I’m an addict.

For many of you, this click just got so interesting. You’ve known me a while. You’re racking your brain over our relationship and trying to pin point it.

What is it? Is it pills? Alcohol? Sex?

So here’s His story.(sorry. insert rolling eyes emoji here)

I’ve used for a good portion of my life. I started extremely young actually. I remember the rush I used to get on the first hit. The satisfaction. I also remember the low after. The annoyance, the frustration and the desperation. And when I could, I’d seize the opportunity to feel that rush again. The pain in between was too much.

The years went by. It affected everything I did. I wouldn’t finish school work in high school. I lost a lot of good friends. I had to win everyones approval and lose it all at the same time. Whenever things didn’t go my way I’d get angry, spiral out of control, get frustrated and act out.

By my Junior year in high school I lost all hopes of getting that high when my parents told me we were moving away for my senior year. My brain flat lined. And then exploded. I did whatever I wanted, whenever. I did everything I could think of and more, and nothing filled the void of what I’d lost from the years on consistently getting exactly what I wanted.

So I used more. I went so far to get that high I ran away. I lived in my car. I got sent to psych ward. I almost went to jail. My parents had to send me away to keep me safe from myself.

That’s where I met Jesus. That’s where I met my husband. But that’s not where my addiction stopped.

I thought I made Jesus the Lord of my life. But I really just added him in. I saw the worth, but I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t time.

I found out I could in fact get pregnant. I pushed up our wedding to look right, physically and spiritually. And every attempt I made at correcting that picture failed, went crooked, or didn’t fit the way I needed. I sunk even deeper into my addiction.

The high wasn’t the same as the years went on, but I still tried to get there. I tried to fix my husband. I tried to fix my kids. I tried to fix my image. I tried to make more money. Have the right car.

When that didn’t work I tried finding it everywhere else. In some one else. In my husband. In my kids. In my life. My life was already falling apart but I was in denial, like most addicts are.

I realized I went too far. I tried to give it up again. I stayed home. I went to school. To learn about people. Give back. I got burned out.

I served in the church. A lot. I served with my husband. I served with my kids. Everything finally seemed perfect. I finally got it. It was a false high.

It fell apart. Churches. Marriages. Lives. People died. Pain hurt worse. Finances ran dry. Struggles got real. Kids were kids. We didn’t get a house. A 401K. A break. A baby. A life.

I couldn’t get high anymore.

I got angry. I got hurt. I need to get out God. I can’t run this anymore God. Look at what this is God. Why did you let this happen God? I needed a fix, but I didn’t want it. I wanted it fixed, but not by me. I wanted it whole, but not by my creation.


Months of brokenness. It’s like having a baby. The contractions come, and the slow, and you breathe and rest before the next one comes. And if you just let go and work with it, the baby can come. There’s new life there. In the brokenness? Yes. There.

I’m a recovering addict.

My drug of choice was control.

And I don’t want it anymore.

I missed my life. I missed my kids growing up. I missed opportunities. I missed love. I missed so much. I missed my present looking back at my past to try to get control again.

I think about having control again every. single. day.

But then I remember the losses that I built with my own two hands over all the years I used. The control is still there, but I choose to use it as a memorial of my past life. Where grace can now thrive, and my future is bright because of Jesus grace on me all these years long.

And I look to the cross, I put on my armor with my kids, and battle on.



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