Mary Graham

Trusty Chucks Blog

It’s the first day of summer, darling girls

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It’s the first day of summer break for my girls.

They are excited and also sad. Ellie, especially. She cries on the last day of school every year and this year was no different. She loved her teacher this year and can’t imagine not seeing her everyday.

I also cried on the last day of school, but it was for different reasons. Mainly: what am I going to do with them all summer?

But I’m over it already. And I’m excited too. No school for me. No school for them. Hot, sunny days and Chris starts a new work schedule that will allow him to spend the majority of the day with us as well.

It is going to be a good, good summer.

And now, my dear children, a letter about our summer on this, the first day of summer break:

My girls,

I love you. I love this age, love this season. Harper, I love your sassy attitude and sense of humor that is waaay past your seven years of age. Ellie, I love your creative spirit and the way you can lead a room. We are going to have such a great summer together.

I promise to let you watch very little TV. You are creative and bright and full of energy–I don’t want the television to dull that. You will, instead, play outside. Get as dirty as you can. Get mud under your fingernails, in between your toes, and in your hair, if you please. I will scrub you clean each night, glad to wash the summer day off your little bodies.

Let’s jump on the trampoline for hours, make a slip-n-slide down the hill, and ride for miles on the country roads that surround our house. If it is sunny, we’ll go swimming. If it’s raining, we’ll head to the library for mountains of books and cozy couches.

No, you can’t play on the iPad. I don’t care if it’s labeled “educational,” it’s still not as good as reading that book, using your science kit to create experiments, or playing with friends. You can learn about other worlds, mix up gross concoctions and dare each other to drink them, and learn how to share, resolve conflict, and laugh with humans.

I’m going to try and be better about messes this summer. In the nine years of being a mom, no one has actually died because of a messy room or a living room filled with Legos. We’ll leave them for a few days to make sure we’re done with them this summer. We will, of course, clean up eventually though. I am still your mother, Mary Graham, hater of all mess and clutter. But I’m going to try to ignore a little more of it.

This summer (and this one is exciting for me…), you’re going to make your own breakfasts! Every day! I can’t wait. You can put the frozen waffles in the toaster or warm up the French toast sticks in the microwave just as well as I can so it’s you’re thing now. I’ll be here to make sure you eat protein and fruit, but I’ll do it from afar.

I promise, this year, we’re going to grow things in the dirt and we’re going to eat them with our loud, happy mouths. Yes, Aunt Penny next door has a better garden than we’ll ever have and she keeps us stocked with fresh produce all summer, but we’re joining in too. I think there is something so beautiful and frustrating and triumphant about growing your own food. It feels magical, and this summer, after the chaos and brokenness of last summer, I want magic so bad.

I’m already dreaming of lazy afternoons spent piled on the couch, a jumble of arms and legs, as we read books and eat snacks. Summer snacks like watermelon and popsicles and berries. We’ll sit until our legs fall asleep, and then we’ll stumble outside to sun ourselves on the back patio, books in tow.

Let’s get a hammock this summer. Let’s take naps there. Let’s turn it into a ride like my sister and I did when we were little, pushing it so high you almost flip over, but then just at the last moment, you rush back down to earth and safety, the wind in your hair and a smile in your eyes, on your mouth, and in your laugh.

When August rolls around, we’ll have our summer tans, our lighter hair, and a new spread of freckles on our cheeks and shoulders. We’ll be ready for school and routines and bedtimes again when it’s time to register for second and fourth grade. Second and fourth grade? How is that possible, little ones? I remember preschool and backpacks bigger than you. It’s too soon for this.

Summers are my favorite, they feel decadent and wild, but the start of a school year feels good too. Summers wouldn’t be as golden if it was always summer.

Last summer, I made a summer to-do list. But then everything crumbled and surviving took over. There wasn’t room for pool trips or park adventures or laughing, to be honest. I promise that this summer there won’t be a list of things we want to do, not that there’s anything wrong with it, but for us, right now, we need open days and open hearts and not a lot of expectations.

My girls, I can’t wait to spend my summer with you,
Mommy

On the last day of school

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This school year was rough.

Last summer was bad and we rolled right into the school year continuing the tension and anger that resided in our home. A few weeks after the girls went back to school, Chris moved out. Because he was making dangerous choices and had more than once been careless or hurtful with the girls, I made the decision to not allow him to see the girls.

My lawyer said I couldn’t technically keep them away from him, but he wasn’t with it enough to know to contest or protest my declaration. And when he did get to visit them, he would have prove he was sober with a negative breathalyzer test then he was allowed to spend a few hours with them. He wasn’t allowed to drive them anywhere or go somewhere without me.

It sounds as stressful and messy and sad as it was.

The one consistency in my girls’ lives last fall was our school routine. Getting up for breakfast, waiting for the bus, spending the day with adults who cared for them, and then arriving back home in the afternoon was all they had for rhythm and certainty.

School became a refuge whether they realized it or not.

I am so thankful for our school and our teachers.

An odd perk of writing on the internet is being aware that people often times know what’s going on in your life without having to actually say anything. No one ever said anything to me and I never said anything to anyone, but I know the adults in that building were giving my girls a little more attention than normal. I can’t find adequate words to express my overwhelming gratitude for them so I’m doing it with a puny little post on the internet.

My children were saved this year by a million different people and some of them work at our local elementary school.

No one ever complained when we came to school late, eyes still puffy from a late night where everyone had trouble sleeping. When we needed a mental health day because everything just felt too heavy, no one batted an eye. When I spent months picking the girls up early every other Thursday for counseling, no one asked for a doctor’s excuse or made a big deal about it.

I know none of those things sound like big deals on their own, but when so much feels impossible and hopeless, those tiny graces were extravagant gifts to our family.

During their kindergarten years, I bought Ellie and Harper copies of Oh, the Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss. And as the school years wound down, I would send them to their teachers asking them to write a note or message to them. Each teacher through the years has written beautiful notes to my children.

There are themes to each book.

Ellie’s messages remind her how smart she is and what a great leader she is. Then they all kindly push her to be softer with herself and her classmates. She is whip-smart, but sometimes she uses her powers for evil instead of good.

For Harper, her teachers praise her for her vocabulary and verbal skills and how dynamic her personality is while gently reminding her that she does not have to talk every single moment of her life.

Those are all true, accurate observations of my children. To make those statements, you have to pay attention.

And that’s what my girls needed this year. What all our kids need from their teachers: to be given their attention. Our kids don’t always chose the best way to do that, but it’s what they all want, some attention.

This school year–especially last fall–I had a hard time paying attention to my beautiful daughters. My eyes were filled with tears and worry and anger and survival. They were always cared for but not always paid attention to. I just didn’t have the ability.

So thank you, teachers.

Thank you for paying attention. Thank you for seeing my daughters when they needed to be seen. Thank you for loving them when they weren’t lovable. Thank you for being a constant in a time that felt turbulent. Thank you for doing your job, and thank you, thank you, thank you for doing much more than your job requires.

Photography: Huff Photography

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Spring Break in New Orleans

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I didn’t think it was a good idea to go.

We were just beginning to recover from the financial stress of rehab bills and treatment costs, Chris being unable to work, and living with very little income.

It felt irresponsible to take a vacation.

When I talked through my worries and fears with my counselor, she encouraged me to let Chris decide. So much of our relationship the past few years had been me leading and making all the choices because when I tried to involve Chris, he would avoid committing or helping at all cost. He would agree with me even as I asked for help in my decision or a conversation about a choice.

So Lisa said, “Let Chris decide whether you go or not.”

Interesting. Okay. I’ll let Chris decide.

We had already let the girls know vacation might be postponed. While they don’t need specifics or enough information to worry about anything, I believe it’s important to talk to our daughters about money and the choices we’re making with our money. We talked about the big car repair expense we had recently and how it felt too tight to go on vacation right now because vacations cost money and it might not be the best use of money at this moment.

They understood but were bummed.

A week before we were supposed to leave, Chris said we should go.

And so we went to New Orleans for spring break.

I wanted to go because VACATION. But I also didn’t want to go because ADULT RESPONSIBILITIES weigh heavy on me. Allowing Chris to decide meant I didn’t shoulder all the weight of our decision. Allowing Chris to decide meant I got to follow someone else’s lead.

It felt good, but it also made me nervous.

A year ago, I would not have wanted or trusted Chris’ decision-making skills. I didn’t yet know he was spending his days and evenings drinking in secret, but I knew I couldn’t trust him. Now with over five months of sobriety, hard work, and a morning routine that involves AA recovery books and the Bible, I had seen enough action (not words, because those don’t hold much weight with me…) to know he was acting with a clear head and in the best interest of our family.

It took a long time to get to that point. There were times I never thought it could happen.

But here we are, seeing the fruit–finally–of a long, hard road where Chris is working hard, not just me.

And so we went to New Orleans for spring break.

It was just what we needed. For the first time in months, we weren’t at home living in a house where so much hurt still resided. We weren’t running away from the hurting and healing, but we were taking a short break from it.

We did a lot of nothing on vacation. I have a hard time doing nothing at home, but I’m an expert at doing nothing on vacation and my family appreciates the break from constantly-moving-and-doing Mom.

I appreciate the new eyes I gained for my husband on vacation. I got to remember the fun parts of Chris, the parts that make him a great dad, the parts where he loves adventure and learning and exploring.

We spent time with friends who have been with us through the twists and turns of the past year, friends who were with us during the first rehab stint in 2010. Friends who forgive and guide and pray for us even as they themselves have been hurt and lied to in this mess. The most powerful examples of Jesus are often found outside the walls of a church and getting to do life with people who live thousands of miles away from us but still show up when they’re needed is humbling.

It doesn’t hurt that our girls love each other and get along well either.

We went to New Orleans for spring break and while we were gone, the calendar turned to six months of sobriety for Chris Graham. The day was quiet with no mention of what the number meant. Chris is proud of his sobriety, but still carries the shame and embarrassment of what led up to his last day of drinking. So milestones are bittersweet. We acknowledge them in small ways and then move on. There’s still a lot of work to do, but the work behind him is good too.

The decision to take a vacation made me worry. I didn’t think much of the stress I was causing myself, because I am so used to carrying the weight of our family’s well-being and health on my back. Making sure all the bills are paid, making sure we’re all in counseling, making sure we’re saying I love you and backing it up with our actions, making sure everyone feels safe and secure, making sure there is laughter and lightness, making sure my kids get to be kids and that they have a healthy mom and a safe dad.

But with the vacation decision, I got to see a glimpse of what healthy marriages do. I got to feel what it was like to not carry everything on your own, to rely on your spouse to also make wise and thought-out decisions, and to trust them. I got to see what shouldering a burden equally looks like.

It feels lighter when you do that.

It looks like communication and health when you do that.

It was, perhaps, the first time I got excited for what’s to come. I got a hint at what a healthy, balanced relationship can look like, and I got hopeful for the future.

We went to New Orleans for spring break, and it was good.

If you follow me on Instagram (@themarygraham), you know that our trip was full of amazing sights, delicious food, and quiet rest. I had lots of questions about where we stayed and where we went, so below are the details if you’re interested in camping near New Orleans in the most luxurious campground you’ve ever been to and eating delicious food with your family.

-On the drive down, we stayed in Cave City, Kentucky for the night. We had planned to boondock (just pull in somewhere, like a Wal-mart, to sleep without unhooking or plugging in), but we didn’t make it far enough south to get to warm weather so we had to pay for a spot and turn on the heat. So we camped at Yogi Bear’s Jellystone Park at Mammoth Cave and spent time at Dinosaur World the next morning before getting back on the road. The girls (and Blue, because it’s dog friendly) loved Dinosaur World. I don’t think we’ll do another Dinosaur World because once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, but it was a fun one-time spot. (We’ve camped near here before when visiting Mammoth Cave and also highly recommend the KOA at Horse Cave. We stayed there over the Memorial Day weekend a few years ago, and the place was clean, had cute animals on a small farm, and put on a great fireworks show.)

-We stayed at the amazing Reunion Lake RV Resort in Ponchatoula, Louisiana for the majority of our trip. It looks good online, almost too good to be true. But when we pulled in, I realized it was even better in person. We stayed in a spot overlooking the lake (site 159, to be exact) and only a stroll away from the lazy river, swim-up bar, adult pool and hot tub, and the family pool. Oh, and also near the mini-golf course, playground, and the basketball courts. The last two days of our stay were spent watching them build a huge water attraction/obstacle course in the lake near us. We had amazing 80 degree weather most days, but their busy season starts April 1st and I can just imagine how busy and exciting this place is in the summer. If you have a camper, put this place on your list. There’s also a restaurant, game room, bar, and a Sonic Drive-Thru at the entrance. You could park your rig here and not need to leave all week.

-From Reunion Resort, you’re within a 10-15 minute drive to tons of great local places to eat. Two we tried and really loved were Our Mom’s Restaurant & Bar in nearby Hammond (spend an evening walking around their main street) and Habanero’s in Covington (their homemade chips and salsa plus the bacon-wrapped BBQ shrimp tacos were a hit).

-One afternoon we ventured to Kliebert’s Turtle and Alligator Farm and had an unforgettable experience. Their website claims the farm was established in 1957 by the original “Swamp People” and I would one-million percent vouch for this claim. Guys, I want you to visit this place, because it will be memorable, but also it will scar you a little? I don’t even know how to explain it. The girls got to sit on lots of animals, even ones we probably shouldn’t have. Our guide (who until a few weeks ago, was a waitress at a local restaurant) WRESTLED an alligator in bare feet so she could tape his mouth shut so we could all pet and sit on him. It made me so nervous and I did have a little mental breakdown while trying to be adventurous, but you only get to see that madness if you follow me on Instagram. I get sweaty and giggle/cry if I think about it too much. But seriously, visit this place and then tell your friends. It’s the weirdest experience ever and I don’t want you to miss it.

-Between the two of us, Chris and I have been to New Orleans six or seven times so we didn’t do much of the typical Canal Street or neighboring areas visits. We didn’t have the desire and kids probably shouldn’t go there. But we did visit Jackson Square, shop at the French Market, watch beignets being made at Cafe du Monde (and eat at Cafe du Monde…), and enjoy gumbo, jambalaya, and red beans and rice at the Gumbo Shop. If you’ve got a Jr. Ranger badge collector, there are a few National Park places to explore near the water as well as a children’s museum and aquarium.

-We had planned to spend one last day in New Orleans before heading home, but a pretty wicked storm rolled in and so we packed up early and headed north. We had dinner in Bessemer, Alabama, at the delicious Bob Sykes B-B-Q and ended the night in Huntsville, Alabama, where we slept in a Wal-Mart parking lot (it’s where all the cool people camp, FYI…) then walked into the U.S. Space & Rocket Center the minute it opened the next morning. This is where they hold space camp, and since it was spring break, we braced ourselves for tons of kids and field trips, but apparently if you go right when it opens, the place is empty and we got to do everything we wanted with no waiting. By 11:00 things were getting crowded and lines were getting insane. We stayed until lunchtime and then hit the road home. You could easily spend a full day (or more) there, but it was at the end of our trip, we were getting tired, and ready to be home. But if you’re near Huntsville, definitely visit the Space & Rocket Center.

Meet the Grahams: The Enneagram in Our Marriage

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When we started dating, I described Chris Graham to my friends as quiet and confident. He didn’t care what others thought and he was easy to get along with.

Thirteen years later, I sat in my therapist’s office with this new knowledge of Chris’ Enneagram number, the pain he was finally addressing in rehab, and the devastation of our lives with the realization that none of the confidence or self-esteem I saw was real. It was a mask then, and it was a mask now.

In actuality, when we started dating, Chris Graham was a wounded and lost kid who no one paid attention to. His parents were wrapped up in their own pain and unhealthy habits so no one was telling this incredibly smart boy to go back to college and get an education. No one was telling him the house he was buying wasn’t a good financial move or that he was paying too much. No parent was parenting him. No one was telling him he was loved or helping him recover from the chaos he had lived in for so long. No one was healthy enough to care for him. He had been ignored growing up in a house of addiction and enabling/co-dependency, the oldest child who was taught to be quiet, tiptoe lightly through life, and stay hidden because it was safer that way.

And here comes Mary Ritter: loud, opinionated, confident, sure, dependable, and doing every single thing she says she will. Things foreign to Chris’ world.

“You understand that because of his childhood, your dependability, routine, and stable nature was attractive to him, right?” my counselor asked, “How does that sit with you?”

Answer: not well.

Without making this post 10,000 words long, a lot of my Eight-ness and disgust from indecision comes from seeing influential people in my life unable to make strong decisions and stick with them. I see things in black and white (to a fault) because I witnessed so much waffling growing up.

And those wounds from childhood led me, in some way, to marry a waffler. Coming to terms with this knowledge has been hard.

Enneagram experts go back and forth on how our numbers come about, but most agree we’re made with these God-given tendencies (literally mirroring attributes of God), and then we have defining childhood experiences that force us to develop coping mechanisms to survive. All of us have these defining moments, it’s just how life and sin work. Once we become adults, if we’re self-aware and healthy enough, we begin to look at the survival skills we learned in childhood and we reevaluate them. The skills we needed to get through childhood are, more than likely, now doing us a disservice as adults. This theory is echoed in all the Enneagram books I’ve read as well as with most therapists and counselors. I’ve heard it from mainstream therapist Esther Perel on her podcast, and I’ve heard it from my own Christian counselor.

In The Road Back to You, Cron and Stabile write “A common story from Eights is that something happened in their formative years that required them to prematurely abandon their childlike innocence in order to take responsibility for their own lives and often the lives of others.” 

In very different ways, Chris and I grew up feeling out of control. He reacted by hiding. I reacted by taking charge. And here we are, thirty-somethings still living those roles. Chris hides. I control.

If we wanted to heal our marriage, if we wanted to bring balance to our relationship and live more in tune with the way God created this thing to be, I had to tone down the control and Chris had to stop hiding.

Easier said than done, friends. Easier said than done.

For the Grahams, we get the added element of addiction. The more Chris disengaged, the harder I worked. I would like to say I was aware of what was going on, but I wasn’t. I’m used to picking up the slack everywhere I go, not because I necessarily want to be in charge of everything, but because I can’t let things go undone.

To begin restoring balance (I use the word “restore” loosely here, I feel it implies there was originally balance and there was not), two very specific things have started to happen in the Graham house.

One: I’ve had to learn how to shut up. Literally, stop talking. Not in a silent treatment sort of way, but in a way that allows space and time for Chris to determine how he feels or what he thinks before I tell him my opinions. Nines want to please you. Nines want to agree with you to avoid conflict. Chris’ Nine-ness wants to please me and keep the peace at the expense of actually acknowledging or voicing his own wants, needs, and thoughts. Keeping my mouth shut is the opposite of my Eight nature. I am not just opinionated, but quick with my opinions. I don’t have to mull things over, I know what I think immediately. Chris Graham needs 3-155 days to determine what he thinks.

This drives me crazy. But it is not going to change so I have to instead.

Realizing this, I’ve started introducing a question, hard topic, or a concern to Chris by saying here’s a heads up, we’re going to talk about this tomorrow so he can start thinking about it now. This doesn’t always work, but it has given him time to begin to decide what he thinks so he can not just accept my thoughts as his own and move on. He has his own thoughts and opinions, and we know keeping them inside will result in damage to him and those around him.

We need both of our opinions for this marriage to run better. We need both of our hearts to be better parents. We need both of our ideas to come up with the better plan.

I don’t and can’t do this well on my own.

So I am learning to be quiet. This is LITERALLY killing me so if you see me sitting in my car crying, it’s because I held a thought or opinion inside and I’m trying to recover from the effort it took. Also, when I go to my counseling appointments, I have a list of things I wish I could scream at Chris, but I don’t because it’s not helpful or beneficial so my poor therapist gets them.

I apologize afterwards, but damn it, it’s hard. (Side note: Counseling, in more ways than I can describe, is saving our marriage and saving me right now. On levels I won’t ever be able to write about and in ways I can’t find words for. The idea we can be healthy on our own is so preposterous to me I’m not sure why every single person isn’t in therapy at this point.)

Sometimes Chris makes choices about the girls, and I don’t think it’s the right choice. But he’s making a choice without coming to me first (which used to annoy the shite out of me), and he’s deciding something on his own as a parent and human, which means I have to accept it and not override it. The girls aren’t used to this and neither am I.

We’re all living in this discomfort that leads to positive change. It’s hard and good.

The second thing happening right now is I’m paying attention to punctuation. Weird, right? OF COURSE, the English teacher would bring a writing lesson into this post. Gag. But here’s what I mean: Eights often end their sentences with exclamation points! Everything is high energy! Everything is a demand! Everything is the greatest idea they’ve ever heard! Nines end their sentences with question marks. I think this is what I want? I feel this way? I want that? I believe this? That is good?

So we’re working on Chris making bolder statements, using exclamation points with abandon. In the past, Chris would respond to everything with “sure.” It was, like I explained yesterday, a non-committal way of agreeing and disagreeing with something without causing a conflict. I refuse to accept “sure” now. He has to say yes or no. He’s in charge of himself and what he wants/thinks/believes, but he has to pick a side. Don’t want to do that? Say no. Don’t agree with the decision I’m making? Speak up.

For me, I’m trying to speak slower and with a few more question marks. As my kids have grown, I’ve had to ask myself a million times what’s worth fighting over and what is not. Mismatched clothes to church? Not worth a fight. Long fingernails to school? Worth a wrestling match. Picking out a weird birthday present for their friend? Not worth the breath to contest it. Only half-washing your butt in the bath? Totally worth the redo.

I have started asking myself what’s worth the fight in our marriage too. It is different because while my kids will spar with me and stand their ground (GOOD JOB, GIRLS), my husband won’t. So sometimes that means not making a decision so he is forced to.

You need to decide where we’re going for dinner.

Pack the girls lunches; I don’t know what’s in the fridge, figure it out.

You live here too, what do you need to work on this weekend to make sure we’re not living in filth. Use your eyes. I’m not giving you a to-do list.

And if something isn’t done right, Chris deals with the aftermath and consequences, I don’t swoop in to make things right. Made a mistake? Fix it. Learn from it. That’s how life works.

Less Mary Graham control and more Chris Graham control.

One great thing about my counselor is she’s able to step back and see change or growth in a way I can’t for myself. There is no before or after picture for mental health. There is no standardized test married couples can take so you can chart improvements and setback. Things are less concrete and harder to notice.

When you’re working to change patterns and thought processes you’ve lived in and with for years, you are literally rewiring your brain. You are establishing new pathways and consciously picking less easier ways to handle something. It’s like that for addicts working to break addiction, and it’s like that for people learning new coping mechanisms. The old ways don’t work and the new ways will, but it’s going to hurt for a while.

Learned behaviors from childhood are hard to unlearn. Marriage patterns established years ago are hard to re-train. But that’s EXACTLY what you have to do if you want change. No one gets to change a marriage and also stay the same inside. No one gets to unlearn wrong coping mechanisms while also keeping them in their back pocket.

Sometimes I feel like we’re not making progress. Chris will do something I connect with his drinking and it will act as a trigger for me. I will get angry and he will shut down.

I feel like this will never get better, and Chris mirrors my opinions.

And then we’re back to the old Graham marriage, the one that felt hollow and sad. The one I wanted to end. The one Chris drank to get away from.

But then my counselor steps in and says, here is where you were and here is where you are now. You are healthier, Chris is healthier, and this takes time. Stop expecting things to suddenly be better without the hard, painful work.

Creating new rhythms and pathways is exhausting. Actually exhausting. Not just for us, but for anyone fighting their old self to become better. Change is hard. Healing a marriage is hard. Staying sober and feeling things is hard. Not responding to everything with anger is hard.

But we’re choosing hard now in hopes of health down the road. And while I can’t see healthy yet, I can feel moments of it, and it’s just enough to keep going.

 

[Want to read more about Mary the Eight or Chris the Nine? Click either number for an introduction to us.]

Books I’ve referenced in this post & I highly recommend you read if you’re intrigued by the Enneagram:
The Road Back to You: An Enneagram Journey to Self-Discovery by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile
The Sacred Enneagram: Finding Your Unique Path to Spiritual Growth by Christopher L. Heuertz (I just skimmed this for the post and haven’t read the whole thing yet.)
The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective by Richard Rohr and Andreas Ebert
Principles of the Enneagram by Karen Webb

DISCLOSURE: AFFILIATE LINKS USED
PHOTO CREDIT: HUFF PHOTOGRAPHY

MAKE SURE YOU SUBSCRIBE TO MY EMAILS! USE THE POPUP WINDOW OR THE BAR AT THE TOP OF YOUR SCREEN TO GET MONTHLY BOOK REVIEWS, GIVEAWAYS, AND MORE STRAIGHT TO YOUR INBOX. PLUS, NEVER MISS A POST AGAIN!

Meet the Grahams: Chris the Nine

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If you remember yesterday I told you about my defiant microwave conversations, I would like to start with that again. Except this time, it’s my husband and the microwave.

(I hope I get lots of Google traffic from that SEO phrase “my husband and the microwave,” it sounds so dirty and exciting.)

As the microwave beeps its announcement that it’s done heating the food, the screen flashes, “Your food is ready.” What Chris whispers under his breath is: If that’s what you think is best, microwave in a pleasant and accommodating tone.

I’m married to a Nine on the Enneagram.

“Nines are peacemakers. Their gift of accepting others without prejudice makes people feel understood and accepted. Nines can be unbiased arbitrators, because they can see and appreciate the positive aspects of both sides. Their sense of fairness may make them committed fighters for peace and justice. They express harsh truths calmly and so matter-of-factly that it’s easy for others to ‘swallow’ these truths. In the presence of a Nine, many people find it easy to come to rest themselves. In radical contrast to this, Nines often feel inwardly lashed by fears and restlessness, even when no one notices.” –The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective by Richard Roho and Andreas Ebert

“The Nine observes all that is and, rather than getting sucked into the drama, essentially opts out, witnessing the world without much compulsion to participate in it. Nines withdraw in order to protect their need for autonomy. Their withdrawal may be disguised by their capacity to negotiate and mediate the lives of everyone around them. On one hand, this keeps them from engaging in their own inner life; on the other hand, they are able to lower the energy of their environment by calming everyone down and chilling everything out … Nines are calm, cool, and collected. They are by nature understanding and make excellent arbitrators, mediators, and referees because they have an innate ability to understand almost every perspective. Because of this profound capacity to understand others, it’s hard for them to take a position or hold an opinion, especially if it’s contrary to that of their partner or community.” –The Sacred Enneagram by Christopher L. Heuertz

Nines are known as “peacemakers” or titled “The Need to Avoid” by Roho and Ebert. Karen Webb in Principles of the Ennegram calls Nines “Mediators.” Nines are easy-going, self-effacing, reassuring, agreeable, and complacent. Nines can fit in anywhere because they take on the feelings and opinions of those they’re around. The downfall is they do not have a strong sense of their own identity.

Nines:
-Are usually able to see multiple points of view, making it harder to know and choose where to stand.
-Get easily distracted and daunted by the prospect of focusing single-mindedly on the task right in front of them.
-Often choose the easiest way out of a problem, especially if it avoids potential conflict or an argument.
-Employ passive-aggressive tendencies when people are too demanding (like “forgetting” about commitments they agreed to but didn’t actually want to do, or falling asleep to avoid attending to reality).
-See other people’s opinions as carrying more weight than their own.
-Are seen by other people as easygoing and free of worry, even if that’s not true of how they feel inside.
-Find it hard to prioritize and accomplish the things they’re supposed to do in a given day.

Most people who meet Chris Graham describe him as laid-back, easy to talk to, calm, or good at flying under the radar. He is supportive, accommodating, and good at mediating disagreements between our daughters and not getting wrapped up in the arguing.

His favorite response to a question or request is “sure.”

Nothing, absolutely nothing, annoys me more than sure. Sure is not a commitment. Sure is not an answer. Sure is not a solution. It’s a brush-off. It’s a non-decision.

I imagine one day when I finally snap and kill him, his headstone will list his final word as “sure.”

Cron and Stabile write: “If Eights are too in touch with their gut instincts and overexpress their anger, Nines are out of touch with their gut and underexpress their anger. Nines are out of touch with the good side of anger, the part that inspires, drives change, moves things along and gives them courage to stand up for themselves. When you’re unplugged from this side of anger, you become lethargic and dreamy. This failure to risk fully engaging with life stems in part from the Nines’ need to avoid conflict at all costs.”

As Chris began sharing things he had held inside for a long time, it became apparent really quickly that he had, more often than not, been living in a fantasy world lacking any reality. Part of this is addict behavior of rationalization and denial, but part of it was just his personality. He lived so much in his head that no one was around to point out how far he had wandered from reality.

Often when we would talk on the phone when he was in rehab, he would make a comment or observation and I would have no idea what he was talking about. It was like we were living two lives through two very different lenses. He romanticizes everything to the point of glossing over anything hard or negative and I live in a very black and white world where not much is fluffy and soft. I was aware of my viewpoint. Chris, until recently, was not self-aware enough to understand his warped way of seeing things.

Nines often grew up feeling their presence or their priorities didn’t matter much to others. They had early life experiences teach them the life skill of not rocking the boat or calling attention to themselves. (I would guess, and this isn’t from any specific book I read, just a connection I’m making between this learned coping skill and children of alcoholics, but I would guess there is probably a large segment of Nines who grew up in houses with alcoholics, addicts, and the co-dependent spouse or partner that cared for them.)

Reality is hard for Nines. Their need to avoid conflict and postpone decision-making as well as their inability to know where to start an ever-growing list of tasks and to-dos leads Nines to develop unhealthy coping mechanisms. Nines are highly likely to turn to food, shopping, sex, drinking, exercise, television, etc. to numb and ignore feelings.

Enneagram Nines are exhausted by the world. People-pleasing and avoiding discomfort are exhausting fronts to keep up. Nines are known to doze off if they take a break from a task.

Learning Nines are literally exhausted by their world makes so much sense to me. Since we’ve been married, I’ve been shocked at the amount of sleep Chris Graham requires. He would sleep 12 hours a night if he could. But there is also a deeper level to it than just being tired from the world. For Chris, staying up late at night by himself and then sleeping away the morning is a great way to not engage with your life. Being awake when the rest of the house is sleeping and asleep when the rest of the house is awake is called avoidance.

“Nines are loaded with unresolved anger, but they’re afraid the experience of letting it out will prove too overwhelming, so they fall asleep to it.”

The night we dropped Chris off at the detox facility, we spent a lot of time filling out paperwork. He was still drunk and not exactly excited to be there so I filled out as much as I could and left him with the self-evaluation forms I couldn’t complete. One of the questions asked if he wanted to harm himself. He checked no. The next question asked if he ever lost control of his anger and he checked yes.

I had NO IDEA what he was talking about. I had rarely seen Chris mad. That was my first inkling that maybe there were some things going on inside him he wasn’t letting other people see.

And if I hadn’t been so mad that night in the hospital lobby, it might have broken my heart.

That came later though.

Tomorrow: what all this means for our marriage.

 

Books I’ve referenced in this post & I highly recommend you read if you’re intrigued by the Enneagram:
The Road Back to You: An Enneagram Journey to Self-Discovery by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile
The Sacred Enneagram: Finding Your Unique Path to Spiritual Growth by Christopher L. Heuertz (I just skimmed this for the post and haven’t read the whole thing yet.)
The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective by Richard Rohr and Andreas Ebert
Principles of the Enneagram by Karen Webb

DISCLOSURE: AFFILIATE LINKS USED
PHOTO CREDIT: HUFF PHOTOGRAPHY

MAKE SURE YOU SUBSCRIBE TO MY EMAILS! USE THE POPUP WINDOW OR THE BAR AT THE TOP OF YOUR SCREEN TO GET MONTHLY BOOK REVIEWS, GIVEAWAYS, AND MORE STRAIGHT TO YOUR INBOX. PLUS, NEVER MISS A POST AGAIN!

Meet the Grahams: Mary the Eight

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When our microwave is done heating something, it beeps, and then the screen reads “Your food is ready.”

Every time it says that, I whisper to myself, I’ll tell you when my food is ready in a defiant tone.

That irrational exchange with a household appliance would sum up what being an Eight on the Enneagram is like. I hate being bossed around, even by a microwave.

I love studying the Enneagram. I love seeing parts of myself on paper and being known. I love processing through why I do what I do and figuring out how to do it better. I enjoy learning how so many of my God-given personality traits can help or harm me and those around me, and then working harder on being a help rather than a danger to others. I love learning about how other people, who are made differently than me, think and feel and operate because it makes me more understanding and more compassionate. I like being called out on the crap and then figuring out how to do life better.

Self-reflection and correction is hard no matter what number you are, but if our goal is to love others well for Jesus, we first need to know and love ourselves. If we haven’t figured out how to love ourselves, loving others doesn’t work out too great. (You know that’s the goal, right? Loving others well for Jesus? Notice I didn’t say condone everything everyone does. We are called to love everyone. There’s a difference and with Jesus you can do the loving well even while not liking someone’s actions or choices. Keep that in mind, ye lovers of the Lord.)

Just like any personality system or study of character traits, there are very few who fit every single characteristic of a type. But the more I study the Enneagram, the more I realize it seems to be pretty close. With that said, let me tell you about Eights. (I could also write that sentence as “With that said, let me tell you about Mary Graham…”)

“Eights impress us as strong and mighty; they are capable of imparting a feeling of strength to others as well. They have a second sense for justice and truth. They instinctively know where something “stinks,” whenever injustice or dishonesty is at work. Eights address such situations openly and directly. They can be a rock of reliability for others and develop a tremendous sense of responsibility and solicitude. When they commit themselves to a cause, they bring enormous energies to bear on it. The word of an Eight can be trusted.” –The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective by Richard Rohr and Andreas Ebert

“…The Eights exemplifies the fundamental need to be against. Eights are against everything. Even when they agree, they’ll find a way to turn anything into combat or sparring. This is how Eights build trust-through pushing and fighting. It’s their attempt to size up the trustworthiness of others, an unconscious way to determine if people will stand up to them by standing up for themselves.” –The Sacred Enneagram by Christopher L. Heuertz

Depending on the book you read, Eights have different names. The Road Back to You calls Eights “The Challenger.” Rohr and Ebert refer to Eights as “The Need to Be Against.” Karen Webb, author of Principles of the Enneagram, calls Eights “Protectors.”

Eights:
-Feel comfortable taking charge in a group.
-Are known for their ability and willingness to take a stand.
-Get annoyed when other people are indirect or manipulative, or can’t seem to state what they really mean or want.
-Sometimes intimidate people by their tendency to bring conflict out into the open or by their aggressive nature.
-Tend to value being respected more than being liked.
-Find it difficult to trust people.

If you’ve been a reader here for any length of time, you can probably confirm most of that list by going back to previous posts I’ve shared. A lot of those traits set me up well to be a writer on the big, scary internet too. I openly talk about conflict, take a stand for what I feel is right, and don’t really care if people like me. All things that lend themselves well to sharing on the world wide web.


My Intelligence Center is based in the gut (as opposed to the brain or the heart). I trust my gut or my instinct when making choices. I physically feel emotions and stress and happiness as a part of me. This would explain why marriage struggles or disagreements with friends can make me physically ill. At the height of Chris’ drinking before he went to rehab, I couldn’t eat food due to stress. I was surviving on coffee and the thought of food made me ill. I have a strong visceral reaction to things. When I’m living as a healthy Eight, I can harness this gut instinct to build a better world. When I’m living as an unhealthy, everything annoys me and I hate everyone.

Eights are driven by fear and most likely need to practice patience. (Dumb. I don’t have time for that.)

Eights don’t welcome or enjoy self-reflection. I would say this is a character description that doesn’t fit me well. I enjoy reflection. A lot of what I write here is reflective. When you go to school to become a teacher, you’re taught often about self-reflection and self-evaluation. So I started learning at eighteen how to critically look back and grow from it. I do that in my writing and personal life regularly. Cron and Stabile write “Tender, soft feelings are more apt to arise when an Eight powers down–and moving targets are harder to hit than those that are still.”

Eights don’t like to show weakness or vulnerability. That does make sense when I write; I’m often reminding you I’m only sharing the parts I want to and leaving out others. I tell you this is the edited version of a story, and I wonder if, unconsciously, I’m leaving out the parts that would make me look weak. I’m still processing through idea because I can look back at my writing and tell you things I’ve shared that made me feel weak and scared to share, but I can see other times where I could have shared more of my weakness too.

The last Eight thing I need to share before we move forward is how male Eights and female Eights are perceived differently in our world. Seeing this information in print made me cry; it made so many pieces of my work life, dating life, and childhood fall into place.

Male Eights are worshipped. They are valued in corporate America, and “their commanding presence and boundless energy instills confidence in others, and people follow them.”

Female Eights, on the other hand, are considered too much: too commanding, too loud, too intimidating. Our culture tells them to quiet down, not be leaders, to know their place.

A man who takes charge, stands up for what is right, refuses to take crap from others, and gets the job done is called a leader. A woman who does those exact same things is called a bitch.

There are two strong reactions to encountering female Eights. Those who are self-assured and confident see the power and energy that comes with having a female Eight on their team. People who are easily threatened and insecure, immediately set out to destroy and fight against female Eights.

I think about my last teaching job and the three principals I had during that time. A strong female who showed me how to do my job better and used my strengths to help others. A strong male leader who recognized my worth and put me in a place to influence and encourage others. And my last boss who was insecure, immature, and unsure of everything he did. My last three years at that job were miserable. He treated me unfairly, made sure to quiet me any chance he got, and actively sought to remove me from every job of authority I had.

Understanding that my characteristics are God-given just as much as my male counterparts made me feel validated but also angry. The world has constantly told me I am less feminine or too much because of my personality traits; God has not. I was created to be exactly who I am. Can I (or anyone else) be a healthy or unhealthy version of who God created them to be? Absolutely. But my leadership qualities aren’t wrong or only reserved for the opposite sex. And that my culture, my church, and my world has whispered those things to me my whole life just pisses me off.

At this point, you’re probably like, This is interesting, Mary Graham, but what’s the point? GOOD QUESTION.

I’ve touched on this before, but immersing myself in studying the Enneagram just at the time Chris was spending months in rehab for alcoholism was, I know, not a coincidence. Once I saw myself on paper so well, I started to read about who I was married to. And that, on the road to healing our marriage, has been life-changing.

Tomorrow I want you to meet Chris Graham and then on Thursday, I’ll tell you what it means for our marriage. If you can’t wait until tomorrow for a glimpse at Chris, just go ahead and read this whole post again, except for every sentence on Eights, IMAGINE THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE.

I know. What the hell?

Books I’ve referenced in this post & I highly recommend you read if you’re intrigued by the Enneagram:
The Road Back to You: An Enneagram Journey to Self-Discovery by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile
The Sacred Enneagram: Finding Your Unique Path to Spiritual Growth by Christopher L. Heuertz (I just skimmed this for the post and haven’t read the whole thing yet.)
The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective by Richard Rohr and Andreas Ebert
Principles of the Enneagram by Karen Webb

DISCLOSURE: AFFILIATE LINKS USED
PHOTO CREDIT: HUFF PHOTOGRAPHY

MAKE SURE YOU SUBSCRIBE TO MY EMAILS! USE THE POPUP WINDOW OR THE BAR AT THE TOP OF YOUR SCREEN TO GET MONTHLY BOOK REVIEWS, GIVEAWAYS, AND MORE STRAIGHT TO YOUR INBOX. PLUS, NEVER MISS A POST AGAIN!

numbers

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248
The days I’ve lived in the shock and reality that I’m married to an alcoholic.

135
135 mornings since I walked downstairs at 6:20 after a night of wrestling with the Holy Spirit’s promptings in a way I still don’t have words to explain and found empty beer cans in my supposed-to-be-sober husband’s work truck. I packed his bags for him and demanded he leave our house.

8
The 8th of September, the day I removed my wedding rings with every intention of not putting them back on. Every thing was broken. Every single thing.

3 + 1
The teeth Harper lost and the soccer season she completed while Chris was gone, physically and mentally.

911
The number my friend Adam called as we stood in the Burger King parking lot on September 27th with a drunk, broken Chris Graham. That night he, against his will, entered a detox facility.

3
The number of times I made appointments with a divorce attorney to begin the process of legally ending my marriage to my husband.

3
The number of times sudden, out-of-my-control things happened which forced me to reschedule or cancel my divorce attorney appointments.

11
Eleven years of marriage in October. I marked the day by driving in a car with my parents and daughters through the mountains as we headed home from vacation. Around 6:30 in the evening, as the sun was fading, I sped down the highway and listened to the song my bridal party walked down the aisle to. It didn’t make me cry, it felt okay. I had peace about what was happening.

2
The number of dead animals I’ve had to take care of as I live here in the country with just my two girls. By “take care of” I mean, I had my 60-something year old aunt scoop one up and throw it in the field. Another one I just mowed around until animals took over. I just really wanted to tell you about the dead animals. I actually did nothing brave.

7
Months I’ve been in counseling; it seems like the work has just begun.

12,000
Hey Mary, Doug here. I wanted you to know we are just returning from India (at Heathrow Airport right now) and I asked Ajai and Indu to put you and Chris on their prayer chain. It is not too big, only 12,000 people who fast and pray around the clock. They are on-their-bellies, pleading-with-God kind of prayer warriors, and it puts me to shame, but what else is new…All they have is your first names, but I figure God has the rest covered. 

30
Chris spent thirty days in intensive, in-patient treatment for alcohol addiction.

4
I visited Chris four Saturdays while in the treatment center. I spent an hour in family group where we learned about the disease of addiction, co-dependency, and life after addiction. I sat with parents who were on their seventh or eighth round of rehab with a child. I sat with spouses who felt hopeless about their situations. I sat with siblings who brought addicts’ children to visiting hours. I sat with alcoholics. I sat with hopeful families and families who were just going through the motions. I sat next to empty chairs because some families were done with this bullshit.

3.5
Hours on November 3rd for Chris to check out of the treatment center, come home, pack his bags, and check back into their transitional housing program. It was just the beginning of the help he needed.

4
Four times I’ve received letters or phone calls notifying me that our insurance is dropping Chris’ level of care. Insurance, much like alcohol, sounds good at the beginning, but just when you need it the most, it lets you down, ruins your plans, makes you feel overwhelmed and helpless.

5
Five months after it was due, my teaching bonus from last year came in the mail. Perfectly timed. Right when we needed it the most. Just like every other single time.

56
Days without wearing my wedding ring. Chris asked shyly, humbly, cautiously if I’d wear it again because he wanted to keep the promises he made the day he slipped it on my finger. He said everything was broken but he wanted to start again. I said yes.

50
Transitional housing days. Days for Chris to continue therapy, continue learning, continue starting again. He practiced going to a job sober, working a job sober, driving home from a job sober. He made friends, played with his kids, saw fellow treatment patients relapse. He established some boundaries, stood up for himself, said goodbye to some triggers. Fifty days of acknowledging the depression, the anxiety, the lack of coping skills. Fifty days realizing that there was help, he was not beyond it, and he wanted it.

14
Chris has been home fourteen days. He came home without fanfare on December 22nd, in the middle of the day, while I was teaching. He sat down at the table with the girls, opened science kits, and began sewing internal organs with Harper. He sewed a brain. He stitched together a heart.

26.80
The amount on the Cheddars gift card a friend sent. She said take the girls to lunch or treat a friend. I used it to go on a first date with my husband. It felt scary and weird. We sat at a table, and I began to get to know my spouse.

1
Christmas season together I assumed would never happen. When Chris left, my first worry was what Christmas would look like. There were many other things I should have worried about first, but Christmas was my first thought. We celebrated Christmas, probably the best Christmas, together as a family.

99
Chris hasn’t had a drink in 99 days.

2018
The year of beginning again, one moment at a time, listening, progress not perfection, redeeming, and learning.

I’m not an enabler, you’re an enabler.

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What’s unfortunate about counseling is I went in because my husband was an asshole, and then suddenly my therapist is like, okay, let’s talk about you.

I’m sorry, what? We’re here because my husband has issues. Let me repeat them for you again…

She was pretty insistent we needed to address some of my tendencies and my past, and I was pretty insistent I needed a new counselor.

But here we are.

Some common things that immediately come up when you begin to address addiction issues (any addiction issues) are co-dependency and enabling. Hearing those words was hard for me but not in the typical ways. They didn’t fit my story the way they would fit a normal addict relationship.

I am not co-dependent.

I am not an enabler.

My personality, my Enneagram type, my birth order, and a million other ways to quantify who I am would tell you my natural inclination is not co-dependency or enabling.

But.

But what if your husband has a secret drinking problem? Could you be enabling him in ways you’re unaware of because you don’t have the whole picture?

Oh. Oh, yes.

That realization was hard. I had to sit with it for a while before I could even acknowledge what had been happening. I would never intentionally accept a life that was less than what I deserve so consciously allowing, helping, or setting Chris up to continue to be a functioning alcoholic would never have happened (hence the hiding and the lying; he ain’t no fool). But slowly over time, as Chris became less and less dependable and more and more withdrawn, I took on more responsibilities and family roles.

Chris can’t remember to take the trash out on Monday nights? I’ll do it and stop complaining about it.

Chris doesn’t ever look at our family calendar and see what’s going on that night or week? I’ll text him reminders.

Chris never notices house/yard work or general maintenance that needs to be done? I’ll help him remember to mow the grass or change the oil in the car.

I know some of you are reading those things and saying you do that with your spouse too. I would say the difference in helping your spouse and being a team versus how I was living with Chris is that he did nothing without being told. He was another child for me to care for. I was in charge of everything and he went where he was told but never shouldered any adult responsibility or burden. I carried all the weight and he came along for the ride. There was a disproportionate distribution of responsibilities in our marriage. I carried 95% and Chris did 5% when he got around to it.

That’s not a marriage. It happened slowly over time, though. We didn’t start out like this, but we did end up there.

It’s like the story of the frog in boiling water (which isn’t scientifically accurate, but whatever). Over time, as you increase the water temperature in the pot, it’s so subtle the frog doesn’t realize he’s being boiled alive.

I was being boiled alive, and I didn’t even notice.

Our family functioned well, because I made sure we did. Chris couldn’t function well so I took away his responsibilities instead of continuing to watch him flounder and fail.

That, my friends, is enabling.

Damn it.

Counseling is hard. I wasn’t there to look in a mirror, I was there to figure out how to handle being married to or divorced from an addict-alcoholic. Let’s not make this about me, please and thank you.

Other uncomfortable questions my intrusive therapist asked me that I wanted to ignore:

If Chris was so damaged and broken before meeting you, what attracted you to that brokenness? What past experiences let you ignore or not see these signs?

How does co-dependency relate to your family experiences?

What holes do you have that Chris fills in unhealthy ways?

What parent has wounded you the most, and how are you trying to recreate that experience now for a better outcome? (Side note: I hesitated to share that one because I didn’t want to hurt my parents, but the uncomfortable truth is we are all wounded, in some way, by our parents. And we are all, in some way, wounding our own kids. Welcome to our broken world. The theory, according to my really smart counselor is those traumatic childhood experiences that scarred us have left such an imprint that our brain–years later–will still try to recreate the experience in new ways so the outcome can change. Our brain is literally trying to heal us from bad experiences by altering the outcome or giving us a new ending. We do this subconsciously.)

Why does control give you the illusion of safety? How does routine damage instead of help?

How do you heal with or without your husband?

And many, many more. Counseling is horribly revealing and uncomfortable.

Between checking him out of the hospital he detoxed at and admitting Chris to his long-term addiction care facility, we had twenty-four hours to keep him safe. And by “we,” I mean “me.” I didn’t want him to come home and my hatred for him was still very, very present, but there also wasn’t anywhere else for him to go and he couldn’t be left alone.

So I got to babysit Chris. He was still sick, still delusional, still in denial, still saying dumb things that made me want to murder him, but here he was, at our house, needing care and compassion before we said goodbye and good luck.

While home, he asked about my counseling. Why I was going, what I was sharing, what was going on there. He seemed to think I was sitting around talking about him. In the beginning, I was. The first few sessions were me verbally throwing up all over this lady I had just met and expecting her to tell me some answers to a few questions I had so I could move on. I wanted my counselor to validate all the choices I was making and help me comprehend the situation I was dealing with.

But then after a few sessions, it became less about Chris’ actions and more about mine. That’s when the hard work began, and I wanted to stop it.

Reminder about my personality types: Enneagram type 8, INTJ, oldest child, and very, very stubborn which leads me to not quitting therapy even though it would be a lot easier that way.

So I explained that to Chris. I said your actions sent me to counseling, but my actions kept me there. I said your hurt drove me to my first appointment, but a life of hurts keeps driving me back.

He found comfort in that knowledge.

Let me end with this: Getting help is not weakness or blame. It’s brave and humbling and hard and worth every moment. Also, if you have a spouse, friend, or family member who says they want/need some therapy help, please don’t take it personally. It’s not a reflection of you or your marriage if someone says they want to talk to a professional. It’s not embarrassing, it’s not punishment, and it’s not wrong. Plus, there’s a really good chance, they’re going to be looking at a mirror during their appointment instead of at you anyway.

Humans are fun, because we believe everyone else thinks about us as much as we think about ourselves. That doesn’t make sense, but it’s what we do. We’re all ridiculous, guys, might as well say it out loud to a counselor and then get comfy in it. It’s an odd little bit of freedom in a broken world.

This week my therapist encouraged me to let my kids watch more television. I was expressing some anger at my current situation of months of being a single parent and how tired I was. She said I needed to allow myself a break and just turn the TV on occasionally.

I resisted this because TV steals your soul. We moved to the country so my kids could play with sticks and dirt. I don’t like TV.

But she said I could argue about this or I could do something that would give me a break and make me feel less angry about being needed all the time.

Huh.

So here’s why you should go to counseling: you might get permission to let your kids watch more TV while you hide in your room and do nothing.

So it’s a win, really. Go. Ask for some help.

coming home, part two

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He wants to, but it’s not time yet. He needs more recovery, more health, more therapy, more accountability.

It was the best answer I could imagine.

It’s weird to say that, I get it. But it was probably the healthiest, most mature thing I had ever heard my husband say. He was self-aware enough to say he’s not ready. He was reflective enough to know there was still much to do. He was brave enough to admit exactly what he needed without worrying about how others might feel.

If I was still concerned about how his recovery was going, this was the first positive action I could trust.

He wasn’t coming home. It was the right choice.

I don’t know what part my confession of fear and invitation for him to return home played in this. I don’t know why God was so adamant I make the offer. But I know it was supposed to happen.

As we wade through the first steps of early recovery, I’ve been reminded again and again from counselors, therapists, and drug addiction specialists at the treatment center that Chris needs hope and encouragement. The first few times I heard that, I hated it. Faking anything is hard for me. My face will tell you what my mouth is trying hard not to say. I want to be honest even when it’s not welcome. I hate deception and empty words. (Related: Enneagram type 8. You ordered the book and read it already, right?)

I didn’t know if I had any hope for Chris. I didn’t know if there was any encouragement left inside me. I didn’t want to pretend we could be okay again, because I honestly didn’t know. There was so much damage and destruction in Chris’ wake so hearing he needed me to be hopeful and encouraging was just asking too much.

It was hard for me, during the majority of his first treatment stay, to say anything vulnerable or loving. I was very detached. I did what I was supposed to do–calling insurance, attending visiting hours, listening to counselors, reading books on addiction–because it is what I was supposed to do, and I am a good student.

But my heart wasn’t in it.

My heart was still busted and bleeding all over central Indiana. I didn’t have time to go find all the pieces and bring them down to Franklin, Indiana, for Chris to stomp on again. So I said very little when we visited; I said very little when we got our few phone calls a week. Chris talked, and I listened. Chris was eager to engage, and I was standoffish.

Telling Chris he could come home hurt my pride, felt unsafe, and reminded me of betrayal. Telling him I was afraid gave him a power I didn’t want to allow him. I didn’t want him to know there were still pieces of me that were his and there was still more damage he could do.

But for the first time in years, Chris was gentle and wise with my heart and his own. Maybe he just needed the hope and encouragement an invitation home signaled.

He decided transitional housing was his next, best step. A half-way house where he was still monitored in a way I didn’t want to do as his spouse. A new program to work. More days of sobriety. Additional time with his addiction counselor. The ability to practice some of the new skills he was acquiring through classes, programs, and a clearer head.

It felt right immediately.

Things fell into place quickly. Within a week, insurance approved his new out-patient program, a bed opened up at the half-way house located at the same facility he lived during his in-patient program, and a flexible job opportunity with recovering addicts who were decades clean presented itself.

What we hoped was best was being affirmed by God who was meeting every one of Chris’ needs.

Today Chris Graham is fifty days clean and sober.

Tomorrow will be two weeks at the half-way house.

He’s slowly earning trust by going where he says he’s going and doing it sober. He’s got his cell phone back and communicating with safe people who can encourage him and hold him accountable. He’s attending AA meetings almost daily. He’s earning trips home to visit us. He’s working at a job that doesn’t isolate him all day, he’s working with sober guys. He’s practicing hard conversations with his counselor and addressing family issues. He’s randomly being tested for drugs and alcohol by his treatment center. He’s currently on medication that will make him violently ill if he consumes a drop of alcohol, even mouth wash. He’s addressing his depression, and I’m seeing parts of his personality I’ve never seen before (like standing up for himself; it’s interesting and exciting. [Again, see Enneagram type 8 for details]).

He really wants to come home. But it’s not time yet. He knows it, and I know it. If anything, we’re both learning that the right things are sometimes the hardest things. I’ve known that a little bit longer than him, but he’s catching up quickly.

I don’t know what’s next. Alcoholics are reminded daily (hourly…every minute…) to take one day at a time. That makes a lot of really overwhelming things feel less overwhelming. So we’re not making any grand sweeping plans, but seeing how things go. As Chris continues to transition out of the safety bubble of rehab, he’s building a relationship with an AA sponsor who is intent on kicking his butt and supporting his sober lifestyle. We’re beginning to search for a marriage counselor to address the mountain of struggles we have ahead of us. We know sometime after the new year, Chris will need to find a different job. The construction job he started last week is a great fit for his current life situation, but we can’t–from a financial standpoint–survive off this income.

Last weekend, Chris came to church with the girls and I. It was the first weekend he had spent with us in months, and it was the first time he had been to our church since August. He was visibly shaking and anxious. I could feel his body shaking as we sat next to each other. I was worried he wouldn’t make it through the service. At one point, he had tears falling down his cheeks. He didn’t participate in the worship songs, didn’t glance at a Bible, seemed disengaged from the whole experience.

Afterward, I asked him if he was okay. I didn’t think it went well. I was worried about him.

He said, yes, he was okay. He was glad he got his first visit over with. It felt weird and good to be back.

I don’t share that vulnerable moment for attention or to make you feel sorry for him, but it got me thinking: how many of us are living lives with anxiety, panic, and pain that we mask with our phones, drugs, co-dependent relationships, alcohol, or a million other things that keep us distracted from what’s going on in our heads and our hearts? How many things are we not dealing with because they’re painful, embarrassing, shameful, or overwhelming? Maybe we’re not all alcoholics, but we for sure all numb and avoid and ignore things we should be confronting. Our coping mechanisms may not be drugs, but we’re all hurting and confused in some way or another, and we trick ourselves into thinking we do a pretty good job of covering it up. The reality is, it will eventually destroy us. It will destroy our relationships, our health, our safety, our quiet, our pretend normal. Sooner or later. That’s not a threat or a scare-tactic, it’s the truth.

For Chris, as he peels back the protective layers he’s built for himself since childhood, he’s having to face some demons and hard realities about himself and his family. Again, the right things are sometimes the hardest things. Actually, the right things are always the hardest things.

Getting to know the real Chris Graham is worth it.

I wonder who I would be–who we would all be–if we had to strip away all the crutches, all the numbing activities, all the hiding we’re used to doing.

I bet it would leave us all pretty raw and exhausted and exposed.

The Grahams are pretty raw and exhausted and exposed right now. But it’s starting to be beautiful too, one day at a time.

 

*Coming home, part one here

coming home, part one

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We were at an impasse.

Chris was nearing the end of his 30-day treatment program, and we didn’t know what was next.

He wanted to come home. I didn’t think he was ready. I didn’t think I was ready.

As he worked through the end of his program with his counselor, they explored other options: a transitional living house or going to live with someone else.

I explained to Chris my reservations, how I was still adamant about keeping our girls safe, both physically and emotionally. While it was hard for them with Chris gone, we had our routines and a new normal. Chris coming home and possibly relapsing was too much uncertainty for me. If that happened, he’d have to leave again. I couldn’t imagine putting the girls through that again, so he wasn’t to come back yet. He needed more time. He needed more sobriety.

Plus, we hadn’t even begun to address the shambles of our marriage. As Chris got sober and the fog of constant alcohol left, he was becoming more of the kind, patient, loving man I married, but there was still a lot of things we needed to address and heal.

I told him I didn’t yet know if he was just an asshole and I hated him, or I hated his addiction which made him an asshole. Because so much of his drinking was done in secret, I thought for years he was just an asshole. So untangling those feelings from my husband and attributing them to addiction was hard, confusing, and tedious.

Understanding where our marriage was and the fears I had about hurting the girls more, I told Chris it just wasn’t best for him to come home.

But as I told him this, I was asking for people to pray specifically about what should happen next. If someone called or texted or sent me a message about praying, I gave them few details but a very direct request: please pray for the next step for Chris and that whatever happens, it would be the best option for all of us.

I wanted to say with complete certainty he shouldn’t be in the house again but I wanted it to be God’s will and not mine.

So the people prayed.

During this time, I was reading The Road Back to You by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile. I was learning in brutally honest ways how my tendencies were helping and hindering my life. I was taking a hard look at where my motivations are and how my God-given personality traits can be used in healthy and unhealthy ways.

(If you haven’t read the book yet, please stop reading this blog post and immediately go get it. It will crack you open in a way nothing else has. The way the Enneagram has helped me see myself and others clearer is life-altering.)

I’m an eight on the Enneagram; also known as the Challenger. I’m here to say hard things, lead others, and stand up for justice. I’m motivated by fear—not fear of others but fear of being controlled and fear of being betrayed. There are a million other things that make up my personality, but reading that book was difficult because no one should know me that well. It’s a little too exposing.

So I’m reading this book, processing through all the things it’s helping me understand, and praying about what’s next for Chris.

And I keep hearing this one answer from God when I pray. One word: fear. I ignore it because it’s probably just me, not God, and every time I ask what Chris should do next, where he should go, how we should proceed, what I should do about my marriage, I just keep hearing that one word.

Fear.

So I sit with it for a while, I sit with it for days. What about fear? Fear of what? And then I hear it plain as day, what would I do next if I wasn’t afraid?

I know the answer to this before I want to. I know what I would do if I took fear out of the picture. I know what happens next if I wasn’t living afraid. I know what God has been reminding me again and again through this season.

I need to ask Chris to come home even if I don’t want to. Even if I’m afraid about what could happen.

I can’t control this. God is in control, not Mary Graham. And while I am doing everything I can to control what little I actually have control of, God is telling me to let him do this. To let him take care of me and the girls and Chris and just be obedient.

That night on the phone, I tell Chris through tears he can come home. When his thirty days is up next week, he can come back to our house and try again. I’m afraid and fearful, but I know it’s what I’m supposed to do.

He listens and soon we get off the phone.

Two days later, he calls me with his answer: No, he’s not coming home.

 

Coming home, part two here.

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