If Winter is Dying, then Writing is Life

This isn’t my usual type of post. I have some thoughts ruminating into a slow boil. Aching about justice & the Stand Your Ground law and being white and privileged. A response. But I need more time to mull. I finished the article on loving a drunk for Today’s Christian Woman. Ahem, I know. I’m not a likely writer for…

When I Was A Falling Down Drunk: A Love Story

It’s only been a few days but I feel it.  In the hidden, hard place where I keep my little girl heart that learned to be scared too early.  That place in my heart has shifted. It might be that I am writing out the story of how I once was a falling down drunk. …

As The Winter Is Long [a NEW Poem]

In the dreary midwinter time is never-ending and merciless. I chase the shadow’s bright reflections, brittle patterns on the silvery snow. This distracts me from the echoing lament I woke with today. Melancholy sits dismally on my chest, like a lethargic cat As I consider what’s gone wrong with me. There’s always something and I’m…

{Chasing the Light}

Writing about sobriety puts a pit in my stomach today. I am sober but many days this doesn’t by implication mean happy.  Getting dry isn’t a formula for bliss.  It is only a pathway toward discovery. When I was a drunk I didn’t feel sensation – there was mostly emptiness.  I didn’t feel the ache…

The Tale that Cautions: I was a Drunk

I write down words. I was a drunk. It hurts still, the heavy story bulges in my heart. Knowing it’s true, that’s one thing. Going back to the vomit and need and empty ache the desperation sits heavy with me again all day. But in writing comes a slow redemption. My words are a gift:…

A Bad Poem About My Sobriety

SOBER. Antonyms: alcoholic, drinker, drunk, lush, souse, wino I’m Sober today. But I’m clutching at it. And not contentedly. Control is an illusion. I’m powerless, that I can confess. Today, when the whole thing, my duct-taped heart, feels like it’s falling apart and I’m heart racing tired, knowing I should never get.this.way. I think, “If I could I’d smoke then, … What?” But the broken down lungs no longer cooperate. I want…

Calm Down and Breathe

I’ve learned something profoundly important about myself.  I thrive off difficulties. It’s a tendency of addictive persons. And though it’s not all bad to have this penchant, it can be bad.  There’s good too, to be into problem solving, endlessly considering three steps ahead, to be that type of person that is wondering about the…

[I Asked God for More] than Motherhood

I woke up on Sunday full of lament. The depression that had been crushing me was now a throttling choke. I woke up straining. Strangled and gasping for air, for truth, for relief; I woke up. I woke up on Sunday already giving up. Begging for it, the answer to the question depression always asks:…

All is Grace, Part One: the Story of Sober Me

Have I turned any other direction but to sit with my pain? No saint here, bound and praying. I couldn’t quit all the vices, they were many, without God’s quiet stillness ushered in. A moment of need and prostrate humbled, obviously being a fallen down drunk, I opened. In later years, when life wasn’t still,…

What If All Your Life You Believed A Lie? You Are Too Broken.

The morning air is all awash with angels …  – Richard Wilbur You cannot unbreak a broken stick. This morning, I awoke to a sense of life’s forfeiture.  I am broken. I’ve lived half my life, if my mother is to be believed I’m only in my middle years, as if I am a broken stick;…