Mary Graham

Trusty Chucks Blog

Rotten Apple

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We have an apple tree in our backyard.

It’s past its prime, but still produces apples every summer. Mostly it’s ignored. The only time I really think about it is in the fall when I’m mowing over the rotten apples as they slowly sink into the ground surrounded by crunchy leaves.

This year one apple remained on the branch long after fall had passed and winter settled in.

It’s still there, right now, at the beginning of April, months after everything else has fallen down. It’s rotting on the branch, ugly and black. But still hanging on for dear life. The girls have noticed it and so have I. Every once in a while someone will comment about it still being there. You can see it from the back door, and I often check on it while I’m waiting for the dog to come back from his restroom break.

I think about that rotten apple a lot. How it’s desperately clinging to something it needs to let go of. How it’s getting dead and rotten and nasty on the branch instead of just falling to the ground to begin the beautiful work of becoming soil and nutrients and fertilizer for the new spring grass I desperately want to grow.

I think that apple looks like a lot of us: unhealthy and clinging to the familiar even though everything around us is telling us the season has changed and we need to as well.

In college, I dated a guy for four years. We broke up often and fought all the time, but we were both too stubborn and immature to say this wasn’t working or healthy and it needed to end once and for all.

a time to search and a time to give up

It took a while to figure out how much we had damaged each other and to see, with clear eyes, just how much we had lost by clinging to something dead. I know everyone around us saw it, but we couldn’t. We were too close to the madness.

a time to plant and a time to uproot

When Chris went to rehab, he had to work through a lot of reality problems. I call them “reality problems” because his view was so skewed and off, he didn’t even realize what he was seeing wasn’t truth.

He thought his marriage was okay.

He thought his kids weren’t affected by his disconnect.

He thought his driving wasn’t impaired while drinking.

He thought his speech wasn’t slurred while hiding in the garage with his alcohol.

He thought his wife was happy.

The season had changed and he hadn’t kept up, clinging to an idea he had from years before when he wasn’t drinking and things were better. He couldn’t see that he had changed so he couldn’t see that everything else had as well.

a time to tear down and a time to build

A rotten apple clinging to the past at the expense of becoming something different and better.

 

There is a time for everything,
a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Things end. They crumble. They die. They hurt.

Not everything created should last forever. I love Indiana sweet corn but part of what makes it so great is it is only available near the end of summer, for just a blip on the calendar. We have to wait patiently for the corn to grow and the sun to do it’s work before we get to experience the sweetness. There has to be rain and heat and rich soil. There has to be prep work and sweat before we get the reward.

It wouldn’t be as good or as memorable if we had it year round.

a time to plant and a time to uproot

In my mid-twenties, I realized a friendship that had been limping along for over a decade was unhealthy. I had passing thoughts before that she wasn’t good for me, but the final straw was when she refused to acknowledge I was pregnant with Ellie because she didn’t like that I waited so long to tell her. She pretended my baby didn’t exist. And then she moved back in town and I tried to act like it didn’t hurt.

But it did. And as Ellie got older, I realized that I didn’t want someone in my life who couldn’t, because of her own sin issues,  want to celebrate this precious baby we had. Suddenly, I saw her with different eyes. I saw the way she allowed herself to wallow in sin while condemning others loudly. I saw how she only called me when she wanted to gossip or get information on someone. And so I spoke out in love on her pretending, she got mad, and that was the end of that.

I knew it would happen. It was time.

a time to be silent and a time to speak

Our world is saturated with catchy slogans to encourage us to live our best lives! to seize the day! and to remind us that we only live once! But so much of that goes against what God teaches us, that while there will be best days, days to seize, and once-in-a-lifetime moments, those are just for seasons. If there will be those days, there will also be the opposite of those days.

There will be horrible days, days we want to forget, and everyday moments that blend into the millions of other everyday moments.

We get both.

Both are necessary.

We have to fall, be destroyed, and then be rebuilt. Every season, every week, every day.

Sometimes we have to let the apple fall. It’s rotten anyway. Letting go is hard and scary and painful, but what comes next is just as sweet. He promises us that.

Joy of the Redeemed

The desert and the parched land will be glad;
the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;
it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the Lord,
the splendor of our God.
Isaiah 35: 1-2

Learning that Changed Everything, Part II

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I grew up not knowing much about Jewish culture or the influence it had on the Bible I was supposed to be reading. I could be mis-remembering, but I feel like the Jewish part of Jesus and the Jewish part of the Old Testament got skipped over a lot when I was learning about the Bible for the first time years ago.

But if you spend any amount of time in the Old Testament, you can’t miss the Jewish heritage, the Jewish tradition, the Jewish faith, and then, in the New Testament, the Jewish parents who had a Jewish baby born to saves us; the Jewish rabbi who opened the gates of Heaven for all of us.

So I started paying attention to Judaism. How it shaped my Jesus-follower beliefs, how it is woven into the fabric of scripture and relationship, tradition and the very being of my Savior.

I wondered what I was missing out on because I seemed to discount the Judaism in my Jesus.

And then, when all the wheels fell of last fall (every single wheel, some wheels I didn’t even know existed), people started showing up.

And it felt like shiva.

I was mourning the death of my marriage, of the life I thought I had, and people just started showing up. People came to my house, to restaurants, to me in the pew at church, and they sat down with me in my grief.

One of the worst things (actually, there are a lot of “worst” things about marriages collapsing and addiction and families falling apart, but I don’t have time to rank them accordingly) about last fall was the way people tried to help but actually didn’t. When someone is knocked down hard, here are things they don’t want to hear:

Everything happens for a reason.

God has a plan for this.

At least ____ didn’t happen.

God never gives you more than you can handle.

Let me know if you need anything.

THESE ARE HORRIBLE THINGS TO SAY TO PEOPLE. If you’re saying them, stop immediately. You’re saying them because you want to make sense out of something that doesn’t (and might not ever) make sense. You want to make yourself feel better and you want to think you did something.

The act of sitting shiva is the Jewish tradition of structured mourning after a loved one passes. It’s often held in an immediate family member’s home and lasts at least seven days. While there is no timeline for grief, shiva is the first “official” time after someone’s death where people show up and literally take care of the survivors; feeding them, sitting with them, caring for them, being physically near to do anything (or nothing) a person who is overwhelmed with grief might need.

Last fall, people showed up for me as I struggled with grief and loss; feeding me, doing my dishes, caring for my children.

As I spent the year working my way through the Bible, I paid more and more attention to the Jewish heritage that becomes everyone’s heritage if they are Christ followers. So I began to wonder what parts of Jesus’ life and religious practices should still be a part of my life, even as a Gentile. And then tragedy struck and the people in my life rushed over to be physically near me.

We talked if I wanted to talk. We were silent if I wanted to be silent. People served me and my daughters without asking, without checking in, without question.

When you say, “Let me know if you need anything” to someone struggling, it makes you, the speaker feel better. You offered. You spoke up. And if that’s all you’re going for–to make yourself feel better–your work here is done.

But sitting shiva with people we love means not asking.

Katie didn’t ask if she could bring us dinner, she texted and said, “What night would be best for me to bring dinner over?”

No one asked if they could collect my trash cans from the road on a Tuesday afternoon, they just did it.

People who had experienced their own grief or trauma or collapse sent books for encouragement if they couldn’t physically show up at my house. Books with notes saying this changed my life.

Krissy said, “I want to take you to a movie,” and showed up with a babysitter for my girls.

My sister said, “I’m storming the gates of Heaven with prayers and petitions, tell me what you need right now,” and I whispered scary things she took before the throne because I couldn’t.

I felt like the paraplegic in Mark who couldn’t show up to where Jesus was preaching because he couldn’t walk so his four friends made a hole in the roof of the crowded house to get him an audience with Jesus.

In my chronological reading of the Bible, I came to Mark 2 on October 25th. Chris had been gone two months at this point, he was about a month sober and living in a treatment center where he would be for an extended time. I felt tired and broken. And then I read of the paraplegic’s four friends.

After a few days, Jesus returned to Capernaum, and word got around that he was back home. A crowd gathered, jamming the entrance so no one could get in or out. He was teaching the Word. They brought a paraplegic to him, carried by four men. When they weren’t able to get in because of the crowd, they removed part of the roof and lowered the paraplegic on his stretcher. 

My friends knew I needed to get to Jesus, but I was weary and heartbroken and I didn’t have the strength to do it on my own. They knew where I needed to be but I couldn’t get there myself. So they fed me, they served me, they brought me to Jesus, because I couldn’t find the words or legs to do it myself.

They sat shiva with me in my mourning and grief and they carried me when I needed to go places.

I didn’t read the Bible much in September. Chris had just left, he was drinking more and it was painfully obvious he wasn’t able to stop on his own. I was so angry at him and the people who made excuses for him and the people who acted like there was nothing we could do.

I was mad because life was hard and there was no reason and a million reasons for it.

The people who made the most difference to me at that point in my life were the people who didn’t give me excuses, they didn’t give me safe Christian answers, they just showed up and said very little.

In a podcast recently, Kate Bowler said what she appreciates the most when hard stuff happens, is when people acknowledge it’s hard and don’t offer an excuse or explanation. “Sometimes the truest thing we can do for each other is to look honestly at one another’s pain and say, wow, I can honestly say that sucks.”

The Jewish tradition of sitting shiva is acknowledging things are bad right now and then sitting down with someone in the midst of it. Maybe that person needs to be carried somewhere, maybe that person needs to be fed or reminded to bathe. We can acknowledge grief and pain without trying to explain it away, we can show up when things are falling apart and just sit with someone. We can’t always help the falling-apartness. We can’t always fix the hole or the broken spots, but we can come along. We can carry their burdens. We can offer our legs and arms when theirs don’t work.

In late 2016 when I decided to buy the chronological Bible and then commit a year to reading it through, I didn’t realize God was putting in some safety nets. I didn’t know He was preparing me for so many bumps and bruises and loses. I’d been studying the Bible for years and suddenly He was like, Here’s the thing, you’re going to need this, ALL OF THIS, soon so let’s just start at the beginning.

I’m not far enough away from last year to share all the lessons. There is still so much to learn, to heal, to begin again. But everything shifted. I was reading the Bible, diving deeper into a relationship with God, as my marriage broke down right before my eyes. Now nothing is the same; not at home, not inside my heart, not in my marriage, not in my spirit.

I learned a million hard, painful lessons in 2017 and right along side me the whole time was this story of God’s love for me and for all of us. He taught me how to fight for freedom from sin, and He showed me the power of just showing up for others. I wish I could have learned those lessons in kinder, gentler ways, but then they probably would not have stuck.

 

Notes about this post:

-Part one is here.

-If you’d like to read more about Jesus and the paraplegic, the story is found in Mark 2. I shared the Message version above.

-The podcast I reference is Everything Happens with Kate Bowler; her interview with Nadia Bolz-Weber is season one, episode one and where the quote came from.

-Two sites I found helpful when learning more about sitting shiva were this one and this one.

-This is the Bible I read. I’ve recommended it a hundred times already, and I will not stop. Please get used to it.

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Learning that Changed Everything, Part I

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I’d never read the entire Bible, beginning to end, and I felt it was time.

So in January of 2017, I began on January 1st. Each day, I sat quietly with my Bible and my thoughts. I had spent the last few years getting in the routine of a morning spent with God. I had journaled and responded, written verses and prayers. But this time was different. This time, this Bible, was all about sitting and reading.

Each morning I read the commentary, the historical significance, and the way these passages related to the Bible as a whole. I gained new understanding, filled in holes I didn’t know I had, and was moved in profound ways.

The Bible seems to do that to you.

What was different this time was my lack of doing as I read the Bible. I didn’t know when I started in January, but I was preparing to receive more than give in 2017 and it was starting with scripture.

I don’t know if it’s the teacher in me or the way we’re taught to spend our quiet time with Jesus, but I had always been active in my devotional time: taking notes, responding to questions, writing out prayers, decorating with colorful pens, scrambling for knowledge, scribbling notes for things I would write, making scripture note cards to carry in my pocket as I went about my day.

None of those things are bad and there is value in each one of them.

But last year I felt very strongly I was just supposed to read and listen, learn and listen, understand and listen.

Mostly, I was supposed to listen.

I didn’t take many notes as I read through the Bible; occasionally I did, but mostly I just read and let it sit inside. I didn’t feel the need to write down what I was learning or the connections I was making. For someone who loves to fill notebooks and line them up on my shelves, this was hard and felt weird.

But I did it anyway.

I’d say that’s a product of the Spirit moving and less Mary Graham liking hard stuff. The more time I spent in the Word, the clearer God made Himself and His heart that I just read the Bible for a year.

*SIGH* Okay, got it. Just read and listen.

I learned a million lessons last year in the Bible. I know that seems like a dumb sentence to write, but I’ve been reading the Bible for years. It wasn’t like I just cracked it open in January and suddenly learned about Adam and Eve, King Solomon, and Paul. I got it; I knew those people already.

But something was shifting in me; I was living too many things reflected so clearly in the Bible stories I knew by heart. They suddenly became authentic, certain realities for me and everything felt different. I was reading stories I couldn’t politely distance myself from, and it was overwhelming and calming all at the same time.

Before 2017, I would have told you the New Testament was my section. Jesus, the Gospels, the parables–those are my jam. But last year changed that; last year I realized I’d been discounting the Old Testament as unrelateable and, um, old. Now I would argue with anyone who says the New Testament is where it’s at. I mean, yes, they are both amazing. But if you’re counting the OT out, I’m going to have to adamantly disagree.

I don’t have enough time, space, or energy to write about everything that changed last year for me in the midst of this Bible journey, but two life-changing things occurred and I can’t stop thinking about them.

The first one is the way generational sin broke my heart. Months before I knew my husband was an alcoholic, I was reading about the Israelites and their endless cycle of idolatry and forgetting the God who saved them. I would get so frustrated and annoyed with these people who were chosen by God, but kept living in a godless ways. I was seeing my own tendencies to learn and forget, to ask for forgiveness and then do the same thing again.

The self-reflection and self-evaluating those stories required me to do was hard and uncomfortable.

But what I thought was a hard, internal battle was suddenly made public and external when the cycle of addiction reared its ugly head again, when Chris said he was drinking and hiding it, when Chris was once again living in active addiction.

I understood generational sin, because I was living in it. I didn’t know it in the beginning. I didn’t know it for a lot of my marriage, because addicts and the people who love them hide things well. I didn’t know it, because I am always honest even if it hurts, but other people are never honest because it hurts.

Learning that changed everything.

I’ve received a lot of encouragement or compliments about my reactions to Chris’ addiction, how I handled things last fall, and what I refused to be ashamed about. I don’t take credit for those things when I hear them; there is no doubt in my mind I was given wisdom, discernment, and right steps, because I was steeped in scripture and in intimate relationship with my Creator. I did not get to avoid pain, betrayal, grief, denial, depression, or anger because of scripture and God, but I was able to handle it a little better.

It took months for truth to make its way to the surface. I often complained to my therapist it felt like it just kept getting worse, things kept being revealed and uncovered and more lies kept coming a long time after Chris was caught drunk in a very public way in May.

My therapist wisely pointed out the grace in learning horrible things slowly. She said if I had learned, all at once, what was happening, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I would not have recovered. It sounds odd to say I can feel the hand of God and His perfect timing even as I slowly learned over a five month period just how deep my husband’s alcoholism went.

But when I finally knew, when I finally realized how cyclical all of it was, I refused to let my daughters join the family legacy. Adamantly refused. And with my refusal came the lessons and instruction I had in the early months of 2017 when God dealt with the Isrealites and their own family cycle of sin.

Here’s what God did with the Israelites: correction, removal from dangerous situations, and boundaries.

Ooh, okay, God, I can do those things. Let’s get to work.

I did none of these things on my own. I did none of these things because I was born ready for this, innately knew the right answer, or felt brave. I did them because I was trusting God to give me what I needed when I needed it and not a moment sooner.

In those moments I looked at my daughters, realized how they didn’t ask for any of this, and knew it was my job to make sure it did not continue with them. I was married to a broken man who did not do get that opportunity. He was living in the direct consequences of allowing and accepting sin, enabling, and selfishness. We were living in the effects of generations before us refusing to do hard things.

I refused to do that to my daughters. I would do whatever it took to make this stop.

God had already lit the flame and when it became real life for me, there wasn’t confusion about a next right step. Sitting with my Bible and my God for months beforehand had prepared me for this moment.

I wasn’t happy about it, but I was ready.

I think it’s super cheesy and off-putting when someone refers to the Bible as a how-to manual for life. I get what they are trying to say, but I just don’t like it. I think of a manual as something you go to when there is a problem.

My DVD player is flashing a weird notification, let’s check the manual.

My car’s dashboard is lit up, get out the manual.

Sure, we can use God’s Word when we’re in the thick of a problem or crisis, but often, we need the advice and preparation before the crisis too. We need the training and the lessons that take time, silence, wrestling, and reflections, things that aren’t necessarily around in times of chaos and stress.

I think going to the Bible for answers or guidance is great, but if you’re just going there during those times, you’re treating the powerful Word of God like an eight ball when you need something. Maybe part of the resilience and healing and wisdom is found in the consistent, day-to-day showing up with God and scripture. When it’s not convenient, when it’s quiet in your world, when things seem to be going well, when you have peace, when you don’t feel shaky and lost.

We do not get to avoid pain, betrayal, grief, denial, depression, or anger because of scripture and God, but we are able to handle it a little better because of it.

I want to share another powerful lesson I learned through my time reading the Bible cover-to-cover last year; come back tomorrow for the conclusion.

 

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What a lockdown drill feels like

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Ask your kid what it feels like to do a lockdown drill at school. There’s a good chance you, the parent, didn’t experience this practice when you were in school.

Fire drill? Check.
Tornado drill? Check.
Maybe even a duck and cover drill.

But there is a high likelihood you don’t know what a lockdown drill feels like. There is a good chance, because of your age, you don’t know what it feels like to run through an intruder drill while you’re at school trying to learn.

Let me tell you.

Teachers sometimes know they’re coming, but mostly teachers do not.

Students never know this drill is coming.

A school administrator or a police officer will select a classroom or an adult to walk up to and say something along the lines of “there’s an intruder in the building; he is wearing a green shirt, black pants, and has a gun.” Immediately the adult must call the office and have the intruder alarm sounded while giving a physical description of the intruder.

The administrator or officer observes this to see how quickly the school can go from everyday-business to locked-and-quiet.

Every second counts and unless you were the adult who called in the lockdown alert, you don’t know if this is real or not.

THIS IS A LOCKDOWN goes over the PA system almost immediately.

The school and every single person in it goes into lockdown mode.

Every teacher goes to his or her classroom door which are all permanently locked now. Teachers open their doors to make sure there are no kids wandering the halls. If there are kids or classes in the hallway, they grab everyone they see as fast as they can, and then shut the door again.

Read again what I just typed: teachers learn there is an intruder (drill or not) in the building, and they are trained to immediately run to the hallway where an intruder might be in hopes of being shelter for students.

While teachers are clearing the hallways, students in classrooms are going to the corner of the room most hidden from the entry point. They’re crowding into corners, getting under tables, cramming as close to the wall as they can. Personal space doesn’t count in a lockdown drill.

I’ve taught two age groups in my time as a teacher: middle school kids and high school kids. They don’t move fast out of principle. There are two exceptions to this rule: when there’s a fight, kids will rush to check it out, and they will move with a quickness to their safe corner. Violence makes students move.

In our little corner, we get in tight, teacher and student just the same.

Students are quiet. Everyone is quiet.

They’re quiet, because they don’t know if this is a drill or not. Kids who cannot stop talking during lessons, quizzes, or standardized tests will instantly be quiet during an intruder drill.

Students are quiet, because this is becoming less of a drill. We’re raising kids bombarded with school-shooting violence and death; they know this is reality. They know this is serious. They know to be silent.

Then we wait in silence–holding our breath–just hoping the announcement will soon give us the all-clear so we can return to our learning and our desks and our books.

As we wait, students look at you, the teacher, waiting for a sign that says you know this is fake. They watch you to see if your shoulders will relax or if you’ll give them a reassuring smile so they can breath again.

But teachers don’t know either.

So we wait.

Administrators and police officers are running the halls right now as you sit crowded into a corner with your students; you can hear their boots hitting the floor. They are jiggling door handles to make sure they’re locked, checking to make sure classrooms are quiet.

We’re told locked doors and quiet kids will save us.

I don’t care how often you practice a lockdown drill, when someone grabs that door handle to shake it, when you hear people moving fast down the halls, you are scared.

You hope in the back of your mind this is just pretend. You hope in the back of your mind you’ll return to teaching in just a few minutes. You can feel your students hoping the same things. They’re not good at hiding their thoughts and you’re too good at noticing them.

Eventually a school administrator will come over the PA and give you the all-clear. You’ll stand up slowly, legs asleep from sitting. You’ll grab students’ arms and pull them to their feet. You’ll pat a few shaken kids on the back. You’ll be gentler with your instructions as they head to their seats, maybe you’ll spend a few minutes talking about the drill.

You give everyone a minute to breath.

Then you’re supposed to go back to teaching. Teachers will still be evaluated today. Students will still be required to take tests, ace quizzes, and concentrate on their homework.

At the end of the day, parents will welcome their kids home off the bus, never realizing the pretending their children did at school that day. The way they had to imagine they were going to die and what they would do to prevent it. Like it’s their job to prevent their own violent deaths as they sit in their desks learning their letters and math and a foreign language.

/////

When I changed my major from journalism to education my sophomore year of college, I did not know this would be part of my job; that my love of reading and books and language and cranky teenagers would mean I was also agreeing to die for them, to die with them.

Have you ever put an anxiety-riddled child in a lockdown situation and demanded they be still? Have you ever had to sit next to an autistic child whose routine and ability to know what is next has just been taken away and then ask them to be quiet?

We don’t have enough trained staff in buildings to handle the current emotional needs of our students; how will we even begin to address the damage we’re doing with these high-stress situations we’re putting our students in? Are we allowing kids to process the drills we’re practicing with them? Are we notifying parents so they can check in with their kids when they get home? Are we talking about what support needs to happen at home so kids can talk about their fears and worries? Who is equipping parents with the right tools to handle a situation they didn’t encounter when they were younger?

It’s like a set of dominoes; we’ve thought out the first two or three moves, how things will fall and how we’ll react, but can we even see far enough down the course to the long-term issues we’re causing?

What a cruel, horrible world we live in.

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

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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!

What I Love: My Office

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My first “office” was a corner of our unfinished basement at the house in Beech Grove. It was drafty and cold. In the winter, I shoved clothes and socks into the drafty spots so I could write in my winter coat.

In time, I moved upstairs to the hallway.

We had a computer armoire in the small hallway space to the left of our bedroom. I’d open the doors, slide out the keyboard, and pull a folding chair from the living room closet.

I dreamed of a space of my own, a place to fill with books, plants, and blankets. I was convinced all I needed to finally write what I wanted to write was an actual office. I have no idea what I wanted to write, but that was beside the point.

An office would solve all my problems.

Eventually, the time came to move Harper from her crib to a big girl bed, and I jumped at the opportunity to move both the girls into one room with bunk beds. Mama was finally getting an office.

And that is how I wrote the next Great American Novel.

Just kidding. That’s how I wrote such inspiring posts such as Peanut butter & jelly is my very best and How a child of the 80s wears neon. Also, it’s where I tried to be a fashion blogger, and it was awkward for everyone. (Like I said on this post, you just try a bunch of things and see what sticks.)

Since the fall of 2013, I’ve been lucky enough to have a dedicated space for writing.

My office now, in the house we’ve been in for thirteen months, is my favorite spot. I spend my days here teaching and grading, having never imagined one day I’d get to work from home and still teach English. Actually, I did imagine it, I just wasn’t sure it would ever happen.

I do the majority of my writing here. I have filled my shelves with books on writing, God, and teaching. I’ve filled it with plants and even though Harper tells me our house is turning into a forest, I keep buying more when I have a few extra dollars.

Growing up, I loved to fill my walls with posters, quotes, and pictures. No space was safe from tape or push pins. I loved color and spread it around with a heavy hand. I can still see my bedroom at thirteen, bright yellow walls and beautiful purple blowup chair. It was the epitome of middle school decor.

Now, my house and love of color has softened a little. Our rooms are toned down, I let the walls breathe, and I enjoy empty spaces that make a room feel open and comfortable.

But my office still reminds me of my middle school bedroom. Not much open wall space, more colors than your eyes know what to do with, piles of blankets and books and things I love. There is no rhyme or reason decor-wise for this sanctuary of mine. If I love it, I find a place for it. Not because it matches my mood board or because it ties in with the colors on the rug nicely–this office doesn’t have to make sense or be loved by anyone but me.

It’s mine.

Sometimes in the afternoons having worked through lunch, I’ll take a break on my couch. Grabbing a book, a blanket, and a fresh cup of coffee, Blue and I will read (yes, my dog can read, thanks for noticing) for a while before I need to login to a meeting, grade more essays, or lesson plan.

When the girls get home from school and before I wrap up my work for the day, you’ll often find them on the floor coloring or filling the spot I have vacated on the couch to read books. Harper especially loves to be near me when she’s home from school and will bring in piles of whatever she’s working on and make herself at home too.

I’ve had an office of my own since 2013. It hasn’t made writing easier like I thought it would. Apparently, you still just have to sit down, focus on words, and craft a story. A dedicated space or presence of a door doesn’t change that. (I don’t currently have an office door, but eventually we’ll put one back up.) Some days writing is easy and some days it is not. My office does not hold any special powers to help me focus or inspire, even though I imagined it would.

But my office has given me a place of my own, a place to sit when I need a break from the loudness of a family and kids and life. It is a place I can stack books high, leave an empty coffee cup on the end table, and hide my slightly embarrassing amount of blankets.

Inside the door to my office closet are book notes. Lists and charts, notes and ideas. I’ve not written the Great American Novel like I had envisioned. I’ve met with agents and talked through ideas, but nothing ever stuck. I never found my one idea–the one I couldn’t stop thinking about, the one I couldn’t forget, the one bursting to get out.

I know now so much of my story had not been written yet, so much of what I was going to need to write had not yet happened.

I’m getting closer.

And when I am ready, I will sit in that gold chair (I know, a gold chair? Seriously, who do I think I am?), write the words I’m supposed to share, and finally, God willing, write a book people want to read.

 

I shared my last office space here if you’re interested.

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!

What I Love: Podcasts

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Since I work from home and am alone all day (I love it, no complaints here), I get to listen to a lot of audio books and podcasts. Right now, I’m leaning more toward podcasts then audio books, and I want to share my current favorites with you.

I’ve written about podcasts I love before, but it changes so much based on what’s just come out, what I’ve recently discovered, or what my attention is drawn to during this season. So I feel like I might have to write these posts every once in a while. Plus, readers shared great recommendations last time I wrote about podcasts and I’m always on the lookout for more.

Terrible, Thanks for Asking
I’m still loving this one, and they just started a new season which is good because I missed Nora and Hans. Nora McInerny hosts this podcast on “talking honestly about our pain, our awkwardness, and our humanness, which is not an actual word.” I love the storytelling McInerny does and, I know this doesn’t sound like a positive thing, I cry listening to almost every episode. Life is hard and beautiful and Terrible, Thanks for Asking reminds us of that well.

My Favorite Murder
Dang it, I love true crime, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Georgia and Karen are smart, funny, vulgar, and MY BEST FRIENDS. I would normally steer clear of a podcast that goes over an hour, things tend to get slow and I lose interest, but they tell such interesting stories and get sidetracked with humor and honesty that I don’t even care if it takes them forever to tell a story. Stay sexy. Don’t get murdered. Elvis, want a cookie?

Dirty John
Have you listened to the story of Dirty John?? I listened to every single episode in one day–I could not stop. Dirty John tells the story of a family almost brought to ruin by a deranged drifter who tricked their mother into marriage. Researched and written by the LA Times, the podcast reads like a highly engaging news series. If you’ll be in the car with a few adults, download this series and listen to it together. You will lose your minds and yell at the people as they tell their stories. Then you’ll be shocked at the ending. (And good news! Dirty John was just renewed for a second season and will focus on another self-contained story.)

Girl’s Girls
I’m still enjoying Brittany Gibbons and Meredith Soleau talking about everything, literally everything. This isn’t the podcast for everyone, but if you’ve ever wondered what girlfriends talk about when they’re hanging out together, this would be a good start. I like to hear their points of view and stories even if I don’t necessarily agree with them all the time. But they’re fun, funny, and very similar to my real-life friends so it’s an enjoyable hour once a week.

Missing Richard Simmons
I wish there were more of these episodes, but when you’re hunting for the elusive Richard Simmons, there are only so many places you can go without actually including him. If you’re a child of the 80s, listen because the Richard Simmons story was probably your childhood. If you’re not a child of the 80s, listen because he was probably your exercise guru or was for someone close to you. His story, his life, and his disappearance are so interesting. I’m still holding my breath hoping one day I’ll see a new episode pop up in my podcast app and the news will be THEY FOUND HIM.

The Chris Loves Julia Podcast
I like to hear people talk about home design even though that’s weird to listen to something that is so visual. Go figure. I follow Chris Love Julia on Instagram and love their blog for design inspiration. They tell interesting stories, inspire me to look at my house differently, and seem to really like each other which is fun to listen in on.

The Road Back to You
This podcast was a short run to coincide with their Enneagram book release. It’s informative and engaging to hear Cron and Stabile talk about their book, their research, and their learning in regards to the Enneagram. They interview different numbers (also known as people…), talk about how to be in relationship with people different than us, and how to make sure we’re the healthiest version of ourselves. I highly recommend this podcast if you loved the book. (Specifically, I loved listening to episode 22 with Enneagram 8 Jo Saxton and any that featured married couples talking about how their numbers helped or hindered their relationships).

Typology
Speaking of the Enneagram, after the above podcast was over, Cron started his own, and it’s just as good. His guests are fun and knowledgeable, and I always feel challenged or encouraged by his episodes.

Where Should We Begin? with Esther Perel
I don’t know where to begin, Esther. How about this: everyone should be listening to this podcast. The first season is available on Apple Podcast and if you have an Audible account, you can listen to season two right now. Perel is a psychotherapist and bestselling author who counsels couples who agree to be recorded during their sessions. At first it feels too intimate and almost nosy to want to listen, but what you learn from each episode will, magically, relate to your own relationships. I left every single episode of Where Should We Begin? with more knowledge, empathy, and relationship skills than I started with. If you only listen to one podcast from this list, I’d hope you pick this one.

Young House Love has a Podcast
This is still on my list–a year in, I’m still listening and loving Sherri and John. They’re lighthearted and engaging, plus I get good home decor ideas and inspiration each time. I also like this one because I can listen to it when my kids are around. A lot of what I listen to isn’t appropriate for my kids, but this one is. And Harper LOVES this podcast too.

Heaven’s Gate
I just started this one, and I’m not sure about it yet. I was in high school when Heaven’s Gate was the top story on every news outlet in the country, and I’m very intrigued with the idea of cults. This series gives the history of the group, introduces us to the people who died, and interviews the families left behind. So much of this just seems ridiculous, but it’s super interesting too. Also, did you know Heaven’s Gate didn’t start off with the idea of mass suicide to catch a ride on Halley’s Comet? Yeah–no one really joins a cult with death as the goal, and Heaven’s Gate didn’t begin like that either.

Not Terrible with Jess Hooker
My friend Jess has recently started sharing her stories on a podcast. They’re hard to hear because she talks about setbacks and heartbreak, but you’ll relate easily to them too. If you’ve ever struggled with life not turning out the way you planned (hello, everyone), I’d invite you to listen to Jess.

Death, Sex, + Money with Anna Sale
After reading Hillbilly Elegy and being moved by it, someone on Instagram recommended the “Opportunity Costs” series by the Death, Sex, + Money podcast. I haven’t listened to anything else but that series, but I LOVED it. I’m really interested in social class, privilege, race, and money right now, and these stories added to the evolving narrative rolling around in my head.

On Being
I’ve recently subscribed to On Being with Krista Tippett. I’ve not listened to many, but this one keeps coming up again and again when people talk about podcasts they love so I want to see what all the fuss is about.

The Goal Digger Podcast
I just began listening to Jenna Kutcher’s podcast. I don’t know why I have an aversion to business talk and planning, but I do. I don’t want my blog or my writing to turn into a business in the sense I’m trying to sell you something or make money so I’ve always thought these things weren’t for me. But in thinking through my place on the internet, I’ve become more interested in how my message is received, who my audience is, and how to best serve those two things. So now I’m interested and less against business podcasts. For now, at least. I might change my mind and go back to disliking them in a month. That’s just who I am.

Tumble Science Podcast for Kids
Do your kids listen to podcasts? They should. There are so many great kid-focused podcasts. My kids don’t watch much TV or get a lot of iPad time, but I will let them listen to audio books or podcasts as much as they want. Ellie listens to Harry Potter books every single day. She’s read them all and loves to go back and read them or listen to them again. When I was her age, I was jamming to Amy Grant, but Ellie’s favorite background noise is Harry Potter. Harper digs this science podcast for kids. They’re short (about 15 minutes) and teach her so many great things about animals, physics, and the world. The girls got science kits for Christmas and love nothing more than a science lesson so I’ll support and encourage that love as long as they let me.

Story Pirates
Another fun kid podcast we’re listening to is Story Pirates. We listen to this in the car or while the girls are playing. I especially love this one because professional voice actors read stories written by kids. The stories are silly, serious, fun, interesting and a million other things–but that kids are actually writing them is so encouraging to my budding writers. The creativity and excitement this podcast brings to our household is infectious.

Okay, that’s a good list, if I do say so myself. What do you love to listen to?

 

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What I Love: Writing on the Internet

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Here’s a weird thing to do: write words on a screen in a room by yourself and then just shoot it through space for strangers to read.

What a wonderful, odd world we live in.

What’s even odder and more wonderful is I love doing just that. I enjoy writing on the internet.

This post is number 1,294. I’ve been doing this in some form since 2009. Sometimes I write often, and sometimes there are long pauses. I’ve had really good things happen because I write on the internet, and I’ve had really bad things happen because I write on the internet. I share below in a post called Why Trusty Chucks about how I started this blog and what my original goal was (you’re never going to guess so you just need to read that post). But today I want to tell you how I do this and how you can too.

First, stop telling yourself you want to start blogging and start blogging. There’s nothing worse than talking about something but never doing it. No one ever has the time or the energy or the right words. No one would ever write if those were the requirements. Just go to WordPress.com or Blogger.com and sign up for a free blog. It will look bad and really generic, but it’s a start.

Please don’t be that person who tells others you could have been a writer or a blogger. Or anything that you didn’t actually become. This isn’t high school football, and those weren’t your glory days. Do stuff now and stop saying tomorrow.

For me, “writer” and “blogger” are different. I have a blog, but I’m a writer. People don’t come here for  pretty pictures, well-styled home decor, or craft how-tos (even though I have done all of those things), they come here for my words. I’m a writer and a storyteller. Bloggers are less writers and more content creators. I know some people would argue that, but this is my blog, and I’m in charge here.

I think when you start a blog, you don’t know and don’t need to know which you are. Just start writing and creating stuff you like and see what sticks.

My writing process is a little all over the place. I try to write for at least thirty minutes a day, but that is harder than it sounds. I write mostly in Word or directly on a draft in my WordPress back office. I would say 70% of what I write makes it to the internet. I have over 60 drafts sitting in a folder right now. I start lots of posts because I have an idea or a burning desire to say something, but I run out of time or steam and don’t finish. I mostly write in my office on my computer, but occasionally, I’ll write on my phone in bed or in a waiting room somewhere. I can’t write with the TV on or others around. I get distracted really easily and have to set the mood to romance myself into writing. (That sounds dirty. I’m leaving it.) [Side note: I’m planning a series in March called “I found this in my drafts” and it will be posts I’ve written but never finished or published before. It will be interesting to see what I find in that folder.]

Before I hit Publish, my post will have sat for a few weeks, and it will have been proofread by Chris. If I’m writing something that feels off or tricky, I’ll have someone critique my thoughts and stories. If I’m using the Bible to tell a story, I’m really careful to not take things out of context or miss the point. There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with telling people what they Bible says and I take that very serious. If I’m ever in doubt, I’ll have someone who knows the Bible better than me check my work.

Chris reads for spelling and grammar issues only. He’s not allowed to edit for content. I’m not sure why except I don’t want to discuss my writing with him. It makes me too defensive. I can discuss it easily with others, just not him.

He does read posts and get to say whether or not they’re posted though. I write so honestly about our lives, and he always gets to say no if he wants to. (That means that two-week series last August was read and okayed by him. It was hard for him to read and hard for him to allow, but I’m so thankful I have a husband who trusts me to share honestly about who we are.)

If I’m writing about faith, marriage, heartbreak, or something a little more serious, I want the post to sit for a while so I can come back to it after a week or two and make sure it’s what I want to say. I haven’t regretted many things I’ve shared here, but I’ve done it just often enough to know I need space between my writing and publishing. Sometimes it’s just because I can find better ways to say what I want if I give it space to breathe. The distance always leads to better posts anyway so I like the slow down I’ve created.

If I’m writing something less serious (like this series), I’m not waiting that long. I’m writing these with a pretty quick turn around time because I’m not concerned I’ll say something I’ll regret. Also, these posts are less likely to be proofread by Chris. Because I need them to go up quickly, I’ll publish and then he’ll read them after they’re live and send me mistakes to fix. I hate typos, but they happen and I try not to let them ruin my life. (While we were separated, my brother proofread for me. If you’re in my life, there is a good chance you will be sucked into this space in some form or another.)

If you went and signed up for your first blog, I’d encourage you RIGHT NOW, while you’re feeling so excited and the drive is high, to WRITE SOMETHING. Voice, tone, focus, ideas, all of that writing stuff will come the more you write. For a while, it will be all over the place. No one has a strong voice from the get-go. You need to write and see how you can best use words to share your message.

Like I’m talking to a toddler right now: USE YOUR WORDS.

Also, if you want to do what I do, you’re going to need to read a lot. That’s not to scare you, but it’s the truth. Let me put my English teacher hat on for a second. *situates pointy witch cap* Good writers are good readers. You can’t be a good writer if you’re not reading, specifically reading good writing. It doesn’t work otherwise. As you read, you’re going to find styles you like. You’re going to find styles you really dislike. You’ll start writing and you’ll try to emulate the writers you’re drawn to. THIS IS GOOD AND IMPORTANT even though it feels creepy and sorta like copying. You won’t do this forever, but you will do it while you search for your own writer’s voice.

In college, a writing professor told me I wrote too informally. My tone was too relaxed and it was like I was talking to a friend instead of a professor. Guess what? My tone is relaxed and informal. I write like I talk. I write like we’re friends, and my informal tone during some pretty hard stories keeps readers from wanting to kill themselves when I talk about depressing things.

This style works well for me. Also, if you met me in real life, this is how I would talk to you. Maybe a few more hand motions, but I talk like I write.

It took time to figure this out though. I cringe at some of my earlier posts and can immediately see who I was reading at the time by how I was writing.

You have to do this too. Think about toddlers learning to talk. They mimic the adults–the experts–around them. Eventually, they’ll start using their words to show you their personality, but in the beginning, they’re just copying you.

It’s the same way with writing. Find people who write like you want to write and practice writing like them.

And then just keep going.

That’s really the hardest part of this: not quitting. Everyone wants to write but not many people want to put in the hours of sitting at a desk in a quiet room. Everyone wants to write but not many people want to write when there are no words and you’re staring at a blank screen. Everyone wants to write but not many people want to keep doing it when it seems like no one is reading what you’re sharing.

Write on the internet because you love writing or blogging or creating. Don’t do it because you want to be famous, you want to earn money, or you want to have tons of followers. There is a really high chance those things will not happen. But they for sure will never happen if you just keep thinking about writing and never actually do it.

What questions do you have about writing on the internet? Do you have questions about social media, sponsored posts, or email subscribers? I don’t know what you want to know, but I’d love to hear if you have a specific question. Leave it in the comments below, and I’ll respond. I never know what parts of this weird gig are common knowledge, which are secret blog stuff, and which are just confusing. Also, the teacher part of me wants you to write, but I know it’s scary to share writing with people. It sorta feels like showing up to the first day of high school without pants on. Do you want to talk about freelancing? Need to know how to share your writing? Ask me anything and I’ll try to help. This isn’t some weird writers club that others can’t join. The more the merrier, friends. The more the merrier.

Other times I’ve written about writing or writing on the internet:
Writing on the internet
What I forgot to tell the class: luck just found my hard work
Why Trusty Chucks
Who I became in 2014: a writer
What I learned from my viral post

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