Our Crazy Marriage

Toben: Intervention

If you can avoid doing an intervention, or especially being the subject of one, I highly recommend it.  I was the subject of one on August 27th, 2004.  It sucked.  I don't think it was a planned intervention where everyone sort of got together and talked about letting me have it but it definitely worked out that way.  At the time I didn't think so, but looking back I realize that it was the work of the Holy Spirit, moving among my friends and family, to do what needed to be done.

We were sitting around the fire pit behind our home.  It was me, my aunt and uncle, a few close friends and Joanne.  One by one they started telling me what my drinking was doing to them, what they saw it doing to me and what I was about to loose if I didn't get help. The list included my home, my job, my family, my friends, and just about everything else that should have mattered to me. I was drunk at the time, so I listened for a while and the anger built and built until I couldn't deal with it any more.  I told them to all go jump in a lake (not the exact words which are unfit to print) and went to bed.

That night I clearly remember laying there in bed making plans to become homeless.  I thought through what I needed to pack into my car. I thought about where I would drive to.  I thought about how I would go about cleaning out our bank accounts so that I would have money.  And I thought that what I would do with that money is drink myself to death.  I had no intention to spend years on the streets.  I would take a few hundred dollars, buy as much vodka as I could carry, go hole up and drink till I died. I remembered the movie "Leaving Las Vegas" where the main character does just that.  As horrible as this idea might have seemed to a sane/sober person, it seemed realistic and almost comforting to me.  I could finally just give in and get it over with.

I went to sleep with these plans on my mind.

In the morning this didn't seem like quite as good an idea.  I got up and drove to Pannikin for a cup of coffee and on the drive I picked up the phone to call my uncle to ask him to find me an AA meeting to go to.  Honestly I wasn't interested in going to get help, I was interested in going to get everyone off my back.  I thought I'd go to a few meetings until everyone chilled out and could keep on doing what I was doing.  It took him about 5 minutes to find me a meeting on line and it happened to just be a few blocks away in Encinitas.  It was a Sunday morning (the 28th) that I walked into my first meeting. 

It was packed but I found a chair against the wall.  As the meeting started I was asked to introduce myself and it was the first time I said the words, "My name is Toben and I am an alcoholic."  I only said that because everyone else did it.  Little did I know that those are words I would repeat a hundred times.  Here's the miracle: within ten minutes of being in that meeting I heard God talk to me.  I have rarely heard God's voice in any sort of perceptible way, but I heard it.  As the drunks around me began to share their stories God said, "This is for you."  That's it. And he was right. It is at that point that AA saved my life.

I went to 88 meeting in 90 days. 

Joanne: Asking for prayer

I believe that God sometimes puts people on our hearts to pray for--we don't know why, but we're compelled to pray. Later--or maybe even never--we find out why.

But there are those times when we need to ask people to pray for us too, in addition to asking God to prompt prayers on our behalf. Ask and then receive, as it is written.

For some people, it's easy to ask for prayer. For others, it's hard. 

It's hard for me.

Sure, I can ask for prayer for a friend, for a family member, for my children, but it's hard for me to ask for prayer for me. It feels like admitting I don't have it all together. Which I don't. And I know I don't. And I know others know I don't. But saying it out loud is uncomfortable. It makes me squirm a little in my seat.

Asking for prayer--and then sitting still and letting others pray for me and pray over me was a hard lesson to learn. I felt awkward. I felt like a taker. And I'd rather be a giver. I felt guilty that I wasn't praying for them in return. I felt uncomfortable just receiving.

But it was a good lesson to learn.

I meet with a group of moms at my kids' school every Thursday morning. We pray for the school, for teachers, for students, for families. And we pray for each other. 

This morning as I was telling them about Toben's medication transition (sounds official, huh?), I was humbled and blessed when one of them said, "We will pray for you too." Really? I don't need prayer. I thought. I'm not the one changing meds. I'm fine.

But I chose to listen to these incredible women rather than the voice in my head and was blessed. Encouraged. Loved. Lifted up. Supported.

I believe with all my heart that prayer changes things. I've seen prayer change Toben and change me and change our marriage and our family. Prayer works.

In the midst of pain, it can be hard to show someone our woundedness. To cry out for help rather than to suck it up and pretend to have it all together. It takes courage.

I hope you have people you can ask to pray for you, those kinds of friends with whom you can be real and open and honest and broken. The first time we do anything is always hard, but I can't encourage you enough to ask for prayer if you're in the midst of dealing with a crazy marriage.

Sometimes courage looks like asking for someone to pray for you to have courage, to be brave, to stand strong. Sometimes courage looks like admitting we're terrified.

Joanne: Some things that helped me in the darkest times

Several of you have asked me what helped me in the midst of the worst of it all. You know people who are bipolar, have friends who are married to someone struggling with mental illness, have grown kids dealing with this. You want to reach out and help, but aren't quite sure what to do and what to say.

A couple of thoughts off the top of my head (in list form, cause I'm so a list girl!):

1. Feel free to ask questions. If you don't understand, don't know something, ask. Ask what your friend is dealing with, what a typical day looks like under the cloud of depression, alcoholism, whatever it is. It's okay to ask without feeling embarrassed or awkward about it.

2. Don't feel awkward! When you act uncomfortable, it can make your friend feel even more uncomfortable. I know that's a hard one, but there you have it.

3. Pray. Ask how you can pray. Trust that God knows what your friend needs and ask him to meet those needs. Be sure to tell your friend you're praying!

4. Engage your friend in some normal activities. One of my friends made sure we had a girls night out during the worst of it. There were lots of chick flicks coming out one right after the other during that time, and we went to the movies together every single week. No need to talk or make conversation about the heavy stuff going on, just sitting in the dark watching chick flicks like any two normal friends.

5. Listen. Even though I love to have all the answers, it was so nice to have someone listen to me spew it all out. Not giving advice, just listening to me rant and rave and not make any sense at all. Handing me tissues and letting me cry on her shoulder. Thanks, Jen.

6. Keep calling. Your friend may not return your calls, may not seem to be thankful for whatever you're doing in support. But keep calling. Dealing with this in the midst of it is all-consuming and the little things like saying "thank you" sometimes fall through the cracks. Even if you just leave message after message, keep on calling to say, "Hi. Just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you and praying for you. I love you!" It matters.

7. Along with that one, sometimes you'll ask how you can help and not get a response. In that case, stop asking and just do something. Comfort with the comfort you've been given. If you like receiving flowers for no reason, getting coffee delivered just because, a note in the mail--just do that. 

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

More on that here and here.

What about those of you who are dealing with this right now? What are others doing for you that's offered help, hope, encouragement, or comfort? Please leave a comment and join in the conversation.

Joanne: Loaded questions

"How are you?"

"Tell me about yourself."

We had just moved to San Diego when Toben fell apart--drinking, silence, threats of suicide, telling me he didn't love me anymore, that he'd never loved me, that our whole life together meant nothing. In the midst of trying to make friends and find our place, I hated those two questions.

Sometimes I'd pretend, feeling fake and phony and false. "Fine!" I'd smile, and rattle off the stats of our family: married, two kids, just moved from Colorado, love living at the beach.

The first time I answered honestly, I felt like a freak. I sat in a circle of women and cried. No pretty tears spilling over my lashes, leaving my mascara where I'd put it. No, I cried the ugly cry--great heaving, hacking sobs, snot running down my face, mascara everywhere.

Oh my gosh, I can remember thinking in the midst of it, with that small corner of your brain that stays a tiny bit separate from what's going on around you. What must these women think of me? I haven't even told them what's really going on since I can't talk without crying. They must think I'm a freak. Stop it! Get it together! Act NORMAL!

But for what was going on in our lives at the time, that was normal. Toben hadn't been diagnosed yet and my whole world had been turned upside down, shaken up, and shattered in pieces on the floor. I had no idea what was going on and felt completely out of control, alone, and terrified out of my mind.

I got better at answering as time went on--not so much snot and tears--as I told people what our life was like. But it was still hard--HUMILIATING, in fact--to tell the truth and have people look at you with their mouths slightly open, eyes darting here and there, not wanting to look you in the eye,knowing they had no idea how to respond and were wondering how to change the subject without being rude.

Of course, I didn't blurt it out to the grocery store checker, or the mom at the bus stop at 7 a.m., but I did learn to answer honestly when it seemed appropriate. I HATED the honesty of it, hated owning up to the fact that our life below the surface wasn't as pretty as it appeared from a distance.

You know, things aren't always what they appear to be. Just because things look perfect on the surface doesn't mean they are. And it doesn't mean that whoever it is is a fake, or lying, or trying to deceive. Sometimes they just don't know how to answer the question.