So how are things right now, you ask.
That’s a good question.
Everything you’ve read until today has been written for a while (except for last Friday’s post, obviously). I’ve been writing since it happened. I started writing specifically about this topic on May 7th, and I haven’t really stopped. I’ve written things and let them sit for weeks to make sure they actually needed to make their way to the internet. I’ve written things that won’t ever end up here. I’ve edited, changed, added, and taken away things for weeks.
You, the reader, got four months of thoughts, emotions, and hurt in two weeks.
I’m sorry about that. I know it’s overwhelming and a lot to process.
Believe me, I know.
One thing that kept me from writing publicly for a long time was the fear of burdening others.
It’s also what keeps me from sharing in conversation. After I acknowledged that thought–that I would cause others pain or anguish by sharing my life with them–I had to accept it and then decide if sharing was worth it or not.
Sharing is always worth it. Always.
Our human nature is to think we’re special, unique snowflakes. But we’re not. We’re more the same than different and my story, my marriage struggles, my husband’s addictions, they’re not really that unique. The Grahams are more common than I’d like to think.
So I’m sharing because I know I’m not alone, I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to pretend I am alone.
Thanks for listening and taking on our story in whatever way you did. I know it’s a lot.
This is the most immediate writing I’ve done. I saved this post for the last in the series (but not the last time I’ll address this topic) because I wanted it to be immediate and the most up-to-date. I wanted it to specifically address the comments, emails, and questions that arose from my posts. And I wanted to be able to tell you in the most real-time way, what my life looks like at this very moment.
Remember that acceptance is not condoning. To accept is not to say, “This is okay.” It is to say, “This is what is.” Notably, radical acceptance often drops us into a state of grief, as we come to terms with hard realities. –Robin Chancer
Right now, I am working toward radical acceptance which has plunged me into a state of absolute grief. I am in mourning for what I thought my marriage was, what I thought my life would be, and who I thought my husband was.
I am full of grief and mourning.
Probably with a good helping of anger on the side.
And then a sprinkling of completely inappropriate humor for fun.
My hard realities are I married an addict and he will always be an addict (recovering or not), my daughters are the children of an addict and the granddaughters of an addict, and my marriage is very, very broken.
I like to sit on my therapist’s couch and listen to her tell me I won’t stay angry and full of grief. At some point, I will be past anger and onto something new. Who knows what that will be (I haven’t asked…), but she is confident I won’t stay here forever.
So I just get to sit with my grief and anger for a while.
I am settled and comfortable here, but I know eventually I will want to move on.
I also know from past experience with this, if I move too quickly or have shame or guilt because of my feelings, I won’t heal correctly. I have to heal correctly this time. For myself. For Chris. For Ellie and Harper.
I don’t know what healing looks like. I don’t know what my life will look like in six months or a year from now. I make no promises of anything, no guarantees of a future I have very little control of.
I don’t know what my marriage will look like. I don’t know if I will be married.
I don’t know if Chris will be clean and sober. I don’t know if he will be a part of our lives.
I don’t know anything.
I could tell you what I hope, what I would do right now if pushed, what I wish, but I don’t have much energy for hopes and wishes. I’m working too hard for radical acceptance, and that’s it. Here is what my life is. Here is what I can do about it right now. Here is what I can not do about it right now.
BREATHE. BREATHE. BREATHE.
That and Jesus–that’s all I’ve got.
I have been an addict-alcoholic’s wife for almost eleven years. I have been mostly quiet about it. I have written about it occasionally, but not much. I have talked about it quietly to some friends, but not much.
I am done being quiet. I am done hiding.
I have heard from a few well-meaning people that maybe these posts weren’t helpful to my marriage or to Chris. And I’m sure it was thought by others.
Here’s my response to that: Being quiet and gentle and worrying about my husband’s fragile state has done no good. It has kept him from the full consequences of his actions. It has kept him safe and secure in ways that enabled him. It has kept things the same.
I am done with that.
Madness is continuing the same pattern but expecting different results.
We’re starting new patterns right now.
As of today, Friday, September 1st, I can tell you Chris and I are separated. He is not living with us. He is still continuing to make harmful choices for himself which means he is making harmful choices for our family. I will not allow that to take place in my home anymore.
Whether or not it will be his home again remains unknown.
I prayerfully considered and edited this series. Obsessively. When I say I’m just sharing a few things and leaving out the most horrible parts, I am not exaggerating. My stories this week and last were just a few, carefully selected highlights of a much longer movie reel of brokenness. This is the radio-edit version of the Graham marriage.
I am in no rush to make any permanent decisions about my marriage, but I also refuse to live in this unhealthy situation any longer. What that means exactly, I’m not sure.
I know the work ahead of us is overwhelming to think about.
I know that my God is more than capable.
I know that no matter what happens, I will be okay.
I am okay.
(Just joining this series? Start here.)
P.S. I haven’t decided if I’ll be quiet on the blog next week to take a little recovery period or not, but know that this topic, this stuff going on in my life, will be written about again, but not solely a focus. I have other posts, other things to say, and my blog will not and can not turn into a messy marriage blog. I’m a million things and my marriage is just one part. So whether you come back here or not, know that this place will go on as normal. I’ll share the good, the bad, and the in-between. And I really hope to find my sense of humor again. I miss writing to make myself laugh. The bittersweet part about tragedy is that the world keeps spinning. So I’m going to as well.)
Hey, Mary. I don’t know how long I’ve been peeking in on you, but it’s been a while. Your humor and sarcasm keep me coming back. I’ve been reading each morning for the last two weeks. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you and your little family. I know you’ll find your path. You’re over here spilling your guts and I’m just lurking so to speak, so I thought I’d pipe up and let you know. Be well, my blog friend!
You are an amazing sweet child of God who is revealing the worst parts of her life but keeping your faith! What a witness and a testimony. I am so sorry and sad for all you! I know you will be ok one day… whatever your decisions may be. YOUR GIRLS need your resolve to help heal them. I know because my parents were horrible alcoholics! Growing up was a nightmare. So you have to be strong for You and Them! I think many will relate to you SWEET Mary! I love and care for your precious family and You! Xo
Sending so much love!
Wishing you all endless strength and courage to each day find the next best step forward.
Continue in sharing the rawness. It’s the truth. It’s healing to you. And you are helping others by exposing your pain. The ones you are helping, most importantly yourself, reaches far more and deeper compared to the ones who want real life to stay hidden.
You have seen me expose all the rawness and pain in losing Joe. There are times I wondered if I shared too much. And I can name those who probably believe so, but I know it my heart what I needed to heal and with out a doubt opened people’s eyes and hearts to grief, pain, and mourning. The side of life no one wants to talk about. Sharing your pain helps others.
I am so thankful that you have shared this, as a therapist I work with so many families who are dealing with addictions in some way. I am glad you are addressing it, providing resources, and using your own pain to help others. I can’t even imagine how hard it was for you to share all of this. I hope the church begins to address addictions and offering a place for people to admit they are struggling and get loved on and real help. I think what you have said in these blogs will move a lot of people and has already got a lot of people thinking. There are so many who do not understand addiction and your story will hopefully help them begin to understand it could happen to anyone. I’m sorry for what you and your family are facing but I’m thankful that you are sharing.
Sending hugs and prayers!
All my love to you and your beautiful kiddos! You are beauty, you are strength, you are life. All can be messy and you are sharing your story from a place wanting to heal and there is nothing more pure than that! Praying for healing and wholeness to your family and soul however that may look! Stay strong!
I LOVE that you ended it this way. The future is unknown for everyone, married to an addict, or not. Never apologize for healing in your own way, on your own terms. Being quiet just fuels the loneliness. Speaking out is brave, and we need more Mary’s in our world. I truly commend you
Thank you for this. You are brave to share your sorrow and your pain. Bringing it–the secrets, the pain, the anger and the bad feelings– to the light is the very best thing–for you and for your family. You are strong. You will put one foot in front of the other–if not for yourself, for your beautiful girls. We will be here to walk with you. Thank you.
Hi Mary, I’ve been getting your blog for awhile,can’t even remember how I stumbled upon you, but am so grateful for your transparency & heart. Your writings make me laugh, cry, think, hope…. All the things I would like to give you. Sadly, as many others have written, my marriage is similar to yours. About 4 years ago my husband asked me to go for a walk with him (should have known right then it was bad news because he never walks with me & the dog!) On that walk he shared he was addicted to oxycodone & had stolen some from his employer. He was facing criminal charges, the loss of his work license/ which would mean loss of 1/2 our income… Fast forward through rehab & a very gracious employer & legal system… two years go by and I’m being called to pick him up from jail for a dwi… and another year & another dwi as he is working through 2nd rehab…
The lies & mistrust weigh me down & fill me with rage but as you pointed out- living with an addict is lonely….
I find it amazing that so many others have similar situations? Who knew?
I will continue to read your blog with a hopeful heart and pray for your little family. May you find peace and comfort.
My mom called me tonight and asked if I had read the latest update. I have shared your message with those closest to my heart…but my reasoning was likely different than most. I need those closest to me to know how brave and powerful one of my most dearest friends truly is. I need them to know that reading such an exposed message can remind us that we all need a little help sometimes. We are all facing a different battle and not to pass judgement until you know what someone else is experiencing. Beautiful you, inside and out! I am here to walk with you through whatever is to come.
Thank you, Mary, for sharing your life. I’ve reached out to you personally a couple of times in the last two years, and you were so gracious and kind. My heart has broken for you while reading these posts. I’d suspected something like this had happened after reading one of your posts back in the spring. I’ve lived with an addict for
eighteen years. I can relate to everything you’ve said. I just wish I had your strength. Take care of yourself, and let others help. Keep writing to us…some of us need this more than you’ll ever know.
Mary,
I appreciate your openness on this issue. I can see your trepidation when you refer to burdening others. I have been burdened by your story, and I am so thankful for it. It has caused me to pray for you and others going through similar situations. Please know that I stand with you in prayer. I truly admire your courage!
Beautifully raw. To not fear pain. To sit with pain. These are two things I have learned in my letting go of my marriage. Your honesty and vulnerability and humility and kindness do not go unseen. The fruit of what you are doing here is something of a field… love you.
Thank you. So much of what you’ve said in this series has resonated with me and my marriage – just in a different situation and context. Jesus is working through you – you’ve given me so much to think about and pray over. Thank you. There is a Gilmore Girls episode where Lorelai says she’s hugging Luke in her mind. I am hugging you in my mind and sending you love.
Hi Mary. I have been a reader for quite a while and I just wanted you to know that I’m praying for you and your family. I am amazed by your written words and emotions. I am amazed by your following of Jesus. You have a faith that I hope to someday have. Your series was beautifully written and heartbreaking. I hope you find peace but I understand your anger.
As the daughter of alcoholics, I wish someone had plucked me from that situation and protected me like you are your little darlings. The painful, long-term effects of living in a chaotic household of secret-keeping and prioritizing addiction are in the deepest corners of my life and are so hard to undo. That lifestyle has kept me from forming deep relationships, sharing my true self, and understanding my value. I mean, when your dad chooses a trip to the bar over your senior musical, you wonder if you matter to anyone. I’m so grateful you’re strong and you’re willing to hold him accountable for his actions, for both his benefit and that of your kids. Thank you, pal.
Mary – your words are so brave and I hope writing them brings you as much comfort as they bring to others. When I was in the midst of a chaotic, awful marriage to an alcoholic, I experienced all the same lies and betrayal. I was so ashamed to be in that situation. I was so scared for myself and my husband and our future. But most of all, I felt so so alone. I would have given anything to have your words then. I prayed and prayed to find something like these blogs you’ve written so I wouldn’t feel so alone. I am out of that situation now, thank God. But I know someone else is still where I was and she needs your words. Al-anon and therapy and reading and praying helped me in the healing. The road ahead is hard, but the other side is so worth it.
You’re so beautifully honest. Praying for your entire family.
Mary,
I’m sad I got to this late, but thankful I finally did (I haven’t been on Instagram much the past month and a half or so). I found this series earlier today, and couldn’t finish it until after I put my son down for bed.
First thing– Thank You. Thank you for sharing your story, struggle, and most of all– honesty and bravery. I’ve got *so much* respect for you.
Second– I feel absolutely crushed for you and your family. I am so sorry this is happening. But is it possible to feel both crushed and encouraged and, well, inspired, too? I am not only so encouraged and inspired by your strength and the manner with which you’ve held yourself through this…even more so, I am encouraged and inspired by your “Fuck it, I am going to share what’s going on…even if it’s not pretty, or funny, or cute.” Right, you said that, right?
This series was the sort of raw truth I needed to read. Thank you. You are beautiful. Your family is on my heart, lady.
Coming from one “mostly black-and-blue, covered-in-bruises Jesus follower” to another.
Mary, oddly enough I think I found your blog years ago after googling blogs for teacher fashion. I’ve been in and out peeking in here and just happened to come in at the start of your moving, deeply personal series. Know you are profoundly brave, special, and strong. If a stranger thinks so, imagine what those that know you “for real” must think! Keep on writing – it’s beautiful.
You are brave. You will heal. Your life will be whole one day. Seeking therapy is the absolute perfect way to begin healing! Grief in any form is so very hard and the anger side of grief (imo) is the hardest cycle to overcome, but I agree with your therapist – you WILL overcome!