family

Boyne Mountain in December

We just can’t quit Michigan.

We’re supposed to be knocking off more states in our quest to visit all 50, but Michigan keeps calling us back. The week before Christmas we headed north to Boyne City, Michigan, for a week of skiing, playing, shopping, and relaxing.

We began the week by staying at a two-bedroom condo at Mountain Run at Boyne. We had a cozy fireplace and a view of the slopes. At the end of the week, we moved to Boyne Mountain Resort to spend three days at the main lodge.

We had access to the resort from Mountain Run—it was a five minute walk to get there—but staying onsite was nice too. It made it easier for the girls to run down at 5:00 every day for warm cookies and walking to our decadent breakfast every morning was convenient.

We introduced the girls to skiing; one child took to it quickly and loved it, one child did not. We walked the Skybridge twice, once when there wasn’t much snow on the ground and once when it was snowy and beautiful. We spent a day in Petoskey shopping and exploring. I got to spend hours thrifting. We ate a delicious dinner at the Whi-Ski Inn in Boyne City. The girls spent an afternoon at Avalanche Bay going down waterslides and floating the lazy river. We read books and watched movies. We sipped hot chocolate and hot cider around a fire pit as it snowed. We sat in hot tubs and swam in heated pools as the snow fell on our heads. We worked on a puzzle and ordered pizza when we were too tired to move.

It was a magical week. Michigan never disappoints.

Side note with some affiliate links: The girls opened a few Christmas presents before our trip, things we bought for the adventure. They got rolling luggage and Kindle Paperwhites, plus cute winter pajamas for the lodge. I got some new snow pants that I highly recommend buying if you’re in the market for a new pair. I thrifted most of the girls ski stuff, and Ellie’s fuzzy boots got many compliments during the week. I used the packing cubes I bought for Mexico, and I’m still in love with them. I don’t understand what voodoo makes them work, but they are amazing. Also, don’t forget your sunscreen for skiing!

In the Jordan’s water or any other

Dennis called on Thursday to talk about Harper.

“She wants to be baptized,” he said as middle schoolers talked and yelled in the background. “She expressed interest last night during service.”

This wasn’t unexpected.

My daughter has wanted to be baptized since late 2019. We were making our way through a workbook our church gave us about preparing to be baptized when the pandemic hit. And then we watched our church community turn proudly hateful and paranoid and selfish. We watched the people who taught our children in Sunday school and sang worship songs from stage use misinformation and fear as biblical principles. We saw and heard them speak ugly words about people God had created and loved fiercely.

We never went back to that church.

It all felt so hypocritical and fake. We couldn’t stomach it, and we definitely couldn’t let our girls think this was how you followed Jesus. So we left the church Chris and I grew up at, the church we met at and served at for decades, the church where we married and raised babies.

We left.

It has been two years, and there is still grief and sadness. I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t one of the hardest things we’ve ever done. We don’t regret it. But we are still untangling a lot of the mess and hurt and bad theology we learned there.

Long story short: Harper was, in the summer of 2022, still waiting to be baptized.

So when Dennis called from the church camp that we know preaches a lot of the same messages we left our church over, I wasn’t surprised but I was suspicious.

No, we don’t want Harper to be baptized at camp this week.
Her parents would like to be present, and we can’t make it there during the week.
Yes, we can have her baptized when she comes home.

“I assume you have a home church that can do it?” Dennis asked as we wrapped up our conversation.

“Sure,” I said, because Dennis, you probably don’t want to have this conversation with me right now.

It would probably be the same conversation that would start if I came to the women’s retreat weekend on the flyer I was handed as we walked out of the gym after checking the girls in for their week of camp.

After we said goodbye, Chris and I climbed back into the car to head home. I folded the women’s retreat flyer and put it in the cupholder. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Chris said, “I almost told the lady ‘You don’t want my wife at your retreat’ when she handed that to you.”

“That’s the truth,” I said.

Dennis, the truth is much more complicated than you’ve got time for, but we could start with the rules for girls’ swimsuits at camp and why only men can be deans.

close up of a pool floaty made to look like a donut with colorful sprinkles floating in a pool.

I picked the girls up from church camp on a muggy Friday afternoon. They were tired and cranky and dirty. When we got home, Chris baptized Harper in our swimming pool. Harper wore her mermaid bikini, I took her confession of faith, and my tattooed husband submerged her in the cool, crystal clear water in our backyard.

It felt simple and extraordinary.
It felt like the perfect time and too late.
It felt like a reminder that following God doesn’t have to be fancy or within the rules of a denomination or with a crowd of people surrounding you.

A private backyard baptism felt like the most on-brand choice for this moment in our lives. We cannot stomach the pomp and circumstance of church. We cannot abide the culture of religion that has hurt so many people we love. We cannot reconcile the twists of scripture that lead to power and greed and control.

But we love Jesus and we want to follow Him and we want to live like Him. We crave the new birth that baptism offers, the washing away of the old and the renewing of the spirit. We desperately desire the easy yoke of following Christ as we try to operate in a world that keeps making more and more rules, boundaries, and caveats.

So we baptized our daughter, even as we struggle with so much doubt and confusion and mess. We baptized her, even when we’re not sure of our place in a society that forces obedience instead of joy and freedom.

We have so many questions, but Jesus isn’t one of them.

The next morning I sat on my porch swing drinking coffee. I was reading Wholehearted Faith by Rachel Held Evans and because God has never stopped showing up in these years since we left church, the next chapter I was to read was called “The Steady Work of Living Water.”

In it, Rachel writes, “My baptism reminds me that I am a Christian because Christianity gives me a name that supersedes every other name the world will try to give me. I am a Christian because my baptism has declared that I am a beloved child of God. There is no failure, no sin, no accomplishment, no success that can change that.”

“Baptism, whether in the Jordan’s water or any other, ties us to the cycle of life, through all of which runs water. It reminds us that we belong. It is, of course, much easier to write that out than to reckon with the reality of what belonging to that larger community—to that fractious assemblage of humanity, prone as it is to hurt as much as to help—really means.”

And that is the reminder I needed: we are beloved children of God and we belong. The details can be figured out later.

on my porch swing

In July, the rain finally came, flooding the little pockets of bare earth under the trees lining the cornfield.

It got hot, but we opened the windows for a few days, letting in the breeze and letting out the stuffy, stale air.

I sat on my porch swing.

I drove to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, lunch with a friend, the grocery store, the library.

We listened to old albums from my college days, hearing the words for the first time all over again. Some of them make more sense twenty years later. We listened to Harry Styles on repeat, both for the girls and for me.

I sat on my porch swing.

My garden didn’t grow. Cucumbers, tomatoes, green peppers, tomatillos—everything is slow this year. The summer has been dry, the bunnies have been ruthless, and I planted late. But do you need a zucchini? I have 400.

Passed by my dead aunt’s vacant house this week; there was a black cat sitting on the sidewalk looking at the front door expectantly. Me too, cat, I thought as I drove by, me too.

Ellie has dedicated her week to making the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. Harper took a full bowl of her favorite cereal and milk to bed one morning. It ended exactly how you’d think it would.

We are all learning this summer.

I sat on my porch swing.

There’s a balance beam in the yard, Harper is mapping out routines and trying to cartwheel without falling off. Ellie—if you can’t find her—will be next door at the neighbors or on top of the shed watching the world go by. We are busy. We are not busy.

I sat on my porch swing.

The last time I talked to my grandma, she asked when I was heading back to school. I haven’t been in the classroom since 2018. It’s not worth correcting her, she’ll just get confused. We went back-to-school shopping this week, and I bought myself new pens and post-its, a shirt and a notebook. Maybe I forgot I’m not in the classroom anymore, too.

Our mailbox—the third or fourth since we moved in—is on its last leg. It’s become more shocking if people don’t hit it when they leave our house now. I wonder what the mail carrier thinks. It’s currently facing the wrong way.

I sat on my porch swing.

Gave myself a paper cut in my armpit—don’t ask, it just happened—and I might not survive the trauma.

I went for long, sweaty walks during the hottest part of the day. There’s something I enjoy about the unpleasantness of it. Maybe it’s penance for my comfortable office, comfortable air conditioning, comfortable life. I search for discomfort to not become numb.

We got new neighbors and their grandkids bring squeals and laughter to a normally quiet block.

I sat on my porch swing.

I watched the ground be broken for burial. I watched the family gather around the headstone. I watched the discarded flowers wilt under the relentless sun.

I sat on my porch swing.

I read the news, made phone calls, raged. I ignored the news, hid my phone, paid attention to the grass and the wind and the hummingbirds that buzz around the flowers I can see from my front window.

We filled the pool with cool water, with bright floaties, with wriggling bodies.

The girls went to camp. I went to Ohio for work. Chris went to the top of tall buildings downtown.

I wrote and cooked, read and napped, watched and grieved.

I sat on my porch swing.

We went to the drive-in and learned we are not made for the summer drive-in. We are fall drive-in people. We are go-to-bed-early people. We are sleep-through-the-summer-movie people.

There were book club dinners, birthday dinners, and drive-thru dinners. There was trivia night and shutting down the Mexican restaurant with loud, energtic friends.

I sat on my porch swing.

We watched a baseball game in Louisville and played cornhole in Columbus.

I sat on my porch swing.

We said goodbye to summer break. I bought my second pair of overalls. I learned sometimes you can do all the right things and things still don’t work out.

I sat on my porch swing.

And then July was over.

2021 Holiday Movie Guide

In November, the Graham girls (Ellie, Harper, and myself) decided to dedicate ourselves to hours of movie watching for the sake of others. We are nothing if not givers, and we decided a great way to use our precious time would be to watch as many holiday movies as possible and then tell others about them. Think of it as our gift to the world during this challenging time.

Before we share our reviews, we need to set the stage: I don’t really watch much TV, but when colder weather comes and I can’t be outside as much, I have some free time to fill. Normally, I watched completely cringe-y holiday movies by myself while cooking or after the girls would go to bed. Surprisingly, Chris Graham wasn’t interested in joining me for these shows. Now as the girls get older, they’re joining in on the tradition. Saturday morning cartoons have been replaced with romantic holiday movies. Sunday night family movie night has turned into cheesy Christmas shows. Chris Graham is distraught. The Graham girls are ecstatic. I can’t tolerate the level of bad acting and predictable storylines ten months out of the year, but for November and December, I welcome all of it. The more horrible the better, please and thank you.

This is not a complete list. There are countless holiday movies across many streaming platforms to choose from. We’re still watching more as we speak. We’ll never get to all of them and, while we’ve resigned ourselves to this sad fact, we are not going down without a fight.

_{I bought this Echo Show 8 (affiliate link) on Black Friday to up my holiday baking game. I can’t see our living room TV from the kitchen so I normally just watch movies on my phone, but it’s annoying to go back and forth between recipes and movies, or text messages and movies. So I treated myself to an Echo Show, and I can’t tell you how ridiculously happy I am about it. Christmas music in the mornings as the girls get ready for school, recipes on the screen while I make dinner, and Netflix while I bake. I think this is the peak for me. There’s no where else to go from here.}

_{What my kitchen looked like yesterday before I started the baking marathon. Holiday movies are needed for emotional support.}

Home Sweet Home Alone (on Netflix)
The girls picked this as their first holiday movie. It’s a newer spin-off on the original Home Alone series with recognizable actors and some fun cameos. I thought another Home Alone movie was a bad idea, but this works and the girls recommend it.

Love Hard (on Netflix)
I liked this one. The main love interest is Asian and the movie pushes back on some stereotypes of love and relationships (but the main characters are both toxic in their own ways, how romantic!). I liked the diverse casting choices; there is one unimaginative storyline with the best friend who is supposed to be in AA but is often drinking in her scenes. It goes without saying that I’m just not a big fan of making light of the disease of addiction, so if that will be annoying to you, skip this one.

The Holiday (on Netflix)
Okay, this isn’t a new movie, obviously. But I’m including it on my list because it was the first Christmas movie I watched in November to kick off the holiday season, so I’m reminding you it’s great and you should watch it and it will never go out of style.

Holidate (on Netflix)
Completely predictable and definitely not for kids, but I loved it. This is the level of cheesy Christmas movie I want for everything I watch. Just fun to watch and makes a great background movie for wrapping presents or baking. (There is a lot of drinking—I mean, a LOT of drinking—in this one, just FYI.)

A California Christmas (on Netflix)
This one was actually pretty dumb, but that doesn’t disqualify it during the months of November and December. I half watched it while working on my gift guides last month, and it served its purpose perfectly. You can only pay attention to this movie half the time and know exactly what is going on.

A California Christmas: City Lights (on Netflix)
Oh look, I said A California Christmas was kinda dumb, yet I watched the sequel a few weeks later. Still kinda dumb, but—no shame—I like the escape of a really dumb movie right now. I highly recommend this coping mechanism to everyone reading this.

Jingle Jangle (on Netflix)
This one is super fun. Watch it with your whole family. This is our second year watching this one and it’s becoming part of our holiday traditions. Diverse cast AND a girl who loves science? Sold.

Holiday Calendar (on Netflix)
I really liked this one. Diverse cast, creative-yet-cheesy storyline, and fun to watch. I did my first round of holiday baking while watching, and this movie was a great companion while I mixed and baked and iced.

Ernest Saves Christmas (on Disney+)
As a child of the 80s, I take the responsibility of teaching my children about Ernest P. Worrell very seriously. So when they selected Ernest Saves Christmas as a movie one evening, I realized my job here was done. They are ready to go out into the world on their own. God speed, children. KnoWhutImean, Vern?

Let It Snow (on Netflix)
This is a movie based on the YA novel by John Green, Lauren Myracle, and Maureen Johnson. It’s definitely for older teens; I didn’t watch this one with the girls, but as a life-long YA lover, this was delightful. It wasn’t super cheesy, which I always appreciate, and it had the feel of a classic 80’s high school movie. This is one of my favorites this year.

A Castle for Christmas (on Netflix)
This one is especially silly, but it has Brooke Shields and Cary Elwes so I was able to convince the girls to watch it with me when I said it was the guy from The Princess Bride. There are Scottish accents and local pubs wear people have a knitting club, so this was just delightful to watch. Silly, but delightful.

Single All The Way (on Netflix)
Best friends who aren’t in love with each other are madly in love with each other by the end of the movie. I did not see that coming. But I liked the shocking twist nonetheless.

Holiday in the Wild (on Netflix)
Kristin Davis and Rob Lowe? Yes, please. Full disclosure: this one has some pretty hard White savior vibes (it’s set in Africa) and that’s annoying, but it’s beautiful to watch and they fall in love! Who saw that coming?!

A Very Country Christmas (on Netflix)
I’m not even sure why I clicked on this one, I’m not a fan of country music, but I was making dinner one night and I was desperate. My favorite part was Deana Carter as the friend and orchestrator of love; while I’m not a big fan of country music, it’s against the law to not like “Strawberry Wine,” obviously.

Operation Christmas Drop (on Netflix)
Hawaii, Christmas, the US military, and another side of White savior complex. Merry Christmas, from the United States who will destroy local economies and natural resources, but then air-drop bags of rice and blankets so you can feel #blessed by our presence.

Holiday Rush (on Netflix)
The girls loved this one about a widowed father and his four children. Dad loses his job right before Christmas and things get stressful…until they learn the real meaning of the holidays. Good for kids and parents.

Holiday Home Makeover with Mr. Christmas (on Nexflix)
The girls and I binged 3 or 4 of these episodes one Saturday morning. If you like reality TV shows, makeover shows, or sad stories, this one is for you. Mr. Christmas is a professional holiday decorator and he travels around the country with his elves spreading good cheer for those who’ve experienced loss or tragedy. Christmas lights solve everything. Trust me.

A Christmas Prince + A Christmas Prince: The Royal Wedding + A Christmas Prince: The Royal Baby (on Netflix)
I watched A Christmas Prince last year, but didn’t feel the need to continue on with the series. My children, on the other hand, went all in. They followed the Prince and his lady into marriage and babies. By the third movie, Ellie was able to predict the cheesy lines before they were said, which is just a sign that she’s learning some valuable writing lessons this holiday season.

8-Bit Christmas (on HBOMax)
This wins as best new holiday movie for me. If you’re a kid from the 80s or early 90s, please watch this. I don’t care if you have kids or not. Or maybe you were raising kids during this time period? You’ll love this one too. Nintendo, Cabbage Patch dolls, and the fashion are like taking a trip back in time. This one is funny and heartwarming. 8-Bit Christmas for everyone.

I’m spending the weekend baking through this list, and I just started Dash & Lily. It’s a series with 8 episodes (30 minutes or less). I normally avoid holiday series because I don’t want to commit to something that long, but I’ve still got hours of baking to do, and not having to pick 2-3 movies out this weekend is enough for me to take the plunge.

I hope your weekend before Christmas is filled with cozy fires, warm ovens, and good company. I hope your Christmas shopping is done, and maybe you get snow. And I hope your TV is playing silly holiday movies that distract you from the outside world for just a little bit.

DISCLOSURE: AFFILIATE LINKS USED

Gift Ideas: Games & Puzzles

Okay, this is it. The final gift list for 2021. And this one might be the most fun?

The Grahams play a lot of games. We play games when we camp. We play games on the back porch on summer evenings. We play games a lot in the cold winter months. We also do a lot of puzzles in the winter. Winter feels like puzzle weather.

This is a list of some of our favorites. Truthfully, I had a hard time narrowing it down. Apparently, we love a lot of games and puzzles. So the main point of this post might not be to buy the ones we love (even though I think you’ll love them like we do!), but to play games with people you love and sit around a table with good snacks and an intricate puzzle with others. It actually doesn’t matter which ones you choose.

(Some of the following links are affiliates. When you use these links, I make a very small commission from your purchase. It doesn’t change the price for you. Thanks for supporting Trusty Chucks in this small way.)

Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza (link)
This is our current go-to game. We played it at Thanksgiving with family and had so much fun. It was the first time we’d played it with more than just the four of us, and it’s a much better game with a 5 or 6 people. Our dogs HATE this game because it’s loud (think slapping and pounding the table). They normally hide in my office when we play. It’s also kinda rough, but that’s only if you play with very competitive people who don’t tone it down when playing with kids. Which is my whole family. (This would be a great stocking stuffer.)

LEGO Minifigure 1000 Piece Puzzle (link)
Our family tradition is puzzles for Christmas morning. Chris and I normally each get a puzzle, and the girls get one too. After presents have been opened and we’re watching movies and eating more food, someone opens up one of the puzzles and then we spend the rest of the day, on and off, completing the puzzle. By the evening, everyone has spent some time working on it and it’s done. This LEGO minifigure puzzle was Chris’ puzzle last year. If you have a LEGO fan in your family, this one is really fun.

Uno Flip (link)
We play a lot of games when we camp, and this is one of the two card games we play the most. It’s like the original Uno, but the cards are two-sided and depending on how a card is played, you might have to flip your hand and start a whole different strategy to win. This is a more cut-throat Uno, and we love it. (This would be a great stocking stuffer.)

Tenzi (link)
Harper fell in love with Tenzi at school. She finally bought it for herself this summer when we were traveling, and she plays with it often. She can mess around with the dice by herself, play with Ellie, or we can all play together. It’s a quick game if you need it to be. For a stocking stuffer this Christmas, she’s getting the 77 ways to play card set that expands the Tenzi game into all kinds of other stuff.

Monopoly Deal (link)
This is the other card game we play a lot while camping. This one is a little more intense and time consuming than Uno Flip, but it’s easy to set up and clean up and is definitely shorter than the never-ending original Monopoly game. I’m actually not a fan of Monopoly, but this one isn’t half as bad as that boring version that takes four years to play. (This would be a great stocking stuffer.)

Scrabble (link)
Oh look, the English major is telling you to buy Scrabble. Didn’t see that coming. No, but seriously, Scrabble is fun! Ellie spent time at my mom’s this weekend, and she played it for the first time. She came home telling me how fun it was, and I was personally insulted she thought she was telling me something I didn’t know. Not to give you a very personal glimpse into our marriage, but Chris and I used to play Scrabble a lot when the girls were little. They’d go to bed, and we’d stay up late playing Scrabble. Like the elderly people we were meant to be. Our Scrabble board got ruined this summer while camping, so I’m getting a new one for Christmas. HUMBLE BRAG.

Exploding Kittens (link)
Adding this to the list because it’s an Ellie Graham favorite. The cards are clever. Death is eminent, but it’s fun (and quick). I love quick games, seriously.

Jenga (link)
Don’t sleep on Jenga. (Is anyone actually sleeping on Jenga? No. I just wanted to type that.) This is fun for all ages, and doesn’t last super long. (See above for my views on quick games.) You can play a few rounds in a short amount of time, and it’s fun for kids to play by themselves. When the girls were younger, they would “practice” Jenga so they were ready the next time family game night rolled around.

A Rainbow World 1000 Piece Puzzle (link)
This is another Christmas morning puzzle. We actually like to pick up puzzles when we travel and save them for presents. This is mine from last year; we picked it up in North Carolina, I opened it Christmas morning in Indiana, and then we carried it down to Florida where we celebrated the New Year. That’s the great thing about puzzles, they can go anywhere and fill a whole evening.

Ticket to Ride (link)
Okay, full disclosure: we own this, but haven’t played it yet. We know lots of friends who love it, so I’m trusting their opinions and adding this to the list. We’ll probably break it open in December, so I’ll come back and delete this if it’s dumb. Stay tuned.

Sequence (link)
I played Sequence a lot with my family growing up. We loved the strategy of it; how we could all play, no matter what age we were (I mean, not toddlers, but 10 and up, for sure). When the girls were little, I discovered they had made a Sequence for Kids (link) version so we used to play this when the girls were younger. We passed it on to our niece, because now the Graham girls (10 & 12) are old enough to play the adult version.

Pets Rock 550 Piece Puzzle (link)
Another fun puzzle we love. This is one the girls got for Christmas a few years ago. It’s the right size to be challenging but not overwhelming for older kids. Also, it’s pop stars as cats and dogs. If you have an Adele or Katy Perry fan, this would be fun to give them.

Mexican Train Dominoes (link)
Mexican Train is another classic we’ve been playing for years. You can play with 4 or more people and it’s just basic matching, but with strategy and luck. We love this one for game nights with friends.

Follow Your Nose Puzzle (link)
Last puzzle suggestion, I promise! They just make so many great puzzles now. You don’t even need my suggestions, just Google your favorite thing (succulents, shoes, maps, etc.) and “puzzle.” You’ll find plenty of great ones. We really love dogs, so this dog puzzle was a hit.

Skip-Bo (link)
Skip-Bo is another childhood classic for me. My maternal grandparents loved playing Skip-Bo, and we played it at their house all the time. It’s good for older kids or adults, and it would be a good addition to a family game night. (Again, another great stocking stuffer.)

Finally, two games I’m buying for Christmas this year that I’ve seen lots of people talk about recently: Slapzi (link) and IncoHEARent (link). Slapzi is made by the same people who make Tenzi, but it’s cards instead of dice. Harper has her eye on this one so Santa is bring it this year. If you’re interested in both Tenzi and Slapzi, Amazon sells them together as a set. IncoHEARent is more of an adult game. They do sell a kids’ verison, but I’m buying the adult version for game night with our friends. It’s along the lines of Cards Against Humanity, so keep that in mind if you’re gifting it. It’s not for everyone.

DISCLOSURE: AFFILIATE LINKS USED

The first to stop jumping

I serenaded my family on the way in. Somehow we ended up listening to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack as we rolled through Ohio, and I performed “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” and “Hungry Eyes” to my horrified captive audience.

What I didn’t realize was we were heading toward the movie set.

Austin Lake Park opened in 1946. It’s still owned by the same family; the current president swims laps in the lake every afternoon. He greeted us late Friday night as we pulled in, barefoot and smiling. The camp has a PA system that chimes four times before an announcement about the rabbit petting zoo or the bingo game that’s getting ready to start. (Do you remember the announcements from the school office in Grease? Every time the PA system chimed, I expected the Pink Ladies to appear.)

The park is huge. Nestled in the Ohio River Valley, in the hills of the Appalachian Mountain range, there’s no cell service or nearby restaurants. You’re in the middle of nowhere with endless things to do.

The lake alone could keep you busy for a week. There are pedal boats and pontoons, obstacle courses and fishing. There’s a beach to build sandcastles on and a dam you can ride an inner tube down. There are canoes and kayaks, paddle boards and tubing. There’s a raised platform in the middle of the lake where you can pick your poison: a five foot jump, a ten foot jump, or a twenty foot jump.

We sat on the beach and watched as a man jumped off the tower for hours.

Climb the ladder.
Walk across the platform.
Remove his hat.
Hold it in his gloved hand.
Walk off the ledge.
Fall eighteen feet.
Near the surface of the water, jerk his feet out.
Plunge into the water.
A pause underwater.
Break the surface.
Put his khaki hat back on his head.
Swim to the ladder.

Again and again and again.

The first day we spent at the beach, we watched as he climbed and jumped for over two hours. He was still jumping when we left.

The next time we saw him, Chris said, “I wonder what he’s paying penance for.”

We all know that feeling, when the demons and the guilt get too loud and you do whatever you can to quiet things: Drink. Shop. Control. Run. Avoid. Jump.

We all want to punish ourselves, to make the stuff that happened go away if we just do the thing often enough. It’s a score—a balance sheet—and if we just do enough, the scales will be tipped back in our favor. We’ll forgive ourselves. We’ll forgive others. Others will forgive us.

“Maybe I should ask him if he’s okay,” Chris said eventually.

My husband knows the ache of wanting someone to ask if he’s okay. When he was a kid. When he was drinking.

Yesterday.
Today.

Sometimes it’s easier if someone asks. It helps us tell the truth. We can’t just say it first. Going first means we may never go at all.

I was at the lake that day with men who went first. First in their family to say no more drinking, no more secrets, no more quiet at all cost, no more hiding, no more pretending everything is fine when it is all on fire.

Austin Lake Park opened in 1946, when our grandparents were young, when the rest of their lives were in front of them, when their foundations were being laid. I think about those beginnings a lot. How they led us here—both in good ways and not so good ways. How we carry family legacies, whether it’s the slow walking or the flaring nostrils or the trauma. How we keep repeating the past until we turn back to look at it and say no more, until we learn better ways. Until we see we don’t have to keep jumping off the same tower and expecting different results.

At some point, we learn we have to stop jumping.

I’m not sure there’s any other way

She said: I find myself falling apart and angry as my husband is confronting childhood trauma and addiction issues—it’s been so much stress on me and I’m barely hanging on.

I know it feels like all your time and resources are being directed at his stuff, but, if you can, please find a therapist. You were not made to handle this on your own. If you want to survive this too, you need your own help. I would not have survived without therapy. Our relationship would not have survived without me in therapy.

It feels infuriating that early sobriety (from anything) is five years. Because it is so long and exhausting. But it’s true. Addiction layers go deep and the minute you feel like you’re making progress, something else comes to the surface.

Remember this is a marathon, not a sprint. Also, addicted brains have coped with trauma and pain and abuse by hiding it. Addiction is a way for us to avoid looking at the things that are screaming for our attention. The longer someone is clean and sober, the more our brains remember. It takes time. Healing takes so much time.

And you never know what will trigger things that were hidden.

Recently, Chris’ maternal grandpa died. Chris hasn’t been in contacting with his mom since November 2017. I’ve written—in some general ways—about his childhood, but let’s just say it was awful. He grew up in a home full of abuse, secrets, mental illness, and shame. He no longer speaks to either of his parents. In the beginning on his estrangement from his mom, there was hope she would get the help she needed. Unfortunately, as time passes, she seems to be getting worse instead of better. (We’re still in relationship with his brother and sister and families; this isn’t the time, but it’s also important to say that when one sibling leaves a family full of abuse, the guilt about leaving the others behind and unprotected—no matter how old you are—is real.)

The bottom line is Chris’ sobriety is more important than keeping his parents happy. He is not required to ruin his own life to be in theirs. (And plot twist: they are never happy; they are victims always and forever. So even in relationship with them, they would be unhappy. They do not have the ability to be happy or the self-awareness to get the help to figure out why that is, so any guilt Chris has about their unhappiness is a catch-22. He is not the answer to their problems, but it’s easier to say that than take responsibility for their own actions and lives.)

ANYWAY. Chris’ grandpa died and we were talking about the funeral. Chris decided we wouldn’t go because he didn’t want to see his mom. Drawing any attention to himself at his grandpa’s funeral felt gross. We sent flowers and he called his grandma instead.

He doesn’t call his grandma often because she refuses to respect the boundary he’s set around their conversations. He doesn’t want to talk about his mom with her. No matter how many times he explains that, she insists on trying to guilt and shame him into calling his mom. She can’t have a normal conversation with him, she’s so intent on manipulating him.

(There are two reasons this could be happening: 1. She hasn’t been told the truth about why Chris is no longer in relationship with his mom. This is a bad sign because it means his mom is not taking responsibility for her dangerous actions. To change, heal, and reconcile, you first have to admit what you’ve done. 2. She knows the truth and doesn’t care. That’s a bad sign because, well, child abuse and secrets and the things that went on in that house were not okay. She should not be okay with them.)

So Chris can’t call his grandma very often. He has stated his boundary, she keeps ignoring it, and so he doesn’t call. It’s madness to keep allowing people to overstep a necessary, life-saving boundary you’ve made. People tell you who they are. We’ve got to stop pretending we don’t see it.

So death and family communication happens and, as always, it kicks up the dirt in Chris’ life. Some things shift and poke out, some things re-emerge. And his almost-four-years-sober brain lets some new stuff tumble out.

He tells me new things he’s remembering, things that have been haunting him when he’s awake and showing up in his nightmares.

And they are horrible.

I hate his parents all over again. Hate what they did. Hate what they allowed. Hate what they hid.

But he doesn’t hate them. He’s resigned and sad and grieves his childhood. But he’s not angry anymore. He’s thankful he survived. He’s thankful he doesn’t have to worry about them anymore. He’s thankful he can say the things out loud and not be immediately overwhelmed with shame. He’s thankful he doesn’t need to handle the memories with alcohol or drugs or hiding.

And, truthfully, I hate his parents only briefly. My anger doesn’t stick around like it used to. At some point, nothing shocks you, but also, I’m tired of being angry. Anger is a heavy weight to carry.

Chris is safe now.
He is loved.
He is cared for.
He is seen.
He is safe.
He is safe.
He is safe.
And he is clean and sober.

It took years to get here. And he is not done. This work will be for the rest of his life. But there are more good days than bad now.

But we had to get through a string of about 700 bad days to get here.

So what I want to tell you is keep going. As long as you are seeing progress and healing and change, keep going. It will not always be like this. It will not always feel like this. It will not always hurt so much.

But you can’t skip this pet either. You have to go through it—feel all of it—get angry and sad at every single part. Then you slowly come out the other side.

But do not avoid it. You’ll need it for the days—four years later—when a new heartbreaking secret tumbles out. You’ll need it because then you’ll have firmer ground to stand on, better coping mechanisms, and a more tender heart.

I am sorry it hurts so much right now. It will not be like this forever even though it’s hard to imagine anything else. Please take care of yourself. Find a therapist. Be patient and kind with yourself.

It’s okay if you’re falling apart. I’m not sure there’s any other way.

in the mountains of North Carolina

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: we don’t take for granted that during a pandemic we’ve able to still travel and explore with our camper.

COVID-19 changed the way we travel: no wandering around a gas station to stretch our legs or buy junk food, restroom breaks in the camper, no eating inside restaurants even though we really want to. We skip touristy things we might have visited in the past.

We are a pretty self-contained little caravan. Camp in the forest, hike with masks in case we pass others, and bring our own food.

Even with all the changes, fall break in the North Carolina mountains was perfect.

We arrived Saturday afternoon to Lazy J Campground. Over five years of camping with a travel trailer has brought us a wide variety of campground experiences. We tend to stay away from places that have long-term camping; we’ve learned those places aren’t where we like to be. Truthfully, if I had seen Lazy J ahead of time, I wouldn’t have made a reservation. I’m so glad I didn’t see it though, because we would have missed out on some pretty great rustic camping.

Our lot was wooded and secluded; we could hear the French Broad River as we sat outside; we were near all the places we wanted to be. If you wanted a weekend in a tent, this would be a pretty great spot too. This is a low-frills campground; don’t expect nice bathrooms, wifi, or a place to do laundry. You’re paying for a spot and that’s it. (It’s $30/night for full hookups which is crazy cheap. We’re used to paying around $60/night for most places.) The lack of amenities was fine for us since we shower in our camper, but we only packed enough clothes for six days, because I normally do a load or two of laundry if we’re gone for more than a week. Probably more information than you need, but the socks and underpants situation got dire near the end of our trip because I didn’t do laundry as planned.

Sunday we spent the day exploring the Pisgah National Forest. Our campground was right on the border of the forest and driving through the park for trails was fun. The Cradle of Forestry was worth the $6/person visit. We got to see the nation’s first forestry school and the grounds where the foundations for America’s forestry programs were laid. The CoF also has paved walking trails on 1-3 mile loops if accessibility is a concern.

After exploring all day, we had a movie night at home. A Redbox and boxes of movie candy and popcorn with the windows open as the cool mountain air blew through was the best way to end the day.

Monday was my birthday. We took a 3-hour morning hike to a waterfall we never found. Happy birthday to meeeee. It was fine; it was a beautiful hike even if Harper cried for most of it.

We drove the Blue Ridge Parkway and stopped at lookouts as long as others weren’t around. I know I’m not the first person to say this, but the BRP is breathtaking. The fall leaves were unbelievable. It feels like you’re driving in a movie that never ends.

We got sushi takeout for an early dinner. We rely on Yelp a lot when we travel; we try to eat local when visiting a place and Yelp said Sora Japanese was a good stop. I agree. First time eating sushi on a picnic table at the camper; we so fancy.

After dinner, we had a game night. I bought two new games for the trip: Uno Flip and Monopoly Deal. The girls loved Uno Flip so much we never even opened Monopoly Deal. They played it every day, multiple times a day.

Tuesday we drove into Asheville. It was about a 45-minute drive from the campground. The girls shopped at Dancing Bear Toys, we walked around the downtown shops, we picked out treats for the dogs at Patton Ave. Pet Co., and Chris Graham bought a new pipe and tobacco at the Carolina Cigar Company. There were a few stores downtown that had signs restricting out-of-state customers. One was a bookstore we really wanted to visit, but I understand the majority of people traveling right now might also be the people who aren’t making choices to keep others safe. This was the first trip we’ve ever taken without a bookstore stop. Sad trombone.

On our way out of Asheville, we stopped for a late lunch at Moe’s BBQ. It was our 14th wedding anniversary, and we knew we wanted to eat some Carolina BBQ to celebrate. We ordered Moe’s to go then sat on their patio. The weather was sunny and perfect, the BBQ was amazing, and Harper declared Moe’s her second favorite restaurant of all time. (First favorite is City BBQ.)

Once our bellies were full, we left the city and headed to DuPont State Forest. We did the Triple Falls Loop to see where they filmed part of the first Hunger Games movie. This late afternoon hike was full of stuff to see, places to get into the cold water, and not a lot of people.

Wednesday we spent a lazy morning at the camper. Chris slept in, I drank lots of coffee, and the girls played on the dangerous old slides the campground had. Mid-morning we left the girls on iPads and took the dogs on a hike a few miles up the road. They loved it; Mac has boundless energy and no fear. Blue is more timid and cautious. They both traipsed through the river and swam in the cold, cold water.

After lunch, we drove a few minutes down the road to Headwaters Outfitters. We rented kayaks, and they dropped us off on the French Broad River for a 3-hour trip. The river was cold and clear. We made reservations for Wednesday, knowing it would be the warmest day all week, so we enjoyed mid-70s and clear skies as we manned the river. The section we were on is Class A, so it was a pretty calm, manageable trip. There was enough current to keep you going without too much effort. I’m not sure we could have asked for a better afternoon on the river.

We finished up the day with more rounds of Uno Flip and Gin Rummy. (I won, thank you.)

Thursday we spent the day at the Biltmore Estate. This was the most peopley part of our trip, and I was a little anxious it would feel too crowded and unsafe. But the Biltmore was ready: limiting attendance, hand sanitizer stations everywhere, constantly reminding people to leave space between groups, and firmly telling every person wearing a mask below their nose to cover up or leave. (This is my dream, to be able to tell people how dumb they look wearing a mask that doesn’t cover their nose. I’m not saying it’s a good dream, but it’s a dream.)

If you’re going, especially in the fall, buy tickets in advance. I bought them a few weeks before we left and tour times were already slim. Nine and under are free, so don’t buy your nine year old a ticket like I did. (They gave me a refund at will call when I picked them up, but they didn’t have to. It’s all over the website that refunds and transfers are not allowed. It was very kind of them to do it anyway.) We knew we were going to visit the Biltmore so I was prepared for the ridiculous tickets even though it still killed me to buy them. We spent all day touring the grounds, house, and buildings. I don’t regret spending the money, but I understand how it also feels really crazy to spend that much money on tickets. We packed a lunch and ate there; you could spend hundreds of dollars eating a nice meal at one of their farm-to-table restaurants, but we chose to spend $30 on three ice cream cones instead.

Whew.

Friday we slept in, had biscuits and gravy, and packed up the campsite. Around noon we headed toward home. We made it to Norris Lake in Tennessee and stayed the night at Mountain Lake Marina and Campground. It was just a place to sleep, but I’m not sure I’d pick that campground again. It was full of long-term campers, you had to walk ten minutes to the dumpster to get rid of trash, and our view was crappy. Obviously, we don’t own a boat and so a marina campground isn’t the place for us anyway. But Norris Lake is amazing; we camped there years ago with friends and loved the long weekend.

Saturday afternoon we pulled into home dirty, tired, and happy. I love traveling and exploring, but I really love coming home too. On this trip, we reminded the girls a few times how this fall and winter might be hard with the pandemic so we were grateful for the traveling we got to do and the things we got to experience. Infection rates in Indiana (and many other states) are spiking so we’re mentally preparing for schools to be shut down again. We’re not trick-or-treating this year; the girls are okay with it, and I’ve promised to make the 31st a day full of fun, but it still stinks that so much of what we’re experiencing now could have been avoided.

I think it’s time to winterize the camper. We thought about camping a few times in November, but we’ve got a summer porch project to wrap up, a few more trees to cut down in our yard, and a garden to ready for winter. This was probably the last trip of 2020 for the Grahams. Definitely ending on a high note.

DISCLOSURE: AFFILIATE LINKS USED.

I’m always looking for food ideas when we camp. Below is the meal plan for the trip. We were gone 9 days and I planned food for 6 days. With leftovers and a few meals out, 6 days worth of food was more than enough food. (We don’t cook too much over the fire; no one has time for that. We have a grill and an electric skillet. I do most of the cooking outside on a table, but the fire is mostly for warmth, hot dogs, and s’mores.)

Breakfast:
-cereal x2
-waffles/French toast sticks
-bacon, eggs, and fruit
-biscuits and gravy
-banana bread and yogurt with granola
-Poptarts

Lunch:
-charcuterie board x2
-sub sandwiches
-salads
-dinner leftovers x2

Dinner:
-tomato soup and grilled cheese
-chili dogs
-Crockpot pulled pork sliders
-grilled hamburgers
-walking tacos
-broccoli cheddar soup and grilled turkey sandwiches

It changes the way you vote

My dad told me he regretted paying for my college. He said this because he saw my college education at a secular school as the gateway to political beliefs that no longer match up with his.

He’s never had a real conversation with me about what I believe or why. Or how much my faith–not my college degrees–has to do with how I vote the way I do.

It’s really not a conversation we can ever have, it’s not safe or respectful. It will do more damage than good so I’m not interested in having it with him.
But I would like to have it with you.

I entered undergrad and exited undergrad voting the exact same way. If I didn’t know anything about a candidate on the ticket–normally for a local election– I left it blank. I understood the importance of carefully voting after research, but I voted similar to my parents.

After college, I interviewed at a few schools for a teaching position. I interviewed at a private, Lutheran high school where the principal called me later and said he thought I was meant to work with a different type of population than his private school kids.

I agreed.

I found my way to a school district less than 15 minutes from where I grew up. It was close to my White community, but not very White. Kids came from government housing and apartments. We had a high rate of free and reduced lunches, a term I didn’t know as a student, but knew well as a teacher.

Here’s what happened when I spent ten years teaching kids who, for the most part, lived and looked very different from me:

I started to learn that many of my political views directly hurt my students and their families. I saw firsthand how lack of medical care influenced their learning. How costly childcare meant they often cared for siblings in the evenings instead of doing my homework. I witnessed kids in foster homes that hurt them more than helped them. I had more than one student miss first period, because they needed to use the locker room showers to bathe and brush their teeth. I had parents skip parent-teacher conferences because they couldn’t miss work, no matter how much they cared about their child’s education. I learned some kids don’t celebrate Christmas in December; they celebrate it when the tax return comes in February because that’s the only time they have extra money.

Teaching kids who didn’t live the same life I did made me start questioning a lot of my beliefs. It didn’t make me more confident in the way I was taught, it made me start to realize something in my thinking was wrong.

I see the need for some people, especially Christians, to want their kids to go to Christian colleges. On the surface, it sounds safe and insular. Christians are taught to fear the big bad world outside their door. They’re taught people who don’t think like them were made specifically to trip them up.

This isn’t an actual Biblical principle—the Bible doesn’t mention college or higher learning once. It also doesn’t mention sticking to the people and places we feel most comfortable with. But we’ve been able to twist His words enough to make it sound like being around people only like us can keep us the safest. We’ve disregarded the parts of the Bible that tell us to be salt and light and latched onto the lie that safe and comfortable is the reward for following Christ. A reward we should reap in the here and now.

I went to a secular college and somehow managed to not sleep with 400 people, get pregnant, do drugs, or become a prostitute. I know this might shock the church people. My husband spent a semester at a Christian college, dropped out, then came home to begin a 15 year+ drug and alcohol addiction.

Plot twist.

I’d say our responses to college have more to do with family life, trauma, support systems, and mental health than the “good” or “bad” college we went to.

That’s the same with so many of my students. Their responses to their environments weren’t based on their education or lack of, it was based on their family life, trauma, support systems, and mental health.

Because when we don’t have to worry about basic needs like food, shelter, and safety, we are able to do more things, able to make better choices, able to be more successful in relationships and careers.

So I began to vote in a way that matched with my evolving belief: if we want better citizens, maybe we should create better lives.

That means I vote for:

Healthcare for all
Affordable mental health access
Fair wages
Abolishment of the death penalty
More taxes on the wealthy
A more equal distribution of wealth
Freedom to make choices about my body
Affordable childcare
Care for immigrants
Legislation guided by science and data
An end to privatized prisons and mass incarceration

If I believe all humans are created in the image of God—imago Dei—I vote for their respect and care and benefit.

I was trying to educate kids in an environment set up to fail. We expect schools to fix all of society’s problems instead of understanding school is just a reflect of society. If we want healthier, engaged kids to show up at school every day, we have to start by fixing things outside of school.
Schools reflect their community, not the other way around.

My college degrees didn’t change my voting habits, getting to know people who were different than me did. Suffering and injustice is easy to ignore when you don’t know anyone who doesn’t have the exact same problems as you. If you’ve never been hungry, you don’t understand what someone will do for food. If you’ve never experienced housing instability, you don’t know how far someone would go to have a safe place to sleep.

These are not character flaws. They are basic human needs we all have. And we are failing large, vulnerable groups of people by the way some of us vote.

I’ve had lots of conversations with people who can’t imagine giving people something they didn’t earn. “I work for my things and so should everyone else.”

If we all started on a level playing field, that might make sense. If we all started off in safe homes with plenty of food to eat and clean clothes to wear, maybe that would work. If we all had loving, healthy parents to protect us and guide us. If we all had homes where drugs weren’t present, where addiction wasn’t lurking, where we learn healthy self-esteem instead of how to carry our parents wounds.

If only.

And until that happens, we look for the people who need help and we help them. Will there always be the people who take advantage of the help? Of course. But we help anyway. We can’t control what other people do, but we can also not actively make choices to hurt them more.

Last year, my Thursday morning Bible study girls and I read through the Gospels. We learned a lot about Jesus, obviously. Sometimes we read the same story repeatedly and that was a little annoying, but that’s just my need for efficiency getting in the way. Reading the same stories, especially from different perspectives, often taught us new things about Jesus and following him. The point was the story-—of course—but the point was also the different perspectives. We saw new or different things when we read the same event from a different author. We saw different details, different parts of the same truth.

We have to have different perspectives, different points of view, different accounts. We have to have people who live differently than us, who grew up differently, who see life differently. Because it changes us. It makes us kinder and more aware and more merciful and more generous. We have to know how others live, what they struggle with, what hurts their hearts, and what keeps them up at night.

We have to know things outside our bubbles. It’s the way Jesus lived, and it’s the way his followers have to also. When we sit with the woman at the well, dine with the tax collector, or touch the sick, it changes us. It shapes our hearts to be more like his in a way surrounding ourselves with people who only look and live like us doesn’t.

We lead sheltered lives because we believe it keeps us safe, but really it just keeps us away from the suffering of others. We tithe our ten percent and trust the church to do some charity work instead of finding people who are worth being friends with and then meeting needs when you see them. (And realizing others can help meet our needs too; we are all needy in one way or another.) We sweep into situations trying to save people instead of just being with them. And we do it while failing to acknowledge we also need saving.

I’ve spent a lot of my thirties around addicts and alcoholics. I sleep in the same bed as one; I’ve sat at tables with them during rehab visits; I meet them in the stories my husband shares; I shake hands with them at AA meetings; I welcome them into my home. This is a world very different from the one in my twenties. I got pushed out of that comfort zone kicking and screaming when I realized the issues Chris had brought to our marriage. Learning about addiction showed me programs and laws and rules and facilities set up to help some people and punish others. I got to witness firsthand how the world handles sick people we don’t deem worthy of grace, mercy, or respect because of their disease.

I got to see hurting people who have to rely on the help and support of others to survive. I got to be a hurting person who had to rely on the help and support of others to survive. That changes your heart, your understanding of what mercy is, your awareness of who God is.

And it changes the way you vote.

My college education didn’t make me more liberal, as my father has inferred. It didn’t teach me to vote for socialism or Marxism or any of the other terms people like to throw around but don’t really understand. What changed my political views was Jesus and relationships and compassion and hurting people and reading the Bible to learn better ways as opposed to find support for the ways I already believed. What changed my heart was praying “Lord, break my heart for what breaks yours” then following that pain to people.

If we are Christians, the goal of wisdom and maturity tells us we will continue to get uncomfortable with our beliefs, continually be changed and challenged to be more like Jesus, and continually see areas of our dark hearts that need Jesus. If instead, in aging, we’ve found hard hearts, a political home with no wiggle room, and easy answers to every question, we have failed our God, we have left Him behind. We have created a new god, one who closely mirrors us.

Reading about the life of Jesus can be frustrating because so often he answered peoples’ questions with other questions. JESUS, JUST TELL US THE ANSWER, I want to scream during my morning quiet time. Give me black and white so I can feel secure and doubtless in my faith.

Time and time again, I’m reminded Jesus is often found in the gray, in the questions not the answers, in the faith to continue for the next moment, not the next five years. He is found in loving people well even when it doesn’t make sense, when they don’t deserve it. He is found on the other side of fear and scarcity. He is found in generosity and open hands and trusting that He will take care of all of us, not just some of us. He is found in the places the world tells us we shouldn’t go and with people the world says aren’t important.

And if that’s where I find Jesus, that’s how I vote too.

1096 days

Thanks for taking me to the hospital three years ago, he said as we sat on the couch.

He was watching football. I was reading a book with my feet in his lap.

You’re welcome, I said as I turned back to my book, and he turned back to the TV.

Today is the three-year anniversary of my husband being clean and sober. Three years of therapy, AA meetings, growing, healing, and learning. This is the first anniversary that hasn’t felt precarious. The first time in years it hasn’t felt like a bittersweet celebration, with excitement and fear, hope and reservations.

I’ve been trying to work out what I wanted to say about this milestone, but I don’t have a clear post for you. I guess I just have snippets.

Last week I was on my morning walk when I passed an empty Coca-Cola can on the side of the road. Bright red against the drying grass in the ditch, I knew it wasn’t there yesterday. This was fresh litter. My very first thought was should I pick this up and smell it for alcohol? My first thought was it was Chris’. My first thought was he’d thrown it out on his way home the day before.

Trauma is weird, because it bombards you with thoughts and feelings and emotions before you even have time to know what’s happening, before you know it’s there.

I knew I wasn’t going to pick up that can. Gross. I knew hundreds of people drove this road, not just Chris. I knew lots of people drink Coke, not just my husband.

My thoughts weren’t rational. I didn’t have other things happening at home that made this discarded can confirm my suspicions. It was just a can and my mind—without my consent—went to the scariest story.

Healing is slow for Chris. It is slow for me.

Last winter Chris’ counselor suggested he do brainspotting. Brainspotting is “a treatment method that identifies, processes, and releases core neurophysiological sources of emotional/body pain, [and] trauma…” The idea is you can go back to the memories your brain has stored–maybe some you can’t even access completely–and rewire your response to them. For Chris, it meant going back to the abuse he suffered as a child and handled with his child-brain. Using the safety and security his adult-brain now has, he gets to use better coping mechanisms and heal from the situations.

Adult you goes back to kid you and tells you you’re okay, that the things happening to you aren’t your fault.

It sounds crazy, but it’s not. God, in His infinite wisdom, made our brains to keep us safe. It’s where fight, flight, or freeze comes from. It’s also why sometimes our brains hide things from us; our well-designed brains know we are not equipped (for whatever reason) to handle what we’ve experienced.

But our bodies and brains don’t forget what has happened. We live in the response and consequence of those things. And one day—if we’re lucky—we’ll have healthy, patient people who help us handle the things that shouldn’t have happened to us.

For the first time in years—as Chris went through brainspotting—he wanted to drink again. The farther way he gets from his drinking, the less appeal it has. But looking directly at the moments and places that broke your little kid self is exhausting. For Chris, it brought back intense feelings of loneliness. And loneliness is what caused him to drink. When you grow up in a home that doesn’t tell you you’re important or valued or worth keeping safe, it’s hard to learn a different story when you’re older. So every time Adult Chris had a negative experience (things we all have every day), it reinforced the lie that he wasn’t wanted or worth anything.

And if you believe you’re not worth anything, you can’t make good choices for your body, your future, or your life.

Working through months of brainspotting and painful childhood memories sober was challenging. Addicts and alcoholics don’t like to feel their feelings (that’s the whole point of using), so feeling everything that came up and not muting it was some of the hardest work I’ve seen Chris do.

But he did it. He remembered the things done to him. He remembered the people who covered it up. He remembered the loneliness.

And he stayed sober.

I’m just checking on you, man, because we’re a bunch of liars, Chris said into his phone this weekend. He was talking to a fellow drunk, someone he’s sponsoring in AA.

A few years ago, this would have made me cringe. Telling the truth is so foundational to my being, it feels like a personal attack to know someone has lied. I tell the truth even when it’s to my own detriment.

I know lying says more about the liar than the listener. The lies tell others what we want to protect. They tell others about the secrets we have, about the shame.

I am remembering that more easily now, with less internal crisis, than I was a few years ago.

Lies always have benefits for someone. An old friend lied about me to others, because it sowed division and made others less likely to ask me about the stories she was creating. Liars manipulate people to control the narrative. Chris’ mom lied to family and friends, because it kept people from realizing the truth of what she was allowing at home, the dangerous environment she was helping to protect. Lies keep selfish people safe. A friend’s husband admitted to making up things I’d said to save his marriage. He apologized to me, but said he wasn’t going to stop telling those stories. Liars love stories to save themselves no matter what the cost. Addicts and alcoholics lie. They lie to keep their secrets secret, to keep their needs hidden, to keep their pain covered up.

Recovery is freedom from lies.

It’s amazing the time and energy you have to do other things when you’re not so wrapped up in keeping all your stories straight, making sure your victims don’t cross paths and share stories, living a life you don’t have to hide from people.

Chris walks lighter these days. He still drags his feet like a child. He still ignores me when I tell him to pick them up. But the walk is lighter nonetheless.

After Chris came home from rehab, I asked my therapist when things would get easier. His recovery, learning boundaries, removing the dangerous people in our lives: how long does it feel so overwhelming and hard?

It takes a few years, she said.

Absolutely not, I thought. This is not sustainable. We will not survive at this level of upheaval for so long. Maybe giving up is easier.

But here we are at the three year mark, after a quiet, amazingly easy summer. This was the first summer we didn’t live so fully in the consequences of Chris’ bad choices. This was the first summer we weren’t taking two steps forward and one step back. Recovery is slow. So is building a new life.

I get asked a lot how I knew to stay. What made me not give up?

My answer has two parts:
1. I stayed, because Chris stopped drinking. If he was going to continue numbing his life using drugs or alcohol, I wasn’t going to.
2. I stayed, because we were slowly-but-surely always moving forward. We were (and are) inching toward healing and honesty and better conversations and less co-dependency. I stayed, because he kept up his part of the bargain. The minute Chris got comfortable with where he was, I knew he’d start using again. When he got lazy in his recovery, he was going to get lazy in his choices.

And, of course, Jesus. The AA mantra is “one day at a time,” but I think they stole it from Jesus. He constantly re-centers me: I cannot fix the past, I cannot control the future, but I can make wise, loving choices right here and now.

And so I do.

And so does Chris.

And here we are.

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