Introduction

I never wanted to write this book. Never. Ever.

 

But here it is. A cry from my heart. A call that quickens my pulse and speaks to me, louder than any other. When everything in my life began to unravel, when the truth about what was happening hit me head-on, I rushed to Amazon. I searched for books about “family addiction stories,” “recovery stories,” and “please assure me my life is not over stories.” Okay, maybe that last one was a bit dramatic, but you get the idea. I was shocked by how few resources there were on this topic. Is it the stigma? Is it the pain of having to go back and relive the hardest moments of my life? (Which, let me tell you, is absolutely one of the hardest parts.) Whatever the reason, more recovery stories are needed—especially the ones that show there is hope.

 

My dad died of a sudden heart attack on December 28, 2008. It was devastating, unexpected, and life-altering. As we all struggled to recover from the shock, Scott would try to get me to talk about my feelings. It never ended well. I’m not the “let’s talk it out” kind of person. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it.” And I didn’t. It was like there was a spot in my mind that I couldn’t look at directly without it burning me alive. I’d glance at it, feel the sting, and quickly look away. Years later, I still don’t know if I can look it straight in the face. When I think about all he’s missed and what we could’ve done, it rips at me. So, I avoid it.

 

That’s eerily similar to how I felt when I first found out that Scott was struggling with drugs. This metaphorical death of life as we knew it was just as devastating, unexpected, and life-altering. The pain felt like it was searing through me, reaching into all the quiet corners of my soul—and most painfully, into my faith. It shot through my head, raising more questions than I could bear, and then settled into my heart, where I was afraid to hear the answers. It caught my breath, and for a while, I just did what I had to do to survive. But every time I glanced at it for too long, it nearly broke me. So, I didn’t. But now, I am.

 

I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to share one of the most devastating experiences of my life. I want to skip over this part of our story, pretending it never happened. But there is only one reason I’m writing this book: His name is Jesus. Without Him, through the darkest time of my life, I would have gone under. I would have given up on my marriage, my husband, and even on myself. We would have become just another statistic in the tragic narrative of addiction.

 

Understand that I’m opening up a very vulnerable and raw chapter in our lives—one where our whole family suffered. I’ve gone back and forth about whether or not to write this, knowing it would bring pain to my family all over again. But it comes down to this: A praise and worship service, where I cried out to God to bring glory from the ashes of our brokenness, and He spoke to me, saying: “This is not the end. Your story will change lives, and most importantly, it will point others back to the only One who can bring true restoration. What the enemy intended for destruction will become his biggest mistake. You and Scott will walk into places others could not enter. You can walk into a world ravaged by lies, death, sickness, and destruction, and bring the Word with hope.” “‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the Lord Almighty.” (Zechariah 4:6)

 

We prayerfully ask that you see us as broken vessels—flawed, fragmented, and patched together in His goodness and glory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All of this for you Jesus. All of this for You.