Art by Heather Brown Truman, used by permission
This past week I’ve had the pleasure of watching Becca, an alcoholic friend, finally seem to find her bearings in recovery. After a horrific months-long relapse, she recently emerged from treatment with new tools, a fresh perspective, and her sanity restored.
Unable to return home, Becca found a sober house she’d already been kicked out of once that was willing to give her a second chance. She assured me that she was ready to do the hard work it would take to get back her life—and especially her children.
Wednesday night, we invited her over for salmon dinner, along with my son Noah and my mom. Becca clearly enjoyed herself, even stayed for a walk in the neighborhood, followed by pie. After she left, I told Dave, “I have more hope for her now than ever before.”
But an hour later my cell phone rang. It was the sober house manager telling me that Becca had just showed up impaired. She was being kicked out. Right now. She could pick up her stuff tomorrow.
Baffled beyond words, I drove over. Sure enough, Becca wasn’t sober. She got in my car and I gave her a piece of my mind while she wept into her hands. Since it was too late to do anything else, I took her home, explaining that she’d have to leave in the morning. “Then you can go to a motel and keep drinking,” I told her.
I felt stupid for having had hope.
The next morning began with a hard conversation over coffee, Becca still wearing the striped pajamas I’d loaned her. When she said she wanted to start over and could we pray, a part of me balked. Just the day before we’d gotten on our knees in my living room so that she could turn her life over to God. What was the point?
Still, I got on my knees with her in the same stupid spot. And then Becca started praying the same recovery prayer–except it was not. The words were the same, but this time she prayed them like she was drowning and they were air. And she didn’t stop there. Sobbing, she went on and begged to God to save her in a way that came straight from her soul.
Watching my friend wail and keen for the next ten minutes took me back to that morning in March of 2007 when I did much the same. I had no idea then that I was making my surrender, or that my entire recovery would one day rest on what happened there.
In the 1950s, a pioneer in addiction treatment named Dr. Harry Tiebout wanted to understand what separated patients who recovered from those who didn’t. He observed that patients who got well all seemed to share a common spiritual experience, a turning point when, “something happened” that could best be described as surrender.
It’s too soon, and not my place, to say whether Becca has experienced this miracle. But something happened. And last night, for the first time ever, despite her long-time fear of ending up there, she slept in a homeless shelter—versus a motel where she might be tempted to drink.
Before she left my house, she asked me to pray. And as I watched her go, I thought I saw a white flag waving and God rushing out to meet her.
Do you have a story about a time when you desperately wanted to surrender–but couldn’t quite make it happen? How do you explain that?
P.S. “‘Becca” gave me permission to write about her here.
I can relate all too well to both your friend, Becca, as the active alcoholic, and you as the supportive, sober friend.
I was once in Becca’s shoes. Sober for a period of months, just shy of a year in fact, and then unexpectedly, and disappointingly to everyone in my world, I went back out again. I too was required to leave my place of residence. I too finally hit bottom to the point where homelessness was not far on the horizon. But I still had a chance to turn things around. Maybe my last chance.
In NA, which, although I mainly identify with AA, I do qualify for membership in NA, there is a portion of one of the regular readings that became starkly clear to me at the moment my last relapse and attempt to come back. It reads, “Our disease always resurfaced or continued to progress until in desperation, we sought help from each other (in Narcotics Anonymous)”.
Ok, so roll with me a bit on this and look past the NA versus AA distinction for a moment. For me, this reading described exaclty who I was and where I had come to. My disease and the outcomes progressed to the point where the calamity became so profound and undeniable, that I was desperate enough to seek and accept help from others. In my case it was from others in NA, but the same equally applies to any community of support who can help with whatever ails us.
Is this not where your friend ended up? Progressed and desperate? Finally (hopefully) ready to accept help from her ‘each others’ such as you? At least she was desperate enough to have a conversation with you. This is a good thing. As sad as it is, she (we all) need to reach this place of progressed desperation. Our self-reliance is finally out of options and we are at last in a place where we are broken enough to be at least a little more open to help from those who can. Those who have walked similar paths already.
I have been in the shoes of the person helping too. It can be an equally tough place to be. We want to help, we want to rescue, but we are powerless over them as much as they are powerless over their booze. I was in this position 2 weeks ago when a young man we were trying to help went on and on about how much it was everyone else’s fault he was at where he was at… specifically drinking and drugging and creating hurt and chaos for him and every one in his life.
What did we do? We carried our message yet one more time, offered to help in ways we could, kept the hand extended and the door open, then let him decide. We then carried on with our lives and hoped he made the right choice. That was as much as we could do. Nothing more would have been any help. So we walked away. Not to abandon him, but to carry on with our lives. We are still here for him when he is ready. Hopefully one day, but it is out of our control.
I will believe the best for our friend. Thanks for carrying and sharing the message.
Ciao.
Chaz
Hello Heather, this story sure brought tears to my eyes. I remember when something “sort of” happened sometime in mid-January 2009. I had fallen to my knees and prayed to a God I didn’t know. I believed He existed, but I never knew Him and I didn’t really want to try to get to know Him. I didn’t know anybody who knew Him. I had alienated myself so much that I felt I’d never get out of the dark pit of hell.
I say something sort of happened back then because although nothing changed for me after I sobbed uncontrollably that night (I continued down the same destructive path and did a lot of crying), I noticed that several months later I was starting to hear God’s Word for the first time, even though I had been going to church for a while. It took one message that I heard from a preacher and the message penetrated my heart. God used this preacher for whatever reason to get through to me. He happened to be a guest preacher at the church I was attending for months, I was going to be leaving for a few days of “fun” in Las Vegas. But something made me want to go to church first before getting on the road. I know now what that “something” was.
Wow God is beyond amazing and of course His timing is always perfect. The gist of the message was about God wanting to open doors for us and the preacher asked “Are you going to be ready to walk through it?” Something about that message stirred my heart for the first time ever. Little did I know that the door that God opened was the one to my heart so He could start coming in. All of a sudden I started to hear His Word more and more. I don’t think I really knew what was happening. I had been going to church but I was just going through the motions. I almost quit going, because it seemed so pointless. I’m so glad I didn’t give up. I would have missed that message!! It still took another six months, but my miracle of full surrender was from a hospital bed after what turned out to be my final night of binge drinking. That morning in the hospital was February 26, 2010, the morning after my 44th birthday celebration. I have been 100% sober since. God is so good!! I do what’s necessary to stay sober and I have many godly friends now helping me stay the course. I am so grateful for all God has done and continues to do. Thanks for the opportunity to share. Blessings! ~Deb ♥
“The words were the same, but this time she prayed them like she was drowning and they were air.”
I remember being at that point, and the panic of praying as if God would abandon me at any moment. I knew any freedom I had from drink was only because He was holding me up, and I knew that if He let go, I was going back to the pits of hell.
Yep, it takes what it takes, isn’t it true? It’s so heartbreaking and so hard not to get calloused and jaded when I see the revolving door of people coming in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out….We walk such a fine line to love and tell the truth and show compassion and not just scream and say WHY CAN’T YOU GET IT THIS TIME!!!!!! But we know – that they are us – and we are them – and it just takes what it takes. Sometimes that truth doesn’t make any sense, and I just have to leave it there and know it’s true.
Come over to my blog, my last post from last week was in celebration of four years of recovery! I love this blog, my dear sister passed it along to me.
Heather I nominated you for the lovely blog award. If now is not a good time for you I understand. If you would like to participate come to http://thewhyaboutthis.com/i-belong/the-lovely-blog-award/ , thanks
THANKS Penny. Is this something I can do when i get back? What a lovely idea and a cool way to pass on blog love. So appreciate it!
thanks for taking the time reply! I grew up in Oregon, I do miss it. I hope you enjoy yourself and the wonderful event. And as ever always – take care of you!
I’m crying for Becca. I sure hope she makes it this time around.
Thank you for sharing this, and for reminding us to hope even when it does not seem hopeful. Praying today for others I know who are fighting… and that if they ever give up and rest in God, I will get a glimpse of that white flag and His embrace.
Emily
http://www.weakandloved.com
I have a very very close relative that I love with all my heart she is the most amazingly giving and intelligent woman I know and yet has been in recovery so many times that her family despairs of her ever being strong enough to overcome her addiction. I don’t. In her own time, in God’s own way she will find her way. This is how he works with each of us. It is individual to our needs and the lessons we’ve yet to learn. Heartbreaking for us to watch but only he knows our storyline and the next chapter. I will pray for her. But I believe this may be a turning point.
Penny, I agree that it may be a turning point too–already has been, really. One of the most frustrating parts of addiction is the rise and fall of hope–which makes us have to keep placing our hope on a higher plane that goes beyond what we see here. Thanks SO much for your wonderful comment.
You’re welcome Heather. I meant every word. We have our God, we have our hopes and we have our strengths if we will but find and use them. Not just those addicted (I think everyone has one form or another of an “addiction” – some are just more noticeable than others.) but also the caring people who suffer on their behalf. I hope this Sunday is a lovely one for you.
Please let Becca know I’m praying for her.
Oh Annie, I will! I don’t think she has a way to read this or all these comments–and so I will tell her that literally hundreds of people she doesn’t know are lifting her up. I think she feels it and it’s Sunday now and she is doing well. Thanks so much for reading and caring.
Heather, as always, I’m so touched by your post and by each person’s comments. Thanks to all! Someone once told me as long as there is breath, there is hope. It isn’t an easy journey…but those of us who love a person who is addicted, also need to wave the white flag and allow God to do what only He can! Praying and believing for Becca…
Deb! So so cool to see your face here. Really. And yes, as long as there is breath… I know people who have had to come right up to the point where there wasn’t going to be any more breath before they could wave the flag. I covet your prayers, Deb.
Wow…so many good comments. I want to copy words from each into my journal to always remember. Like something Tom wrote that I hadn’t thought of before:
“For me, the first thing that struck me was the answer to the question of why do I drink. “Because it works” (for awhile), and the “high” even in the planning and anticipation phase.”
“…the high in the planning and anticipation phase.” It’s so true! And isn’t it interesting how the “high” of anticipation, planning beforehand doesn’t bounce the drinker/user up nearly as high as the guilt smacks them down afterward?
Praying for “Becca” tonight.
I agree! I have such wonderful readers and they’re so honest and also compassionate. Thanks for responding here and being part of it.
Continue to pray for Becca. We don’t, but God knows how it is going to go.
Your post had me recalling early days of recovery. I guess we all have varying significant moments and insights, but have some in common, and sharing always helps. Of course there was the low that led to surrender, perhaps the most common shared experience. Surrender always happens, it is just either to accessing help, or to the drink (drug, whatever).
For me, the first thing that struck me was the answer to the question of why do I drink. “Because it works” (for awhile), and the “high” even in the planning and anticipation phase.
The second thing was something that really encouraged me. The combination of pride and shame was driving me to try to fix it on my own. I was comforted to hear that each time I said I was going to “really quit this time”, I meant it. The problem laid in not being willing to accept I was powerless and needed help to “do real/actual recovery”. It encouraged me that my intent/heart was good, but my disease and the cure required assistance.
God is gracious and patient. Even so-called “failures” (persons) are loved by Him and His sorrow gushes over the pain that sin is inflicting on us, while simultaneously His love is gushing toward us. And then He always offers help, but doesn’t impose it. Forced love is an oxymoron.
Good on you Heather for exercising the fruit of patience and balanced love to Becca….so easy to see God in and through you…..
What a wonderful response! I love God “gushing. And I relate to the rest like I was the one writing. My surrender was related to a willingness to seek help versus a willingness to stop drinking on the spot. I had that same pile up of pride and shame and wanting to have a private recovery. Thank you for your kind words and great reminders here. Hugs on you and May God’s Love Gush on You. That just might have to be a new personal blessing I give people! Love it. Thank you. H
Thank you for sharing Becca’s story. Yes I have my own stories and the stories of others that defy logic in how we can raise from our knees and then fall prey to the flesh within mere moments. I too prey for surrender for those things that still hold me captive. “sober” since June 2007 over alcohol but still have other layers within me that require the same powerlessness and surrender today. Blessings!
“That defy logic,” is the key line here, isn’t it? We share 2007 as our sobriety year. And yes, always the layers of healing, layers of clinging where we need our fingers pulled back by God. I so appreciate you sharing here.
We all have to eventually know, and then remember,and apply the belief thereof….
“God already has a plan for each and everyone of us”
Tom M
Tom, you are so right. Know, remember, apply is a good little set of reminders. Thanks for taking time to respond today! Good to “see” you, Tom.
Oh, the poor dear! I hope she finds her way.
Thanks for caring and praying.
Isn’t it amazing how when hope seemed dashed, when hope seemed stupid, that an even brighter hope may have been just around the corner? Praying (still) for Becca, and that she truly has turned the corner. “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.”
Love this comment. And yes it is amazing. Thank!
on a much smaller scale, i sometimes feel that way when i return to the Confessional, confessing the same old sins (e.g., i lost my temper, i gossiped, i told a lie to make myself seem better than i am, i ate an entire row of oreos). one time i told the Priest, “i should just bring a tape recorder and hit ‘play’ when i come in here,” and he gently replied, “do you know how many others feel that way?.. try again.” i was like, right. try again. when my babies were learning to walk, i didn’t *scold* them when they stumbled or toppled right over. and i hafta admit, over time, my areas of stumbling have become less frequent, or at least less intense (i may raise my voice but i no longer smash lamps, for crying out loud), thanks be to God. anyhow, i realize this doesn’t compare to what your precious friend is going through, but it just got me thinking. i’m so thankful to serve a God of second chances (and third and fourth and fifth, etc.) and to pass that along to my kids. we cherish grace around here. back to you and your dear friend, wow, way to handle a tough situation! you did great.
I’m so glad you no longer smash lamps! Me too.
I really was as much of a rage-a-holic as an alcoholic, I just hid that better and saved the worst of it for my husband always. I cherish grace, too. And I love this response and the things you are saying. Thank you for encouraging me.
I cannot stop the tears. From experience, I know “it takes what it takes,” AND I know that holding the space with active addiction is extremely painful.
I am thrown back into the memories of wanting desperately for my husband to get sober- that spiritually motivated sobriety where a walk with God becomes the primary medicator. And I wanted desperately to protect myself and my children from the chaos and pain that his addictions brought into our home. I came to believe that holding on to God with one hand and my husband with the other only meant I was in the way. If I just let go and moved, then God could reach him directly.
My heart bleeds for Becca. I am quite sure that she would not choose to lose her home, her family, her life… so I have incredible compassion and an aching heart. I feel anger and frustration because I want to shake her to her bones and scream, “JUST STOP!” That is my insanity.
So I pray for God’s loving arms to hold her dear- to do for her what she cannot do for herself- to mend those broken places that keep her stuck in the self destructive cycle. And I send love. I can feel the warmth coming out of my fingertips making it’s way to her heart.
Addiction took my marriage and my son’s life. and addiction brought me a manner of living that brings me incredible joy and peace and a manner of living that blesses me everyday. It’s all true all at the same time.
Deborah, oh my. I didn’t mean to make you cry, but I get it. Totally. Also resonate so much with your comments. You understand this pain in a very personal way. So kind of you to take the time to send love through your fingertips to Becca this morning. I am so moved reading all these comments. Moved and amazed.
Becca’s in my prayers! For all those *in and out of these rooms who are still suffering*. Because, as I know with a viceral knowing, that is a hellish place to be. But as I also know with a viceral knowing, it is only one step away from the most amazing journey in this lifetime.
Yes, Marjie! Isn’t that the truth. It’s such a paradox how something so cursed as addiction can bring blessing once we cross that bridge to redemption.
Tears stroll down my face as I thank God for her surrender and pray she remains surrendered. My heart hurt when you said you felt stupid for having hope but at the same time I think I understand. I also took the opportunity to pray for the men in the Inside Out Men’s Home, the sober living home run by our church.
Lisa, I am touched by your response. How cool and totally wonderful that your church runs a home like that. Hope is worth holding onto.
Heather, I’ve read but haven’t written you lately…my world is spinning faster than usual for the last few months. But today my eyes are leaking as I read, and since you told us that means your heart is open and close to the surface (and not that I just haven’t taken my hormones yet this morning), I’m writing. The part that strikes me is your kindness to your friend during her struggle. Part of that kindness being you kept the boundaries set…she went to a shelter, not your guest room. Your hope for her did not overshadow the wisdom you’ve accumulated during your recovery. I’ve only been in the position to kick someone out of my home once…and it was a long time until she got better, and has not returned. It was ugly and I felt bad (but much safer) afterward. I can only imagine how often you are presented with the temptation to shelter disfunction. The biggest miracle may have happened while you were on your knees with her…and you turned her over to her Savior. You’ve got an admirer in me.
Christine, thanks so much for this comment and your encouragement. It means so much. And I know you’re out there even if you don’t have time to respond to every post. Love knowing that, friend.
Heather – I just wanted to second Christine’s comments. I’m inspired by your compassion coupled with healthy boundaries for Becca. Tough love. Keep on believing in her and having stupid hope.
Powerful stuff, knowing that someone else believes what we are capable of… despite all evidence to the contrary.
Praying that her surrender truly sets her free. Something tells me that waking up in a homeless shelter might be the “rock bottom” that she needed to experience.
I agree so much with what Robin wrote “Makes me wonder what my Heavenly Father thought when I bent my knee over … and over … and over, swearing that I had changed when, in fact, I only changed my surroundings.” I have done the same in many areas of my life but there is good news~ grace and forgiveness and strength that surpasses all understanding. Have a blessed weekend, Heather!
Amy, I agree about rock bottom. Thanks so much for sharing here!
This is a beautiful story, both of you having compassion on someone, and what surrender really looks like on a soul. I hope that the white flag stays out waving over her for good.
Thanks for you words, Shelly. I share your hope.
“Do you have a story about a time when you desperately wanted to surrender–but couldn’t quite make it happen? How do you explain that?”
Fear of being more miserable than I already am.
Fae. EXACTLY! Ding ding ding. What a true answer.
I am so excited for your friend, Becca … and thrilled that you were able to have a bird’s eye view of what your recovery looked like. It’s difficult to put into words what the bowels of hell look like, but it sounds as if Becca visited and is searching for her god to keep her out.
Makes me wonder what my Heavenly Father thought when I bent my knee over … and over … and over, swearing that I had changed when, in fact, I only changed my surroundings.
Hurray for Becca … and you!
Robin, thanks so much for you comment. I agree with another reader who related to it. You bless me blog.
The first thing I smash when things don’t go right is hope. It’s like I got caught feeling ‘alright’ and now I have to pay and I should have known better. BUT – I firmly believe hope is never the enemy. It’s not stupid or wrong to hope. Not when we have a God who raises the dead.
I love reading your posts, and I’ll pray for Becca.
Marcia, thanks for this insightful comment. I love your line, “It’s not stupid or wrong to hope..when we have a God who raises the dead.” Well said.