma.

And that is absolutely not true.

Listen to me: you were not supposed to be abused. You were not supposed to be cheated on, abandoned, lied to. Adults were not supposed to take advantage of your body when you were a child. You were not supposed to be hit, beat, or starved. You were not made to be controlled, left alone, or mentally abused. You weren’t supposed to be a pawn between parents or another thing to manipulate.

None of that was supposed to happen.

And because those things were not supposed to happen, our bodied and brains are not equipped to deal with them on our own. Your brain cannot think its way out of trauma by itself. Your brain wasn’t meant to do that. Because, in reality, trauma should not exist.

But it does. And because it does, we need counselors and therapists and doctors and good books and sometimes medicine to get well.

Anyone who leads you to believe your body can heal itself without outside help is dangerous. Yoga doesn’t heal trauma. Running doesn’t take care of childhood wounds. Controlling your food intact won’t make you feel safe. Drinking isn’t making your problems go away.

If your body can heal itself, it also would have prevented the hurting from happening in the first place. If it can heal you, it can also protect you from the hurt to begin with. It’s the same body. But since it did not, you need something outside yourself to find freedom.

We all have a wound or blind spot crippling our healing and awareness. We often need someone outside of ourselves to show us what it is and how to address it.

Do not believe the lie you can heal yourself. That’s what keeps addicts using, alcoholics drinking, abusers hurting others. It’s what makes people with mental illness stop taking their meds. We believe it’s just mind over matter and if we try hard enough, we’ll finally get it together.

And then we live our whole lives with fake laughs and heavy secrets.

We need each other for healing.
We need each other for guidance, correction, and encouragement.
We need people with gifts outside of our own to point the way when we can’t see it.

We were not made to do this alone. Isolation is a lazy, common trick of the devil to keep us trapped and hurting. It is freeing to realize everything is not resting on our own shoulders, that we do not have to carry on like this, with burdens slowly killing us.

We were not made to heal ourselves. If we were, there would be no need for God or others. What a lonely, lonely existence that would be. We were created for community, for connection, for needing others.

Do you know what I mean? Do you understand what I’m saying? I really hope you do.

This is what a broken heart feels like.

I was excited for worship. Two hours of praise and prayer on a Friday night felt special and out-of-the-norm.

Chris was on stage, the girls were with friends, and I was going to have two hours to celebrate and give thanks. I listened to a little Kesha on the way to church, so full of energy I couldn’t sit still. If you notice, I’m skipping right over the irony of listening to Kesha on the way to church. Moving on.

I sat down with friends from our small group, the lights lowered, and the service began.

And then something broke open inside of me.

At first, I was confused. I was just here to give some thanks, to bring praise and worship to a God who has done some unbelievably kind and generous and faithful things for our family the past six months.

But instead I just got really sad.

The song played and I sang, but I couldn’t stop the tears. What’s going on here?

A few songs in, I was grateful for the loud music and dark room, because I was not just teary-eyed but crying. I couldn’t sing anymore. I was concentrating too hard on keeping something inside that desperately wanted to come out.

I stood there listening to the people around me singing. My chest hurt. I could feel the pressure, the discomfort.

This is what a broken heart feels like, I heard in my head.

This is what a broken heart feels like.

And for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t try to rationalize it away. I didn’t argue with what my head was telling me. I didn’t try to justify any action or feeling or avoidance.

I just listened.

And what I heard, what I felt, what I knew was that my heart was broken.

You’ve been walking around with a broken heart. Pay attention. I heard it clearly and tenderly from the God I was trying to worship.

This is what a broken heart feels like.

It was like suddenly my head and my heart both knew it–not just my heart which I had been ignoring–and I felt all the sadness, all the loneliness, all the pain that went with a broken heart. A broken heart I didn’t know I had.

This is what a broken heart feels like?

I’m not sure what took me so long. Why it took me a few years to admit what happened broke my heart. I associate a broken heart with romantic love, with my husband, or with my love for my kids.

But now? With this? This broke my heart too?

“Are you okay?” my friend whispered in between songs.

“Yeah,” I said, too stunned and unsure to say anything else.

“I’m a mess,” she said with a little laugh as she wiped tears from her face.

Me too, I thought, but I don’t even have the words yet to explain how messy.

The rest of the two-hour service was sitting with my broken heart. If it’s broken, is this what loneliness feels like? If it’s broken, is this why my brain keeps attacking it? If it’s broken, is this what that quiet hum is? The one that wakes me in the middle of the night?

God, I’m so tired of carrying this broken heart.
I didn’t know that’s what it was.

It feels silly to say it to God. It feels silly to say it to you. I was walking around with a broken heart, talking to people, acting a certain way, believing some lies because I didn’t know my heart was broken.

The realization felt like a cracking open, like a long, deep breath I didn’t know I wasn’t taking before.

Instead of hurting more, like I assumed, it felt like I was finally able to relax. I wasn’t aware I was running from my broken heart, but once I stopped and paid attention to it, it felt like sweet relief.

They say the truth shall set you free. I didn’t even realize I was ignoring it. But when I finally looked it square in the eyes, it didn’t hurt, it didn’t kill me, it was safety and freedom and relief.

It made sense. This is what a broken heart feels like.

Now when it asks for attention, I can be gentle with it.
I can say hi.
Acknowledge the hurt.
Say it’s okay to be here.
A broken heart means it mattered.
It is okay that it mattered.
It’s not weakness to say you loved.
Sad is okay.

It’s been a few weeks since I noticed my broken heart. I’d been carrying it around for a few years, not sure what it was. I didn’t recognize a broken heart so I didn’t know how to care for it.

I know now.

And it feels a little less broken than it did that night in the pew surrounded by people singing.

If my friend was here right now and she asked me if I was okay, here’s what I would whisper:

I am definitely not okay. I lost something important. Something I always carried along with me, something I didn’t realize could leave. I think I’ve been walking with a limp ever since. I didn’t even notice the limp. I just got used to the pain, just thought this is what life is now.

I have a broken heart, and I’m going to start paying attention to it.

And my friend would probably agree. Because she’s a mess too, she’s just a little better at saying it out loud.

I bless God every chance I get;
my lungs expand with his praise.

I live and breathe God;
if things aren’t going well, hear this and be happy:

Join me in spreading the news;
together let’s get the word out.

God met me more than halfway,
he freed me from my anxious fears.

Look at him; give him your warmest smile.
Never hide your feelings from him.

When I was desperate, I called out,
and God got me out of a tight spot.

God’s angel sets up a circle
of protection around us while we pray.

Open your mouth and taste, open your eyes and see—
how good God is.
Blessed are you who run to him.

Worship God if you want the best;
worship opens doors to all his goodness.

Young lions on the prowl get hungry,
but God-seekers are full of God.

Come, children, listen closely;
I’ll give you a lesson in God worship.

Who out there has a lust for life?
Can’t wait each day to come upon beauty?

Guard your tongue from profanity,
and no more lying through your teeth.

Turn your back on sin; do something good.
Embrace peace—don’t let it get away!

God keeps an eye on his friends,
his ears pick up every moan and groan.

God won’t put up with rebels;
he’ll cull them from the pack.

Is anyone crying for help? God is listening,
ready to rescue you.

If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.

Disciples so often get into trouble;
still, God is there every time.

He’s your bodyguard, shielding every bone;
not even a finger gets broken.

The wicked commit slow suicide;
they waste their lives hating the good.

God pays for each slave’s freedom;
no one who runs to him loses out.
-Psalm 34, The Message version

15 favorite books of 2019

Look at me coming in at the last second of January to tell you about my favorite 2019 books.

In February, this post would be too late. But January rules stay we’re still allowed to talk about 2019. It’s in the rule book. Look it up if you need to.

I read a lot of books last year. Coming up with fifteen books I loved was harder than it usually is, but here they are. They’re not in any special order, except the first one. It’s my absolute favorite book of 2019.

Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane
I declared this book a favorite last summer and it stayed in that spot the rest of the year. I still think about this story, these characters.

Ask Again, Yes starts out with two rookie cops who quickly become intertwined through proximity, family, violence, and trauma. The cops’ children, Pete and Kate, are the main characters and the book follows them from the beginning of their parents’ relationships to their eventual marriage and their own family. In between is heartache, addiction, bad choices, and childhood wounds. I’ll be honest and say I didn’t know what I was picking up when I grabbed Ask Again, Yes off the shelf at the library; it looked interesting, and it was on the display case. I’m a sucker for display case books. About halfway through, I realized the parallels to real life for me were, at times, too much. I have never read a book and felt moved to contact the author, but the way Keane writes about childhood trauma, a mentally ill mother, a father who abandons his family, a son who keeps it together until one day he can’t, and alcoholism was too real to be made up. I just want to ask her how she knows, how she knows what it all feels like. How does she know what you think when it all happens and how, how did she know? This is fiction that feels like real life; fiction that has to be written from experience. I sobbed through some chapter. This hurt to read, but it was good and beautiful too. I would never have the words to write what she did so well, and I’m glad this exists in the world.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
I read Ng’s first novel, Everything I Never Told You, and felt indifferent about it. It was okay, but not my favorite. Little Fires Everywhere redeems Ng for me. The setting of this story is so strong, it’s a character. The community the characters live in is a meticulously-planned town where appearance matters a whole lot. The story focuses on two women, one an important newspaper writer and the other, a nontraditional single mom. When their children become friends, things turn and secrets come out. I loved the subjects this story wrestled with and the reminder that even if we win the war, it still hurts.

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
I don’t even know where to start with this one. It’s so good, I don’t think words will do it justice. I loved that the setting was such a powerful character, almost a secondary main character. (This is different than the setting as a minor character; just go with it.) This book broke my heart a few times. I cried more than I can count. the loneliness and want and betrayals felt so heavy. About two-thirds of the way through I realized we were going the way of Fried Green Tomatoes. Do you remember that movie? I loved it so much as a child, for ways I couldn’t explain. This is not the same story at all, but if you’re familiar with it, you know what I mean. Gah. So, so good. Final thoughts: as a writer, I was blown away by the detail and feel of this book. The setting, the imagery, the symbolism just cracked me open. I’m in awe.

The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine
Engaging, cringe-worthy, interesting, and horrible. All of my favorite things in one book. Amber Patterson is tired of being a poor nobody. So she creates a manipulative plan to make a very rich man fall in love with her. It doesn’t matter that he seems happily married to someone else. It’s so creepy, it’s good. But when things start happening for her, the book changes perspective to his wife. And that’s when it gets even more amazing. I really loved this book. If you need a stay-up-all-night read, this is it. I laid on the couch and read this book cover-to-cover on Christmas day.

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman
I consumed this book. I read this and knew immediately it would be a 2019 favorite. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine is the beautiful, funny, and heartbreaking story of a woman who finally learns how to heal after an unlikely friendship with a co-worker. I loved the story line and the way she finds bravery in friendship, but it’s saved by a guy. I want everyone to read this one even if it’s just for her descriptions and internal dialogue. Eleanor drove me crazy at time, but I loved her nonetheless. Most books don’t make me laugh out loud, but this one did. It’s so enjoyable.

Learning to Speak God From Scratch by Jonathan Merritt
I listened to this one. Learning to Speak God From Scratch is smart, challenging, and informative (having been around Merritt a few times and learned from him, you could describe him like that as well…). I really enjoyed his history of religious words and how they’ve evolved through time and translation. As someone who writes about faith on the internet, I noticed a few years ago that some words I used were unfamiliar to non-Christians or used differently than I intended based on a person’s background. His research and commentary was engaging and interesting.

Rayne & Delilah’s Midnite Matinee by Jeff Zentner
Since I left the classroom, I’ve been reading less young adult novels and that makes me sad. I’m so glad I got to read Rayne & Delilah’s Midnite Matinee because it reminded me of how good YA can be. I’m not going to lie, when I saw this author was a male trying to write a story about two high school girls, I was skeptical. I even rolled my eyes. But Zentner did such a good job writing two strong girls. Smart, funny girls who have some struggles. There is a love story, but it’s not the point and there’s no weird sleepover pillow fights of anything. This is a story about friendship and fear and being honest with those we love.

Becoming by Michelle Obama
Read this one even if you don’t think you’ll like or you’ll care. It’s so well written and funny and interesting. The inner workings of the White House, how the Secret Service details rolls, all the hoops presidents have to jump through to walk outside or go shopping, it’s all so fascinating. Reading Becoming by Michelle Obama sent me on a search for more first lady memoirs.

I’m Still Here by Austin Channing Brown
I think this is a must-read for white Christians. Often we don’t even know what we don’t know or realize how much of the way we think (or were taught to think, behave, ect.) is anti-Gospel and racist. We’re all racist in our thinking in some way, it’s ingrained in white America that most of us don’t even realize it’s happening. Most of us don’t want to do it, it’s just society norms we’ve wrongly picked up. I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness is a good place to start. It is not inherently shameful or bad to be white, you don’t control it anymore than someone controls being black, but with our skin color comes power we didn’t earn and don’t deserve. Channing Brown points out some ways we can do better. Because we can all do better.

My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite
My Sister, the Serial Killer is a short, dark read about Korede and her beautiful younger sister who keeps killing her boyfriends. Korede is smart and plain and often overlooked, and when her sister starts stabbing her boyfriends in “self-defense,” Korede helps her clean up. But the bodies are starting to pile up and Korede can’t keep this up, especially as her sister sets her sights on a kind, gorgeous doctor Korede works with. This is a quick read, but creepy and good too. I couldn’t put it down.

Educated by Tara Westover
THIS BOOK WAS SO INTERESTING. Westover grew up in a survivalist Mormon family in the hills of Idaho–off the grid and unschooled. Her father, who she believes is bipolar, thinks the government is out to get them, and they spend their days working to making money for the end times. They fill their basement with canned food, they sleep with mountain bags (a packed bag ready to run for the mountains with if the FBI shows up), and her dad is filling a 1,000 gallon gas tank hidden in the side of their mountain so they’ll have gas when the world ends. Some really crazy stuff happens in this book and when Tara is fifteen, she decides she wants out so she buys an ACT study book and prepares to take a test for the very first time. She goes on to get her doctorate by thirty. If you’re looking for an engaging and shocking read, this is it.

Miracle Creek by Angie Kim
We read this one for book club last year. It was thrilling and I couldn’t put it down. There’s a criminal trial going on and the reader learns the story of what happened through the trial and mostly the third person omniscient points of view. But everyone is hiding things and you know it as you read, you’re just not sure who to trust. Miracle Creek is well written and engaging. The ending killed me a little, but like we discussed at book club, there was no way this was going to be happily ever after.

The Immoral Majority by Ben Howe
This came out in August and is thoughtful and informative. Howe is a conservative Christian who has taken a hard look at the party he loves to determine how, in the pursuit of political power, they’ve embraced moral relativism and toxic partisanship. He explains why the “lesser of two evils” argument is wrong when voting and why conservative Christians are using compartmentalization to make dangerous choices setting them up for a mess later (and now, actually). Howe is not writing to convince you to vote for a different party, but he does offer smart, Biblical principles that help you understand that you can be a Christian and not vote against your morals for political control like some have been led to believe they should. He offers a good reminder that during the last few decades, conservative Christians have come to believe that God’s plan for humanity resides in who they elect president of the United States of America…and why that is a dangerous, limiting belief to hold. (I want everyone to read this book, please.)

Born a Crime by Trevor Noah
I loved this account of Noah growing up near the tale end of South Africa’s apartheid as a colored child in a place where he was literally a crime for being born. His white father and his black mother were not allowed to be in relationship, let alone have a child. His stories made me laugh, think, and learn. The best things from a book. (I was encouraged to listen to the audio version of this book because Noah reads it. I didn’t get a chance to, but if you can borrow it from your library, I bet it would be worth the wait.)

Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb
Gottlieb is a therapist who has a therapist. She writes about her patients and the life she needs help surviving. So she gets a therapist. It’s delightful and insightful and another word that ends with -ful that I can’t think of right now. If you’ve read anything I’ve written, you know I’m a huge proponent of therapy. I think everyone needs a little (a lot of) therapy in their lives. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone is smart, challenging, and encouraging. I love that Gottlieb helps people make sense of their mess while admitting she needs help herself. The reality that we often can’t see our own stuff clearly is real and Gottlieb’s vulnerability invites us into her healing while encouraging us toward our own.

Do you have a favorite from 2019? Can you narrow it down to one book?

*DISCLOSURE: affiliate links used

I forgive you.

What’s fun about my brain is I can get obsessive thoughts pretty quickly if I don’t pay attention. My over-active brain likes to find a thought, a wound, a situation and get busy destroying it. I don’t enjoy this part of my brain. I don’t encourage it. It just happens.

I forgive you.

I don’t start off the day mad. Well, let’s be honest. Sometimes I do. I wake up with a clenched jaw. I have to remind myself to unclench as I’m waking up. I don’t know what my brain was handling as I slept, but often I can feel the effects of it in my jaw and neck, in my shoulders and forehead.

I forgive you.

I take deep breaths and lower my shoulders. I don’t want to assume the posture of fight all the time. I don’t want that for my life, I don’t want that for my family, I don’t want it for my body. But it assumes the position every single morning of my life.

So I begin my day by unclenching and breathing.

I forgive you.

But my brain starts again: remember that conversation you didn’t get to finish? Remember that person who hurt you and never apologized? Remember that lie someone told about you to make themselves look better? You should worry about that right now.

I forgive you.

I spend a lot of time thinking about my thoughts. Please read that stupid sentence again. It’s true. I don’t know how else to tell you. I spend a lot of time thinking about my thoughts.

I forgive you.

There are perks to thinking about your thoughts a lot. I get to write reflectively and people read it. I get to learn from something I thought or did or believed that wasn’t right. I get to see outside of myself often. I am self-aware. I am quick at self-correction. These are good things, things that have brought health and healing to my life.

I forgive you.

But there are downfalls too. If my brain doesn’t get the resolution it wants, it can’t stop running circles around it. It can’t stop bringing it back. My brain doesn’t file it away for later, it screams for attention and energy. This is exhausting for my brain which, in turn, makes it exhausting for me.

I forgive you.

I think about a way to share all your secrets. Destroy you. Show everyone what you’ve been hiding, what you hid, how dangerous you are. Make the lies you’ve built your life around crumble. How you made me the bad guy. My brain really likes justice. I know too much, that’s why you worked so hard to control the narrative. You who has so many secrets, scared of someone who has very little of them.

I forgive you.

Maybe I like to read so much because my brain gets a break from other thoughts for a while. You can’t read a book–really read and absorb a book–without quieting other parts of yourself. I love words. Maybe I love other people’s words because they make mine stop for a while.

I forgive you.

I love resolution. My brain needs an ending. Last fall my sister accused me of always needing to get the last word. I turned that label over for a long time. Do I need the last word? Do I have to say one more thing every single time?

I forgive you.

It’s not the last word that I love. It’s the resolution. I can’t stop the conversation, the argument, the misunderstanding until it’s fixed. I don’t want the last word, I want the resolution. If your words end up being last, as long as we’re reached a conclusion, I don’t need more words. I need resolution.

I forgive you.

It’s not pride. It’s not believing I know all the right answers. It’s the lack of ending. If we don’t figure out how to move forward from this, we don’t get to move forward. I love to move forward. Because the opposite of moving forward is staying stuck and that feels like death. It feels like being trapped and dying.

I forgive you.

I have a lifetime of silence instead of resolution. I have a playbook full of resentment and secrets and manipulation. I had to unlearn my lessons of ignoring and pretending. My brain doesn’t know how to live in the tension of other people choosing not to anymore.

I forgive you.

I’ve started whispering to my thoughts:
I forgive you.
I forgive you.
I forgive you.

It has begun a relaxing of my shoulders and fists. I get to decide the cycle my brain gets trapped in. I want it to run the route of forgiveness not resolution. I like a tidy ending, but that is not always an option.

I forgive you.

I am training my brain to forgive whether my bones want to or not. I repeat it as a mantra, a prayer, a promise. I don’t want to carry your wounds with me forever. I don’t want to live in the scars of broken people trying to break others. I understand most of what has happened to me isn’t even about me.

I forgive you.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean I want more from you. It doesn’t mean I want a relationship, another conversation, a way back. Forgiveness doesn’t mean you were right, and I was wrong. Forgiveness isn’t an invitation to start again.

I forgive you.

It’s just a releasing. A loosening of my jaw, because I don’t want to live in the world carrying you anymore.

I forgive you.
I forgive you.
I forgive you.

It becomes easier, the forgiving. I need it just as much as everyone else. I want it greedily so I’m sharing it freely. It’s not natural. It’s not automatic. It’s a practice, a choice, an action.

I forgive you.

I am retraining my brain to let go. To worry less about the resolution and more about the letting go. It is going against every single cell in my body. We all want revenge and “I told you so” and conclusions.

I forgive you.

The nice part about thinking about your thoughts all the time is I can quickly see an obsessive pattern starting.

I forgive you.
I forgive you.
I forgive you.

I correct the thought. I stop it. I forgive it. I forgive the person. I forgive the situation. I forgive the lie. I forgive the event. I forgive the time. I forgive myself. I forgive my brain.

I forgive you.

When we say we follow Jesus, it means stepping in His footprints. It means going to the same places He went. And He always started with forgiveness. The women at the well. Zacchaeus. Peter before he denied Him. The very people who killed him.

I forgive you.
I forgive you.
I forgive you.

If I don’t start there too, I’m missing something. I’m only following Jesus in name not action. Belief changes us. It changes our hearts, our words, our thoughts, our interactions. It becomes less about justifying and more about forgiving in spite of.

I forgive you.

Jesus forgave Peter before he betrayed Him. He forgave the woman at the well even without a promise to never, ever sin again. He forgave the very people who were taunting and stabbing and spitting on him.

I forgive you.

I don’t forgive because it didn’t hurt. I don’t forgive because I want you to do it again. I don’t forgive because I got the resolution.

I forgive because it’s too heavy to carry this anymore. I forgive because I need it too. I forgive because my body needs rest. I forgive because I am called to. I forgive because it’s dying to self. I forgive because I know enough about self to realize I can’t always be trusted, don’t always make the best choices.

I forgive you.

That’s it. No resolution. No want for more. No tidy ending. We don’t move forward. We go separately from here. Me, without the heaviness. You, without the power to do it again.

I forgive you.
I forgive you.
I forgive myself.

No, not like that.

I am a big supporter of not letting your right hand know what your left hand is doing.

I don’t think it looks good to share how great you are when you go downtown and pay attention to homeless people for an hour then post it to social media. I don’t think you look anything but self-righteous telling others about the meal you served or the gift you gave or the way you were able to show off your privilege or power to make someone else thankful you exist.

With that in mind, I’m only telling you the first part of this story so the second part makes sense. I don’t want or need you to think I’m generous or kind, because I am really not.

I am not generous or kind.

We have more money than we need right now. As a result, we got to do a lot of exciting, sneaky things for people we know and don’t know over the holidays. We have been on the receiving end of this type of generosity before; we know the anxiety and stress December can bring. This year was different. We had extra.

Some years you’re on the needy list.
Some years you’re on the “let’s meet some needs” list.

This year we were on the latter.

The thrill of getting to be able to share with others was, by far, the best part of Christmas.

Last week, the girls and I were talking about some of the things we were able to do as we drove to see the new Little Women movie. I was trying to remind them that we have the money to see more movies now, but our extra money isn’t just used to do more stuff and buy more things. I was reminding them (again) that the more we have, the more we have to share. I was saying this for the millionth time and wondering if they ever really heard me.

After the movie, we were sitting at a stoplight leaving the mall. A man was on the corner with his beat-up sign begging for money. I didn’t have any cash, and anyway, I had just preached a really good sermon to my kids about being generous so I didn’t have the energy left to dig around for some loose change.

I was looking at my phone as I waited for the light to change. As it turned green, I hear Harper’s window roll down and see her chubby little hand hold out a Target gift card to the man.

He looks at me.
I look at him.
I look at Harper.
She shrugs.
We drive off.

Harper, that was a $30 gift card from Grandma. Did you know that? I said, slightly panicked.

She started crying.

I didn’t know it was that much, she said through tears. I thought it was $10.

It’s okay! It’s okay! Don’t cry! I said as we pulled into our next stop.

She climbed into my lap and wedged herself between the steering wheel and me. I held her as she sobbed and sobbed.

I want it back, she said when she was able to catch her breath.

That’s not how it works, I explained to her.

She knew exactly how much was on the card. I know she read the $30 note on the envelope before handing it over. She knew what she was doing.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And she was absolutely fine doing it until I reacted the way I did. Then she got embarrassed and wanted it back. I saw her looking at her sister out of the corner of her eye as she cried. She was worried about what her sister thought about her choice, if Ellie thought she was silly for doing what she did.

I had spent time that afternoon encouraging my kids to be generous and then when one of them does what I ask, I make her doubt her generosity.

Here’s what I was thinking as we drove away from the stoplight: She just gave someone over half her Christmas money. Oh, no. She didn’t need to do that. She doesn’t have that much money to begin with. She’s eight! $30 is a lot of money. Heck, I’m 38 and $30 is a lot of money. She should have asked me. I could have found some change. Thirty dollars! That’s a lot of money! Why did she do that??

What my eight year old was thinking as she pulled her brand new $30 gift card out of her very empty wallet: That man says he needs money. I have some money. Let me give him what I have.

I have so much to learn.



8 good-for-your-soul books

My reading tends to fall into seasons. Not so much the calendar seasons, but certain weather calls for certain books.

In the summer, I need fiction. Chick lit, murder mysteries, good storytelling–things that make me stay up late and can hold my attention for hours at the pool. I do not need to be challenged or grow from the books I read in the summer, they are for entertainment purposes only.

Maybe it’s because I will forever be conditioned to think of the end of summer and fall as a time for learning, but right now, I’m all about growing and healing and thinking. My current to-read stack is Love Over Fear by Dan White Jr., Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson (a re-read for me), Addiction and Grace by Gerald G. May, MD, Everything Belongs by Richard Rohr, When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (a book I’ve skimmed but never read all the way through), and Not Quite Healed by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe. I’ve got some fiction sprinkled in for book clubs and I’m listening to some non-fiction audiobooks, but I’m ready to buckle down and learn as the weather (hopefully) cools off.

Do you have seasons for reading?

I don’t have a rhythm for encouraging books, but I know when I need them. After I read a heavy book or when things in real life feel extra challenging, I can search out books that will soothe my soul and quiet my heart. Maybe you need that right now?

These books are ones I run to when I need hope, freedom, and lightness:

Embracing Weakness: The Unlikely Secret to Changing the World
By Shannon K. Evans
I like this one because it’s short and helpful. I don’t know if it’s just the Enneagram Eight in me, but I need the reminders that weakness isn’t an ugly word. There is a lot of beauty that can actually come from the weak pieces of us, and Evans reminds us that there is power in our weakness if we are followers of Jesus.

The Next Right Thing podcast
Okay, this is a podcast, but there’s a book too so I’m not cheating. I haven’t read the book (it’s on my Christmas list, if you’ve started shopping already…), but the podcast which inspired the book is so good I’m recommending it without reading it. Emily P. Freeman is thoughtful and wise. She doesn’t give you answers, but invites you into the questions so you can, on your own, find the way. There’s almost a therapy-level quiet and safety in her podcasts. Her voice is soothing and her stories always jar something in my heart. If you’re not buying any books this year and the library doesn’t have any of the ones I’m suggesting, just subscribe to this podcast for free and start exploring the archives (a new episode comes out most Mondays). I hope this will be encouraging for your heart.

If you are buying books right now, get this one and let me know how it feels: The Next Right Thing: A Simple, Soulful Practice for Making Decisions by Emily P. Freeman)

Everybody Always: Becoming Love in a World Full of Setbacks and Unhappy People
By Bob Goff
Goff is a pleasure to read. His view of this world and life is so joy-filled that you can’t help but want what he has. (He has Jesus, but also an extra spark of something I can’t put my finger on.) I read Bob Goff when I want to remember what open arms can do. Not just because it’s fun, but because it points people to Jesus. His stories are unbelievable and exciting and push me outside my comfort zone in the nicest way possible.

Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace
By Anne Lamott
Often God doesn’t change my circumstances when I ask, He changes my heart. A lot of these books do that for me, but especially Small Victories by Anne Lamott. Beside her ability to craft a good sentence and a great story, I enjoy her reminders about how much grace is all around us if we just pay attention.

Let Me Feed You: Everyday Recipes Offering the Comfort of Home
By Rosie Daykin
Sometimes my heart needs quieted in the kitchen. Let Me Feed You is full of recipes that feel comfortable. I don’t like fussy recipes, things that require me to buy things I’ll never use again. I like cookbooks full of ingredients I normally have and with food my family will actually eat. Pretty pictures do not mean a successful dinner. But this one does it all: gorgeous photos and food the Graham girls devour. I like to borrow cookbooks from the library to try a few recipes before spending the money on them. This one passed the library test and I can’t wait to give it a home on my kitchen shelf. Sometimes what your soul needs is a messy kitchen with something warm in the oven and this book is perfect for that.

Simple Living for a Frantic World
By Brooke MCAlary
When things feel too loud in the world, I walk around my house and make a pile of things to donate to Goodwill. I can’t control the chaotic things outside my front door, but I can make sure my home doesn’t reflect it. I know this isn’t what everyone does, but when I feel extra twisty inside, I turn that energy outward to making my home more cozy. Simple Living for a Frantic World is about that task, about making our lives less full so we don’t get consumed by the world’s pace and energy. This book talks about schedules, boundaries, home, and creating a life we don’t want to escape from. I know what to do to make this happen, but I still enjoy hearing other people’s stories of real life balancing.

Cozy Minimalist Home: More Style, Less Stuff
By Myquillyn Smith
One way I balance the world’s pace is by making home a soft place to land. We’re not home as much as I would like in the fall, but when we do stumble through the back door, you better believe it feels cozy. Cozy Minimalist Home isn’t about stripping the house bare, but quieting rooms so they feel like rest when you’re in them. I grabbed this book as soon as it was released and spent the next two weeks walking around my house taking things off of walls, shelves, and surfaces. Less stuff out meant less stuff to manage. Then I let it sit to see if I missed what I had taken away. Spoiler: I didn’t. And my rooms felt like they could breathe, like there was more space to live. If you’re in a season that feels full and overwhelming, this book will help you quiet your home so you can regain some balance.

Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday Living
By Shauna Niequist
Do you have a book you return to when you don’t know what to read? Or when you need a reset? Cold Tangerines is that for me. I’ve read this book countless times in the 10+ years I’ve had it. For me, it opened my eyes to a style of writing and storytelling I didn’t know people were allowed to do. I bought this at a bookstore on a college campus in Louisville, Kentucky right after Chris and I were married. I devoured it. It became a way for me to center myself, remind myself why words matter, and how good words can connect us to others. This is probably not Niequist’s best writing. It is her first published collection of essays and she’s grown and evolved a lot since then, but I still love this book more than the others because of who I was when I discovered it. (Also, if I let you borrow this, please kindly return it. I miss it.)

Do you have a favorite good-for-your-soul book? Do you have seasons for reading different genres? Tell me all your book thoughts please.

*DISCLOSURE: affiliate links used.

adult children of alcoholics: where do we go from here?

The realities of growing up in an alcoholic home are devastating. It alters who God made you to be, what you think of yourself, and how you operate in the world.

But it is not a life sentence to repeat what you saw. Healing and health is available. Available because we have access to good therapy, wise medical professionals, Jesus, medication, and support networks.

(This would be a good time to note that most of the things needed to adequately address ACOAs needs or to recover from an addiction of your own are expensive. Good health insurance, time to attend meetings, being able to remove yourself from toxic family members are privileges many do not have. I don’t have a neat and tidy solution to this, but I am aware of the resources we have that some do not. Therapy is expensive. Even with insurance, medical help or in-patient/out-patient services are expensive. Support groups and meetings are free, but childcare is not. These are realities for a lot of people who need help. Telling someone there is help without admitting this help is easier for some to get than others is important to note.)

Healing and health is available, but it doesn’t just magically happen one day when you begin to see with new eyes how off track things got. That’s probably the first step in a thousand. Recovering from a childhood with an alcoholic takes a big dose of reality, painful honesty, and a ton of work.

((This would be another good time to remind those who are allowing children to live in a house with an alcoholic: you have more control over this than you are being led to believe. Do not let fear and doubt trick you into thinking this is still the best way. Your children deserve better. You have to be brave and strong. You can be brave and strong. If you don’t know where to start: go get a counselor familiar with addiction. Do nothing but find a therapist. Not for your spouse, for you. Starting with you–getting you healthy–will fundamentally change your family for the better. I promise you.))

Why so many asides, Mary? Seriously, calm down.

How do we fix this? Where do we even start as adult children of alcoholics? How do we move forward from this?

Janet Geringer Woititz, Ed.D in Adult Children of Alcoholics suggests you begin with acknowledging your upbringing was dysfunctional. We talked earlier about how abnormal your childhood was, but that’s probably not the best term to use. Really, what is normal? I tell my kids all the time we don’t want to be normal. Normal is overrated. The better way to describe it is you either had a functional childhood (one that makes you feel loved and safe while preparing you for relationships, adulthood, decision-making, etc.) or one that was dysfunctional (one that makes you feel unloved, unwanted, and unsafe while leaving you ill-equipped to be successful later in life).

Once you accept that things were dysfunctional, you go about learning what functional looks like. What should an intimate relationship look like? What should a home full of love and stability feel like? What value or lack of value have I given myself that doesn’t match up with truth or scripture? What skills did I learn as a child that are hurting me now? What is an appropriate way to handle conflict and confrontation? Am I able to see reality or do I often still choose fantasy?

You can answer these questions with Al-Anon or Adult Children of Alcoholic groups. You can begin to peel back layers with ACOA books and podcasts. Learning how to reparent yourself through positive affirmations or a trained professional might be helpful.

One thing that has been helpful for Chris is a life coach. That might sound like something you’d hear from a business professional or at a self-help conference, but if you grew up learning the wrong way to live, you might need someone who can start addressing those lessons and giving you practice and ideas on how to begin new patterns. My husband (and all kids) needed his parents to parent him. He needed them to make him feel secure and safe, feel loved no matter what; he needed them to make choices in his best interest and to care for him.

Those things did not happen.

As a result, he has to figure out how to do them for himself and for others with no model. A life coach is helping him do that.

At this point, I’m sure people are tired of hearing me say this, but ACOAs could greatly benefit from therapy. Some very specific things broke you and you need help outside of yourself to fix them. There is a very high chance you learned co-dependency from your family of origin and addressing that will begin to right a lot of wrongs. If you haven’t begun the work of healing your childhood, there’s a good chance you suffer from low self-esteem or anxiety. Addressing those issues, giving you skills and steps to handle them correctly, and hearing from someone when your thinking isn’t healthy will transform every aspect of your life.

Learning and practicing healthy boundaries (things that people who are co-dependent, enablers, or who suffer from low self-esteem often do not do) is good, healthy work too.

What about ACOAs who are parenting children of their own? Geringer Woititz suggests these things as you navigate a season you have no healthy experience of:
-work on yourself and your own person growth (the things above are good starts!)
-listen to your children
-tell the truth; be honest with them
-educate them about the disease of alcoholism
-encourage your children to attend Alateen (or any support group for kids growing up impacted by alcohol or addiction)
-give up denial
-do not protect your children from knowing the ravages of alcoholism (I learned appropriate information to give my children based on their ages in therapy; the older they get, the more they need to know)
-don’t be afraid to show affection to your children (I gently nudge Chris often to hug and kiss and snuggle with our girls; they need it and so does he, but it does not come naturally to him)
-define clear limits for your children
-allow your children to take responsibility for their behavior

Chris turned 36 a few weeks ago.

In our family, when it’s your birthday, my mom makes you a cake from scratch. Whatever your favorite cake is, delivered to your door for your birthday.

One night leading up to his birthday, he mentioned my mom texted him to see what he wanted.

What did you say? Was it something gross? I asked.

My husband and I have very different ideas about what good cake it.

Carrot cake, he said.

GAG. BARF. NOOOOO, I replied in a normal, not-dramatic way.

He laughed.

It would be co-dependent of me to change my cake order because you don’t like it, he said.

It would! You’re right! I don’t want you to change it, it’s your birthday. I’m just teasing you.

Silence for a second.

Wait, have you changed it in the past because I don’t like carrot cake? I asked.

Sometimes. And I think about it. I want a cake that everyone likes. I want everyone to enjoy it.

WHAT IN THE WORLD, I yelled. DON’T DO THAT. It’s your birthday. You get to eat a whole cake by yourself if you want. Who cares what other people like?

I know, I’m learning that. But it’s hard.

Soon after, he headed off to the co-dependency class he’s taking at our church. I thought about that conversation all night. Even now as I type this, some of you will think Chris’ reasoning was sound. Well, he was doing what was best for everyone. He wants other people to eat his cake. It’s okay to not pick your favorite if others are around.

But the point of his birthday cake is to have a cake he loves. He’s important enough and valued enough that even if he has a cake no one else will eat, we will still celebrate him and his birthday. It is not rude to order a cake you like on your birthday. It is not selfish. It is not inconsiderate.

If going to a therapist or a support group isn’t in the cards right now, if it feels too scary or hard, just start with some books and podcasts. While I don’t recommend relying on them solely for healing and recovery, they are good baby steps to understanding hurts and patterns.

Here are some I suggest (if you have something that has helped you or someone you love, add it in the comments! This is in no way the best of the best, it’s just what I’m familiar with or have personal experience with):

Adult Children of Alcoholics: A Step By Step Guide to Discovery and Recovery by Wayne Kritsberg

Adult Children of Alcoholics by Janet Geringer Woititz

12 Steps of Adult Children of Alcoholics workbook

Perfect Daughters: Adult Children of Alcoholics by Robert Ackerman

Codependency No More: How to Stop Controlling Others and Start Caring for Yourself by Melody Beattie

The Christian Codependence Recovery Workbook: From Surviving to Significance by Robert and Stephanie Tucker (this is what Chris is doing through our church and it is really good)

Christian Families in Recovery: A Guide for Addiction, Recovery, & Intervention Using God’s Tools of Redemption workbook by Robert and Stephanie Tucker (this is by the same author of the codependency workbook above; I read through this study over the summer helping my church review some materials and if I could send this to every person who reaches out to me about addiction, I would.)

Boundaries: When to Say Yes, How to Say No to Take Control of Your Life by Henry Cloud and John Townsend

Go here for a list of Al-Anon and recovery-related podcasts (I’m sure this isn’t all of them.)

Adult Children of Alcoholics world service organization is full of resources and recommendations

I have not yet listened to The Recovery Show, but I’ve heard from others that they’re a good listen. This episode is about ACOAs specifically.

And if you’re unlikely to read or listen to much right now, I assume you spend at least a little time on Facebook. Join a support group there to just listen for a while–see what you can learn. Here’s one I found after a quick search, but I’m not a part of it.

I’ve heard from lots of people this week who grew up in alcoholic (or drug addicted) homes who were unfamiliar with the “adult child of alcoholic” term. Or they knew the term but didn’t know the characteristics or weight of it. I’ve heard from brave people who are speaking up to their loved ones and saying this is me. I want to fix this. Dots are being connected, conversations are taking place, people are starting to search for help.

I’m praying for the challenging, good work you’re beginning. Please don’t quit when it gets uncomfortable. It will absolutely get uncomfortable. Please do not quit.

I’ve also heard from people this week who enable alcoholics. I’ve heard from co-dependent women who have lots of good excuses and reasons why this is not them, their house is different, their children will be different. How dare I group them with the other spouses of alcoholics.

I cannot convince people to get help. I’m not here to bully anyone into therapy or Al-Anon or to leave their drunk spouse. I know the least healthy people scream the loudest when someone points out their mess or responsibility in it. I also know your children will one day have to address this–your part and your spouse’s–and neither of you will come out of it unscathed.

What that looks like for our family is we are no longer in relationship with either of Chris’ parents: the alcoholic or the enabler. If we’re being really honest, more damage might have been done by his enabling mom than his alcoholic dad. There is no tally sheet to count up the damage Chris (and his siblings) experienced as a result of each individual, but the more work Chris does, the more he pays attention to his wounds, and the longer he is sober to remember and feel what he’s been avoiding for a very long time, it just adds more layers of guilt and responsibility on his mom.

He is just beginning to understand the level of manipulation she operated at to keep so many horrible things alive.

Chris and I were separated in September 2017. He had been caught drinking again and was not allowed to live in our home anymore. His mom and he were on their way to Ohio for a birthday celebration–his September birthday included.

Did you father ever touch you? she asked, eyes focused on the road ahead.

No, Chris responded.

I always wondered, she said as they sped down the highway. I always wondered.

The point of that story isn’t Chris’ answer. It might be true or it might not be. The point is my husband’s mom knew for years she was making choices that could possibly be hurting her children and she did not speak up. The point is the person made to protect her children did not want to know the answer to dangerous questions because it might not be what she wanted to hear, it might force her to make some changes.

So she never asked.

Accountability comes for all of us. It came for Chris. It came for his parents. It came for me. What you think you’re avoiding right now will not stay away forever.

Spouses of alcoholics: if you have a little whisper in the back of your head telling you that something is not right, that this isn’t a way to live, do not ignore that voice. It is not worth the consequences.

*Disclaimer: when I began this series, I mentioned that I was barely skimming the surface of what it looks like to be an adult child of an alcoholic. I wrote a couple essays this week to give you a glimpse of what it looks like for Chris and our marriage, but I am leave out a lot.

One night Chris was reviewing a post for the next day and he suggested something I should add. There are lots of things I could add, but I don’t have the time or the space. If your experience doesn’t match up exactly to ours, it doesn’t mean that yours isn’t right. It’s just the reality of trying to give a very complex idea some exposure to help others.

I am not the authority on ACOAs. I am not an ACOA. I’m sharing what it feels like to be married to an adult child of an alcoholic and how it impacts my life. These are my stories, my experiences. People with more experience, closer perspectives, and a lot more education have written about this a lot better than I have. I pray this week is just the beginning of your knowledge of ACOAs, not the end. There are parts of this struggle not made for the internet. There are parts of this struggle that didn’t affect Chris as much. Every story is different. This is mine.

*This is the final post in a four-part series on adult children of alcoholics. You can see the introduction post here, the second post here, and the third right here.

*DISCLOSURE: affiliate links used.

adult children of alcoholics and intimate relationships

Spouses of alcoholics want to argue the most about facts and research about raising kids in alcoholic homes.

That’s not how it is here.
This isn’t hurting my kids.
Our kids will turn out different.

Don’t you think every single spouse thinks that?

A spouse’s response to information about allowing children to live in an alcoholic home is in direct relation to how healthy or unhealthy the spouse is. No healthy adult can argue a child should grow up around addiction.

Let me say that again: No healthy adult can argue a child should grow up around addiction.

Any rationalization, excuse, or reason you have against that statement is steeped in your own issues. Any rationalization, excuse, or reason you have against that statement is twisted up with co-dependency, enabling, and possibly your own addiction story.

Adult children of alcoholics learn how to be in romantic relationship by watching their parents. If their parents go back and forth between being deeply in love and violent arguments, kids think love has to be intense all the time. If their parents live in the same house but don’t live the same life, kids think love is indifferent and cold.

ACOAs have no frame of reference for what a healthy, intimate relationship looks like because they have never seen one. You can’t have a healthy relationship with an addict or alcoholic. I know that seems like common sense, but you’d be shocked at the people who would argue that it is not true.

This disease does not allow room for healthy relationships, healthy conversations, healthy homes. Your alcoholic house is no different. Denial (and lying, like we talked about yesterday) is a large part of an alcoholic home. Yes, the family living with the alcoholic lies to others, but mostly they lie to themselves. Alcoholics and their families lie to themselves all the time.

Adult children of alcoholics grow up with an overwhelming fear of abandonment. Alcoholism is unpredictable. Lots of promises are made that aren’t followed through on. Lots of commitments are made that get forgotten or skipped. There is an underlying current of is this real? Is someone going to take care of me? in everything they do.

As a result, ACOAs carry that acute fear of being abandoned into adulthood. It’s what makes them stay in dangerous relationships. It’s what makes them keep trying to fix things that shouldn’t be fixed (but they don’t have the appropriate skills to fix a problem so it just keeps getting worse). ACOAs don’t understand what red flags and healthy boundaries look like so they sacrifice themselves at all cost to be loyal to someone they shouldn’t be.

Because that’s what they saw growing up.

This realization shifted something in me. In Adult Children of Alcoholics by Janet Geringer Woititz, Ed.D, she explains that “the fear of abandonment gets in the way of the development of a relationship. The development of any healthy relationship requires lots of give and take, and problem solving. There is always some disagreement and anger which a couple resolve. A minor disagreement gets very big, very quickly for adult children of alcoholics because the issue of being abandoned takes precedence over the original issue.”

This plays out all the time in my marriage. Something comes up that needs to be addressed. I bring up the issue so we can talk about it. Chris immediately begins to panic because what if this is the issue that makes me leave? He says and does what he feels is the best thing to make the conversation go away as quickly as possible: agreeing to things he won’t actually do, admitting things he doesn’t actually want to admit, saying yes to things he has no intention of following through on.

I think we’ve had a conversation. In reality, Chris has just avoided confrontation at all cost because he fears being left.

So then the issue comes up again because nothing was actually handled. I’m angry this time and he’s back to running interference so he’s not abandoned, and we continue this vicious cycle where nothing gets handled because my husband doesn’t know how to get past the fear of being abandoned. Issues keep piling up and nothing ever changes. It is madness.

ACOAs didn’t learn how to love themselves. As children, they didn’t experience unconditional, safe love in their homes. So now they look for love from others instead of learning how to love themselves. This co-dependency means Chris’ value is found completely in how I’m feeling about him at the time. If I’m happy with him, he’s happy and feels loved. If I’m annoyed, he’s scared and unloved.

Understanding this dynamic in our relationship broke my heart. I didn’t grow up with a completely healthy home life, but I grew up with no doubt of my worth, knowing my parents loved me, and understanding they would take care of all my needs no matter what. I don’t struggle with self-worth. I know my value as a daughter of the King and as a human, no matter what others think or say. It was so foreign to me that someone could not understand this. It was inconceivable for me to hear Chris found his worth in me.

At first, I was repulsed by this idea. That type of weakness insulted me.

But then I started to learn how that happens, what children growing up in alcoholic homes learn about love, and what they don’t get from their parents.

Then it just made me more compassionate.

There is a very specific balancing act that has to happen now in our home. I have to make sure Chris knows he is loved and valued outside of anything he does or says. But he is also required to work hard at healing and recovery for his loved-and-valued-self to stay in our marriage. I’m not sure I always walk that line well. My thinking tends to be black and white and this is a gray area. Again, another reason why I keep going to therapy. To check that I’m being fair and not expecting too much. To make sure I’m holding a good boundary and not a bad one. To allow someone else to ask hard questions about what I’m doing and how I’m helping or hurting the ACOA I’m married to.

“Being the child of an alcoholic causes the ordinary difficulties to become more severe.” (p. 71)

That’s the simplest way to put it. Life is hard for everyone. Life is just hard. For adult children of alcoholics, the every day hard becomes more difficult because they were gifted a handicap as children.

We can heal this.
Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk about how.

*The information I’m sharing didn’t originate with me. I’m a constant consumer of information, never satisfied with one or two books on a subject. But a lot of the research I’m sharing comes from Adult Children of Alcoholics by Janet Geringer Woititz, Ed.D. Don’t let the ugly cover throw you off, this book is a wealth of information. ((I’ve also read parts of Adult Children of Alcoholics Syndrome: A Step By Step Guide to Discovery and Recovery by Wayne Kritsberg and it has good stuff in it too. I’ll share a more complete list of resources tomorrow.))

*You don’t have to be married to an ACOA to benefit from this series. Once I started studying this, I realized a lot of my close friends were also adult children of alcoholics. Understanding their stories better makes me a more compassionate friend.

*Finally, Woititz points out in her introduction that many characteristics of ACOAs can be found in adults who grew up in similar dysfunctional households. Sin is sin and if you grew up around violence or untreated mental illness or another addiction, you might also see yourself in parts of this series.

*If you’re just joining this series, this is the introduction and here’s the second post.

what you grow in an alcoholic house

Science fiction saved my husband.

When he was younger, he consumed sci-fi books. Walking along a busy road at way too young an age, he’d trek to the local library to checkout stack after stack of books. The librarian knew his name, what he liked, and recommended books to him.

It sounds like an idyllic childhood, but it was really one of survival and escape. Home was unsafe, unreliable, dangerous for a quiet kid who didn’t want to draw attention to himself. So he read books, hours and hours in his room, at the library, away from his unpredictable dad and his checked-out mom.

I’m an English teacher obsessed with reading who wants so badly to tell you when her husband–no longer a little boy–consumes himself with books, it’s because he has a love for the English language or prose. But the truth is, he uses it as an escape, as a way to avoid the things in front of him. (He does this with television too.)

A skill he learned in childhood that might have saved him, now working against him. Avoiding his wife and kids and responsibilities and conversations now means he will lose those things.

Adult children of alcoholics often grow up steeped in fantasy. It might not be so literal with science fiction novels, but they soothe themselves and the chaos around them by creating worlds in their heads that aren’t as bad. Imagining what it would be like if Dad was sober, if Mom paid attention. They fantasize about what their family would look like it there wasn’t so much fighting or violence or instability.

ACOAs don’t always know how to turn the fantasies off. That became clear for us when Chris’ drinking finally came out of hiding. It completely confused him that I was miserable in my marriage. It was unfathomable to him that our kids were suffering or scared of him. Everything was still fine in his head, what did reality have to do with it?

Denial, rationalization, and manipulation are daily visitors in the home of an alcoholic. It seeps into the kids, into the spouse, into the fiber of their beings. And when kids leave, they can’t shake it off; it tags along as they date and marry, have kids and try to build new lives.

Reality hurts so there’s no need to look too closely at it.

Part of the zoning out children do is a result of the adult things they’ve been made to do far sooner than they should have been. When we give adult problems to children (worries about bills, too much information about intimate relationships between parents, job stress, excess responsibilities at home or in the care of siblings), they grow up too fast. Giving them these jobs doesn’t make them automatically capable of handling them though.

Child development follows a stair step model, gradually increasing once certain skills are mastered. You learn this and this and now you can do this. It is a continuous cycle of practicing and learning, growing and adapting. But ACOAs get too much too fast. They learn skills to survive instead of to safely mature. So they begin checking out of childhood as a coping skill. For many, it’s the major coping skill they bring into adulthood: avoid and ignore.

One struggle ACOAs have as they try to parent their own kids is they have no frame of reference. If an ACOA didn’t have any normal fourteen year old responsibilities, they don’t know what is an appropriate level of responsibility for their own child. They don’t know what is normal teenage behavior and what should raise red flags. There is no healthy past experience able to help them navigate their own child’s emotions, feelings, or questions.

Adult children of alcoholics don’t know how to parent because they weren’t parented.

This is hard for me to admit because the reality for our house is I am, more often than not, parenting two daughters and a husband. As I talk through problems or worries with my pre-teen daughter, I’m also modeling it for my husband. We spent a lot of time this summer dealing with the results of Chris’ lack of impulse control, his lack of ability to see the long term effects of choices he is making.

ACOAs are impulsive. They grew up around selfish people who thought of themselves first. Sure, alcoholics can manipulate you into believing they have your best interest at heart, but no one who truly does will continue on the path of alcoholism (this would be a good time to talk about the disease of alcoholism and how the disease doesn’t really allow for that logic, but that’s not the point today).

If you grow up seeing someone only think of themselves when they make choices, you do the exact same thing. I can hear the alcoholic’s arguments now: I’m not a selfish parent! But your disease makes you selfish. Even if you wish you weren’t. Alcoholism functions on a love of alcohol above all else.

Chris and I have been married for almost thirteen years. It has been just very, very recently that he has started asking himself how a choice he’s making will affect anyone but himself.

As a result, I have spent a lot of our marriage cleaning up messes I didn’t create. Learning about what enabling looks like for me has altered the last few years, but we are still actively living in the results of bad choices Chris doesn’t have the self-control to stop making. This is wearing and heavy. It is one of the reasons I still see a counselor regularly, to make sure my responses to his choices aren’t enabling. (This is a characteristic of an adult child of an alcoholic, but also a characteristic of an alcoholic. Remember yesterday when I said the rates are high that ACOAs will grow up to have their own addictions? That’s where it gets extra messy for us, it’s all intertwined so closely now.)

Impulse control comes with maturity. ACOAs do not mature at the rate of normal kids so they often lag behind in maturity and the better choice-making that comes with maturity. Developing his own addictions in his late teens further slowed the maturity process in Chris; active addicts and alcoholics stunt their maturity. We mature by learning lesson from mistakes and doing better next time. We mature by succeeding and failing, growing in confidence, getting wiser and not just older. Addicts don’t do those things. Alcoholics don’t do those things. Addiction freezes emotional development.

In an alcoholic household, instant gratification is all there is. If a parent promises something and it doesn’t happen right away, there is a low probability it will actually happen. Promises get broken all the time. The child learns that it’s now or never. And they bring that attitude into adulthood with them.

It never crossed Chris’ mind to think it might hurt me or our family as he drank at work. As long as he didn’t do it at home, it was fine. The disconnect between wants and the consequences of those wants is huge. I grew up in a house where we were taught how to be thorough and conscientious. Chris grew up in a house were no one cared for possessions or took care of things. I learned to clean up after myself, leave things the way I found them, and to be aware of who would hurt or be put out by the way I did things if I did them wrong. Chris learned how to survive without drawing attention, to not engage in a family, and to be gone as much as possible. He learned to take care of himself and no one else. No one else was going to take care of him; why should he have to take care of others?

I remember years ago having a cookout with Chris’ family at our house. I stood in line for food behind his sister. As she squirted mustard on her hot dog, it exploded all over the top of the bottle and ran down the side. Globs of mustard went everywhere. Instead of cleaning up the mess she made, she just shut the lid making a bigger mess, put the bottle down, and moved on down the food line.

“Are you going to leave the mustard like that?” I asked.

“I didn’t know if anyone else needed some,” she said.

“And you thought we’d want the stuff all over the lid if we did want some?” I asked confused.

I know it’s just mustard but it wasn’t. That was the Graham motto. Leave a giant mess and let someone else handle it. I was so confused by the mess she made and how she was just able to walk away from. Someone else could clean up the mustard explosion, she got what she needed.

Alcoholic families leave overwhelming mess behind. They often don’t address it themselves, instead shoving it off for someone else to clean up, someone else to fix, someone else to manage.

Our families of origin determine so much of our futures that it is sometimes overwhelming to think about.

But it also lights a fire in my soul to make sure we are not replicating that story, that trauma, that environment for our own children. For a million reasons, Chris has to be sober and actively working on healing and recovery to live in our house. A huge part of that is he is not allowed to pass this legacy onto our daughters. They don’t deserve that just like he didn’t.

You can do that too. If you’re an adult child of an alcoholic. If you’re currently raising kids in a home with an alcoholic. You can stop this cycle if you want to.

It has to stop somewhere. Even if I didn’t really understand what I was getting myself into all those years ago, it has become my life’s work to make sure we don’t give this mess to our daughters.

We are not passing on the Graham legacy of hiding, of immaturity, of ignoring, of lying, of manipulation, of co-dependency. It is a curse I will not allow them to accept.

*The information I’m sharing didn’t originate with me. I’m a constant consumer of information, never satisfied with one or two books on a subject. But a lot of the research I’m sharing comes from Adult Children of Alcoholics by Janet Geringer Woititz, Ed.D. Don’t let the ugly cover throw you off, this book is a wealth of information. ((I’ve also read parts of Adult Children of Alcoholics Syndrome: A Step By Step Guide to Discovery and Recovery by Wayne Kritsberg and it has good stuff in it too.))

*If you’re just joining us, I started this series on adult children of alcoholics yesterday. You can see that first post here.

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