Aug 292012


*Monkees – Please forgive the cursing. I don’t know what’s going on lately. I’m getting rawer and rawer and I just can’t edit myself. Sorry, Bubba*


Dearest Maggie,

It could have gone either way, you know.

My drinking and drugging and binging and lying and hiding and running were so severe, for so very long. Statistically, I should be dead, dead, dead this morning. Do you know that I force myself to watch that brutal show Intervention every single week so I don’t forget how close I am to the edge each and every moment? How exactly the SAME I am as those lost precious sinking souls on that show?

Maggie, do you know that I really, really, very much miss drinking? That it’s so hard to live in my intense and jumpy and pounding heart and swimming head without anything to take that edge off? Do you know that I take lots of medication to keep me from flirting too closely to that edge? And even with the meds, that edge is where I have to live. Knowing it’s there, but keeping my back turned to it. No turning towards it. No peeking over. No dangling my toes off it. The edge, for me, means death. Not for just my body anymore but for a soul and a family and a blog and a voice and a revolution. God gave me a lot so I’d have a lot to throw away. So it’d all be too hard to throw away, maybe. I don’t know why the Universe did that for me. I don’t know why most of us can’t keep ourselves from jumping over that edge. Even with all we have to lose. The urge to jump is stronger than the urge to stay planted. I’ll stay planted. I know this. And still.

I so miss the other side. I feel so sad that I’ll never again curl up with a glass of wine and get overly giggly with a new friend. Or be able to stay out past ten and get wild and make stupid fuzzy memories with old friends. Or have two mixed drinks and get all lovey-dovey and loosie-goosie and have that different kind of sex with Craig that happens after two mixed drinks. I miss drugs. I miss halter tops and platform shoes and bars and flirting and dancing wildly. God, I miss beer. A couple Coronas with lime? Forget about it.  I miss being able to turn off my brain. It’s so tiring to live without that option. It’s so very, very exhausting. Of course, all those things I miss- they are not real for me. They are like someone missing milk even though she is allergic to it. You can go ahead and have some ice cream since everyone else seems to be enjoying it- but don’t forget that the third bite’ll kill you. The truth is that I never had “a couple Coronas” in my life. Eight Coronas, maybe. Five pills. Twelve lines. Three nights in jail. One Hospitalization. It goes like that for me. IT GOES LIKE THAT FOR ME. REPEAT. REPEAT, GLENNON, REPEAT.

For you, Glennon, it’s not like the Skinny Girl Margarita commercials. Wine in the morning is not cute, the way Hoda and Kathy try to suggest it is. It’s not cute. And they should cut that shit out, by the way. It’s patronizing and offensive to those of us who have really been there, with our trembling hands and our bottles of wine at ten am. We’re on our knees in our kitchens, Hoda and Kathy- and we don’t use fancy glasses. Not at ten am, assholes. We don’t have makeup on either. And we’re not giggling. We hide and we tremble and we cry and we drink straight from the bottle.

I’m Sorry, Maggie. Sorry. That’s the first time in three years I’ve called anybody an asshole in my writing and I’m sure it was a big mistake that I’ll pay for through the nose. But I’m writing this unedited and I’m writing it for you and for your Lobster and I guess for me, too. And I needed to say all of that.

Maggie – Do you know that once in a blue moon, bulimia pops into my life again like a terrifying jack in the box? Every few months, I’m home alone, and I get lonely and twitchy. And I start eating and eating and eating. And I feel too full. I am not fat, Maggie. It’s not about that. I’m actually sickly skinny right now because of my Lyme and parasites. But still – I am compelled to throw up. Compelled- like I’m a puppet and someone else is pulling the strings. Even now. And as I’m hanging over the toilet and seeing stars from my-self inflicted electrolyte imbalance I think– I am going to be so pissed if I die right now. It will be so sad. My kids will lose me. My family will think I never got better. They’ll think I was a fraud. The book still needs editing. And crap, the kitchen is such a mess. But I still do it. I still throw up. Isn’t that crazy? Craig doesn’t know this. My parents don’t know this. Well, till now. But I needed you to know, Maggie.

And still I would insist to you that I am getting well. Well is not black and white or forever and ever amen. It’s not.  Well is a long, forever continuum. I’m not sure we ever exorcise our demons completely.  And so when my bulimia pops up, I never feel mad at myself. NEVER. Shame takes us closer to that edge than any single binge will. NO. Life is hard and I’m doing the best I can. So I just take inventory and love myself something FIERCE and then start over. Every single moment I am someone brand new.

Maggie, sometimes I go to a party and the first thing a friend says is, “G! Don’t drink that punch. It’s full of vodka.” And I always think- DAMNIT.DAMNIT. Is it too much to ask to just once “accidentally” drink six glasses of punch before I “notice?” Wouldn’t that be such a funny and awesome mistake? Just once?

I’m so scared of parties, Maggie. I want to be invited to them, but I’m scared. I don’t know what to say when someone offers me a drink. People want to know why not? I don’t want to make people uncomfortable.  I don’t want them to think I don’t drink as some sort of moral statement. Sweet Jesus, no. But, no thank you, I’m a recovering alcoholic is SUCH a major party buzz kill. And then kind people don’t know if they should be drinking around me. And it all gets so uncomfortable. A big old mess. Just trust me. It’s not as easy as – no thank you. It’s not.

Lots of times we haven’t been invited to parties because people don’t know how to handle the drinking issue. And I understand, but it stings. I don’t really even want to go, but I really want to be invited. I’m usually great fun till about 800. Then I have to go home. Because people get loud and loose and Craig’s eyes start shining and he starts to have FUN. And I feel left out and very lonely. And tired.

Sobriety feels really lonely sometimes. To tell you the damn truth- it feels lonelier than addiction did to me. Granted, I felt nothing much during my addicted years.

I meant to write about something else today. But I woke up this morning and found three messages from Monkees who have recently lost their lobsters to addiction. And it kills me that I have nothing to say- nothing to help make sense of it. I can’t answer their question….why did YOU make it and my Lobster didn’t? I tried as hard as your Sister did.

Jesus, that kills me.

If I could choose one super power, it would be the ability to reach into my computer and pull the writers of those emails through my screen and into my living room. I would make two very strong cups of coffee and we would sit on my living room couch for hours and we would talk about your Lobster and cry and we would laugh, too. And you would understand that there is NOTHING, nothing we did righter than you or you did wrong-er than us. Life is just freaking crazy. Just totally freaking crazy. And you would understand that there was no magic wand that you were forbidden access to and that actually, I’m not all better. I’m just like your Lobster. Just exactly, exactly like your Lobster. But I’m here and she’s there. And that’s so unfair.

I’m so sorry, Maggie. I’m so sorry.

Robert Frost said “In three words I can sum up everything I know about life: It goes on.” I think he meant that it goes on for you, Maggie, here. And he also meant that it goes on for your Lobster, Somewhere Else. I really, truly, deeply know that to be true. I don’t know what Somewhere Else looks like but I believe in it, and if you don’t –  then I’ll believe harder for the both of us. Maggie, this place is too hard for some of us. It just is. And maybe it’s not because some of us are weak. Maybe it’s because some of us are paying closer attention to all the messes down here. There are a lot of real messes. It’s not in our heads. It’s real. This place is hard.

It is bullshit that you lost your Lobster, Maggie. And this is a big risk I’m about to take right now because I never ever EVER step into another person’s pain and try to make it better. I can’t tolerate that, really. Even so I am going to tell you that while I grieve for you, there is a part of me that is relieved that your Lobster is free. I know how hard it is to live like she did. To be her. To carry around her heart and mind. It’s too heavy. Her life meant something, Maggie. It meant exactly what it was supposed to mean. And if and when you want to tell us all about her, you have an open invitation to Momastery. Talk about your Lobster here. Thousands and thousands of Lobsters will learn from her and love her. You write- I’ll post. Anything at all.

Please, please forgive her for being the lightning rod that she was. Celebrate her life and her freedom when you can. And YOU. Celebrate YOUR freedom now. You are free. Live your life. Lay hers down. It’s too heavy. You are still her Lobster, forever, and so you need to keep living. She wants that.  I know it, because I’m her.

I love you, Maggie. I rarely cry while I’m writing anymore. But I’m crying quite hard this morning.

I wish I could do better for you. I wish I could take it all away. But we can’t do that. We need it all, I guess. We need the opportunity to turn this shit into something holy.

All, all my love. Please keep in touch, Maggie. I miss your Lobster for you.


PS. This song is for you and your Lobster, Maggie.


Carry On, Warrior
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
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  390 Responses to “For Maggie, Who Lost Her Lobster”

  1. My Lobster sent me a link to this post less than ninety days before she killed herself. The pain doesn’t recedes, but it doesn’t go away.

    • My Lobster sent me a link to this post less than ninety days before she killed herself. The pain recedes, but it doesn’t go away.

  2. Dearest Glennon,

    I had a rough night last night. Danny and I got into this awful argument and he told me things – true things, actually, about myself and some of my behavior – that hurt so much to hear. So, so much.

    I woke up this morning and I just didn’t want to try anymore. I didn’t want to be kind or brave or open; those things all sound like they involve *feeling* and I so didn’t want to feel. I knew that to feel anything, I’d have to first feel my way through those painful truths.

    So, naturally, I took the ultra-mature, super courageous route of…sulking all day. I told myself that Life is hard and the world is cruel and we’re all just going to die anyway, so really, what’s the point in trying? I told myself that it was too hard, that feeling again would hurt too much, and so it’s best to just give up and let my life pass me by. I told myself that I am just not cut out for this ‘Life’ shit, that it’s too hard for some of us, myself included. I stayed angry and closed off and depressed.

    I knew that a walk would help – it always, always does – but I told myself that I didn’t have the energy or the will. I knew that I was simply just terrified to stop being angry because then I’d have to feel my way through the pain. And it just didn’t seem worth it. So, I kept sulking.

    At some point, my attempts to push the pain down began to be too much. I felt like I was crawling out of my skin and desperately wanted relief. I contemplated driving to the ER and begging them to give me xanax. (For the record, I have no diagnosed mental illnesses and have never been on meds. I took xanax once in high school ‘for fun’ and hated it. So, yeah, I don’t know what my plan was there.) I realized that I was starting to sound really crazy, and something deep in me said, ‘you need to get to Momastery.’

    I didn’t want to, honestly. I knew that reading the Facebook page would make my heart expand and open, and again, I didn’t want that. But something pushed me beyond that fear and before long, I was googling ‘Momastery Dear Maggie lobster’ and sobbing my way through this post. It’s one of my favorites. I sobbed and sobbed, and I realized – yet again – that staying closed off is actually far more painful and difficult than staying open. The latter only hurts as you go through it, as you open; the former is a constant state of pain. As always, Momastery ‘saved’ me. Thank you, Glennon.

    And now, I’m going to go for a walk. Because we can do hard things. Even when they hurt. Especially then.

    Love and Big Hugs,

  3. I am type 2 diabetic, trying to lose much weight, and I am bulimic. I have never admitted this before. But because of your brutal honesty here, I am able to. I do not want the feelings any more. I am killing myself. I know this and it hurts, but I can not seem to stop. It is just another of one of many ways I have used in my life to stop pain. I’ve cut in the past, I’ve taken too many pills, now I purge. I purge my pain. I drank and drugged when I was a teen, but I stopped that on my own, and am fortunate I am able to have “just one” now. But the other things are never ending, and purging helps end the pain. Thank you for your honesty Glennon. Hugs.

  4. […] also feel less crazy and alone. She’s magic like that. Meet Glennon Don’t Carpe Diem For Maggie, Who Lost Her Lobster  Whack-A-Mole                       […]

  5. […] also feel less crazy and alone. She’s magic like that. Meet Glennon Don’t Carpe Diem For Maggie, Who Lost Her Lobster  Whack-A-Mole                       […]

  6. […] Doyle Melton who writes the Momastery blog. Truthfully I find some of her stuff hard to read, but this is a letter to someone whose sister died of alcoholism (I guess she uses the term Lobster to mean loved one). I think […]

  7. I am not quite sure why I am just NOW finding you and your blog – I can’t wait to get your book and read it too. THANK YOU FOR YOUR BRUTAL HONESTY. Gah – if all us women could be as honest with each other and forgo the hypocrisy we think we must live under. For the love! Anyway – I have spent the better part of the last 2 days reading your entries and agreeing wholeheartedly with each of them.

    We all face our struggles and I thank you for your sharing yours so openly and letting those of us who face some of the same struggles and issues know we are not alone.

    May you continue to blessed and use the gifts God has given you to help others!

  8. I love you Glennon, for being real, for sharing, for creating this revolution! I am sober 3 weeks today and you are a part of that journey, as are some of the monkees who responded to a comment I posted about three weeks ago. Before I went to A.A. I got a tattoo on my wrist that says “Life is Brutiful.” Thank you for giving me a word that so perfectly describes my life, gives me hope amidst daily struggles, and for the words in your blog that ring so truly in me that it touches me spiritually. Thank you!

  9. Hi. Mee too. I found you through Kelle’s blog. And being the A-mazing person she is, you must be too. I will try to follow up in the future to get most out of your posts.

    Well done,

  10. “We are all flawed…held together with good intentions.” -anon

    This quote has kept me off the cliff many times and helped me forgive myself.

    Love to you all.

  11. I couldn’t read this when it first popped up on FB with a link. I kept it as an open tab until this morning. And this made me cry. I am that lobster, and I also should be dead. Spiritually I was two years ago. And here I am. Sober and working on learning how to be an adult (at nearly 38), be a friend, and to feel without running away from the feelings-drinking them away, eating them away, throwing them up, or cutting to make it a physical issue. Physical pain is real, you see. What goes on in my mind (heart) is not. All the while being horribly obsessed with being normal! I just want to be normal, like others and have that glass of wine with dinner with friends and be sophisticated. But it was 3 bottles out of a coffee mug for me at the end….every night. And there were no friends left.

    So I am learning. I am one of the lucky ones. I don’t know why. I am trying to remember that it is not for me to try to understand why or to figure it out. The storms still spin in my mind, but I have found a place and others like me where I am allowed to learn, to make mistakes, and am loved and told to keep coming back- not because they like me, though some may, but because we need each other to do this thing called living. And we need each other to learn how not to scratch that itch when it comes. I am, slowly, making progress and that is what it is all about.

    Thank you Glennon for your honesty.

  12. I have such a great support group of Sisters. I believe they understand me as I am. With God’s help I will beat this. I don’t want to be that lobster! I just hope someday my Son will understand.

  13. Thank you.

  14. As a parent, I love that you apologized to your dad for your language, but please never apologize for sharing the truth with us. Unless you have been there with the struggles and fears and overwhelming urges, you cannot fully understand what someone with any addition faces. I, too, watch INTERVENTION – not because I’m dealing with an addiction, but because I need to try to understand what one I loved faced. I don’t want to feel that lack of awareness, or lose control, but that is what an addict seems to crave in many cases. Only the TRUTH from someone who battles can give the rest of us some understanding…and, hopefully, that understanding will lead to the ability to support and forgive. The TRUTH is often raw and rough and painful, but it is so very important. May God continue to bless you, Glennon, and all the rest of the Monkees who share their stories so others don’t feel so alone and helpless. Love you all!

  15. […] She has an amazing post today on her struggle with addiction. She explores her daily, weekly, annually, and constant struggle through a letter to a girl Maggie, whose sister (her lobster–the narrator’s code word for sister) died from her struggle. […]

  16. Pardon my French, but it’s amazing how you can “lay your shit bare” and sound so eloquent while doing it. It’s hard to imagine that you still struggle, as you seem so put together, but thanks for your honesty about it. I’ll be thinking of you and Maggie and everyone else who’s lost (or nearly lost) someone.

  17. Your words are healing. Thank you for being brave enough to go there and be vulnerable for all of us. You are such a gift!

  18. Oh Glennon, your posts touch me so deeply. Thank you.

  19. I am feeling so lonely in my sobriety right now. It’s been almost 4 years but this past year has been the toughest. I have 2 wonderful and challenging teenagers. I question myself everyday if I am good enough!!! My husband and I are barely speaking since he dropped a bomb on me in Dec. I too have a lobster out there somewhere and it breaks my heart. Thanks for your post. I don’t feel so alone.

  20. Damn you Glennon! I wasn’t in the mood to cry today. I read your posts to lift me up. And to remind me of gratitude.
    Yes, I’m one of you. I’ve in recovery. From ALCOHOL. From FOOD. And I can use. anything. until. I. get. exactly. the. right. concoction. or pass out from booze or the carb/sugar overload.
    This life is so very very hard. I love your term “brutiful”. It makes me want to screw my eyes shut when I think of my pain. I fight the urge everyday too. And I don’t know why I “got” it, for now. Because you know we only have today.
    I’m only as healthy as the hard work I do to stay sober (that’s with a capital “S” especially since my bulimia is included in that). I don’t go to parties. But I’m happier that way. Parties make me look for deficits. If I’m not at “free for all” then I don’t need to be extra bright, or sparkly or shiny. I’ve stopped looking for something that was always just out of my reach.
    Today! I get to feel my feelings. I lost three sober long timers in the month of December. I feel SAD!!! But I learned in Sobriety that I can’t shut off just the *icky* feelings. When I shut down or numb, I lose all of it, all feeling. And then I become frostbit.
    I used to tell myself that I was a better Mom because I could handle the chaos of three children under 2 better, slightly numb than I do all feel-y now. It’s not true. I’m awake and alive. I’m not trying to get them to BED!!! so that I can go binge/purge/drink/startalloveragain.
    I think, I hope, I feel safe enough now that they can have all their feelings all over me. I do the best I can everyday….well, most days, and I can even, some days do hard things. When I do, I feel proud. I feel like I am worthy. I am relieved that I finally put everything down.
    There are other people like me but I only find them in the “rooms”. Please go Glennon. I am not alone. I am not unique. I can do hard things, but only with my others.

    • Thank you for sharing your story and your struggles here. We sympathize; we relate; we go on. Good work today, since it’s the only one we’ve got.

  21. Glennon, I commend your honesty…your bravery. Your raw kindness is transforming, healing, uplifting! Please don’t ever stop. Ever.

  22. G- your raw words help me understand my daughter and my mother. Both fight like you- and are sober but struggle still with bulimia. Thank you for you honesty. My life has led me to a life of recovery, too, but from other demons. Mostly- from thinking I can fix people. It, too, is wicked and fierce and mostly because to others it just looks nice and “right”…but it is not. It can be dark, too.
    Your fight to be a reckless truth teller has brought tears streaming. Thank you. My heart of compassion has grown. My heart goes out to Maggie. I will be holding you all in prayer. Lord have mercy on us all.

  23. Thank you so much for sharing…for I lost my lobster too….my heart aches so much but I keep it hidden….just as I hid the whole ordeal….I never downed my lobster she knew how much I loved her….but I wish some how or some way I could have done something….my heart will never heal…the guilt, the shame…it makes me angry too about Hoda and Kathy…we should do something about it….we must be heard…people are dying and the stigma is so harsh…no one is better…I delete people and have lost some so called friends that talk about other lobsters and degrade their existence….this article sums it up so well…who wants to be like that….NOONE……how can we stop the shame and let people come out to seek help without being labeled as worthless….again thank you touched my heart….its hard enough to lose your lobster but for people to think they were nothing…is so hard….my lobster was 30 yrs old leaving 2 little ones…..what do I tell them?????

  24. […] can single-handedly change the world. She’s funny and she’s real and she’s the most moving female voice in the blogosphere. And, she manages to writes zealously about God without making me want to run […]

  25. Holy shit. This was an arrow straight to heart and so perfect. Hit so close to home. I think this unfiltered version of you was the best yet. Thank you. Thank you for putting into words what so many of us cannot.

  26. I am that lost lobster. Except I don’t have the alcohol, or the drugs, or the sex, or any of it. Usually I stuff my feelings back into my face with food, but I don’t barf it up afterwards so I just get fat. What I do have is the feeling that I can’t stand being me and I wish God would let me die when I’m sleeping. I’m tired of hurting my family with my unhappiness, I’m tired of being sad all the time, I’m tired of being unable to enjoy life even though there’s so much of it, thriving all around me. I don’t think that people get that you don’t have to be an addict to have the type of personality that would be so easily soothed by drugs, alcohol, and sex addiction. I have been on the edge of all of those things, and I have toyed with them at times, and something, SOMEONE, has always been there to stop be before I fall all… the way… in. But the sadness is still there and it’s so, so tempting to just drink until I fall asleep.

    I don’t know how to get rid of it G. How do you get rid of it?

    • Christina,

      I feel your pain. I know that darkness, too. For me, the right medication really helped. It didn’t make all my problems go away, but it kept the bubbles from consuming me and the breaking glass inside my head from smashing all the time. Once I wasn’t at the mercy of my completely wacked out brain chemistry, I could start facing the negative messages, my personal history of self destruction, and began to slowly, slowly confront my self-loathing with the help of a trained behavioral modification therapist. I still struggle, but it is far less often.

      While I don’t know that the darkness every completely disappears, I do believe it passes like a bad storm. Maybe a bunch of bad storms, but eventually the sun comes out again. Whether we want it to or not, the sun rises everyday. It is there when we can’t see it. I use that as my hope when I am on the edge and I really want to fall asleep and never wake up.

      For me, also, my children are my lifeblood. I don’t know if you have kids or not, but it sounds like you have a loving support network who would be devastated if you fell off the cliff entirely.

      I hope you are able to find relief. Please don’t feel ashamed. Please don’t let your shame prevent you from seeking help. Really, you are worth it.

      There is hope. Peace and love.

      • they are trying to get my meds sorted. i am in a waiting room. i have had up and down feelings all day, out of control. i am so tired, is all. i hope they figure out the right dosage for me soon. so tired.

        • You are loved. I know how painful and tiring it can be. Believe me, I know.

          There is hope. I can’t promise when, but keep fighting for yourself. I made it by taking one terrifying step forward at a time (even when I thought sliding into the abyss was better).

          Aside from medication, the next thing that really helped me was to find distractions. I have slight agoraphobia and am terribly introverted so getting out there was a real hurdle, but I signed up for a pottery class. I found small things that didn’t seem too overwhelming. I got a manageable part-time job at a bookstore. After awhile I added on more and more things and eventually my life became fuller so that the ledge was almost hard to get to on a moment’s notice.

          Sometimes having things to do can pull me out of my spiral downward. I still find myself back at the ledge at times, but I’m firmly planted on the ground at this point and am able to step away myself.

          You are worth it. Be easy on yourself. Keep up the good work.

  27. Also, G – have you ever noticed if your itchy binge feeling correlates to changes in the barometric pressure? Next time you feel that itch, see if an external storm is brewing. Sometimes that helps me slow down. If I know that I’m feeling off because my body is reacting to atmospheric changes I can back away from the desperation and self-inflicted guilt. Our bodies are made of 70% water so it makes perfect sense to me that if there are changes in pressure outside us that there must be change in pressure inside us, including inside the brain where our emotions may get disrupted.

    As for being the sober one at the parties, I can totally relate to the lonely feeling. I rarely drink so I always feel like I’m not “in” the energy of the event, but if I am with the right people it doesn’t matter if I drink or not. My hubby can’t bring himself to quit because he, too, wants that intoxicated feeling. It’s a hard road. I’m glad you chose life. The world is a MUCH better place because you are still in it.

    Lastly, I will say that if ANYONE wants me to send an angel drawing to them, I will gladly do so. Free.

    • tallulamoo at gmail dot com

    • This was such a light bulb. I feel worse (from medical issues and emotional issues) when the weather is changing, and I always just thought I was crazy. Whether it is actual truth or wishful thinking, I like the idea that it might be enough to let oneself off the hook and give yourself a little boost for that moment, for that day. Thanks for the insight. I will contact you about an angel drawing, as that sounds like a lovely reminder.

  28. My husband is an alcoholic and very much struggling with addiction right now. As in still drinking. There are some mornings I’m afraid he won’t wake up.

    I have a long history of an eating disorder and as far as I’ve come away from that ledge, there are days when it is really, really tough. I miss the other side, too, but God hasn’t called me back, yet. So here I am. I know that dark place like I know myself, and love has always allowed me to stay.

    I mailed you that angel awhile ago. I hope you got her. Everyone needs an angel – those who are here and those who are not.

    Peace and love to you and Maggie and all the lost lobsters out there.

  29. This post saved my marriage.

    Love yourself something FIERCE.

  30. You have no idea how you have helped me with this post. I just lost my sister on Aug. 11th. I have so many “what ifs” floating around in my head. While I know I will never completely understand what she was going through, you have helped me by giving me a glimpse of your own struggle. Thank you for that!

  31. You have written what I could never say. I to suffer from addiction and crave to just have 1 beer. Just to feel inhibited just one more time. All the experiences you talked about. No more crazy drunken sex with my husband,giggling with friends . But on the flip side. Being sober is freeing. Knowing now I don’t need alcohol or drugs to have fun or deal with problems with. Thank you for your honesty..It touched me deeply.

  32. I am sorry you lost your sister, Maggie. Glennon, i am sorry that you still struggle so hard. But i am so grateful that you STRUGGLE! Thank you for struggling! I tell my kids all the time that everyone struggles with something. Everyone. For some life is very difficult. It bothers me when people say, “God will not give you more than you can handle” because it’s not true. It is a mistaken interpretation from 1Cor. 12:13 where Paul tells us we will not be “TEMPTED beyond what we are able but with the temptation will provide a way of escape also”. Which is why G your friends save you from accidentally discovering the punch! But He does give us more than we are able to bear. It’s just never more than He AND us together can bear. We are meant to fall on Him (2 Cor. 1:8,9). If God’s own son suffered than who am i to think i won’t also suffer hardships? Your extra big loving heart is from a big God who also loves with all His heart. When we are in Him, the same power that raised Jesus from the dead is in us. He is enough… for whatever we are facing! Struggle on, love on! And when life gets hard, fall into His arms! Blessings!

  33. This is such an amazing raw look into what addiction feels like. I have watched both my parents struggle in and out of it and reading this helps me understand, feel, hurt, love in a totally new way. Thank you thank you thank you for your vulnerability, honesty and rawness. It is incredible.

  34. […] Melton recently wrote a very raw post on Momastery regarding addiction.  It is beautiful and honest.  She is a voice for those who suffer from […]

  35. […] Melton recently wrote a very raw post on Momastery regarding addiction.  It is beautiful and honest.  She is a voice for those who suffer from […]

  36. Hi Glennon, I, too, found you from Kelle’s blog and really had no idea what I was walking into. After reading your beautiful bio I landed on this post. I almost never leave comments on the “big” blogs, preferring to just peek over the edge and drink in the goodness from the shadows. However, I just had to say something. Perhaps there is comfort in sending words to a stranger. Perhaps I just need to say it to someone that hasn’t heard. . .

    I lost my mom 2.5 years ago to alcoholism.

    Unlike you. . . I have not been able to watch an episode of Intervention since that time. For us, it didn’t work. I will never be able to make sense of it. She was deeply loved and the hole she left? It’s indescribable.

    I agree. . . Life does go on. Losing her has changed me in countless ways. In good ways. But today, as I read this. . . I felt I was hearing words my Mom would have spoken IF she would have beat it. I admire you. Your courage, your strength, and your willingness to fight for a better life for your entire family. Thank you for the hope you are spreading. . . Really, thank you.

    And Maggie, if you ever see this. . .I am so very sorry.

  37. i too just started reading on kelle hampton’s recommendation. my mother is 30+ years sober, she started that journey when i was 6 years old. she’s been working with the addicted for almost as long as she has been sober now. we just had a moment at the county fair this year where our previous neighbor of 14 YEARS told my mom “we should get together for a glass or two of wine” and as per my usual response “she can’t drink SHE’S A BOOZER.” i only throw this out because we can laugh about it now, it’s irreverent i know but i thank her, god, fate etc. that we’re LAUGHING, she’s here. keep up the hard work.

  38. Hi. I found you through Kelle’s blog. And being the A-mazing person she is, you must be too. But wow. I did not expect to be torn apart. You are an incredible human. “You are singing my words with your song” I feel so crazy sometimes, feeling things so intensely and I see now that some of us just do, and I can forgive myself for wanting to temper that sometimes. I feel so blessed but life is a struggle. A STRUGGLE. Thank you for your raw words, your sharing. You are indeed A-mazing.

  39. I found your blog today through Kelle’s blog and I felt compelled to comment on this post. You have no idea how much this has helped me.. I do not struggle with addiction but I do have my own cross to bear and I struggle with it every single day. This post spoke to me more than you will ever realise. Thank you so much for putting yourself out there and writing this xx

  40. thank you. i wish i could say what is in my heart; for now i will let the tears stream. thank you.

  41. oh my god… thank you

  42. I’m so sorry for Maggie, and I’m sorry that you’re struggling, Glennon. I don’t know personally what it’s like–though I have my own demons–but I used to be married to an alcoholic and have people in my family who struggle with addiction, so I’ve witnessed how difficult it can be on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis.

    Much love and healing to you, dear one, and to Maggie. Missing my lobster, my puzzle piece, too. <3

  43. That was so perfect. Just…so perfect. We all struggle with some sort of addiction and imperfection issue, really. I know I do. Love your writing and honesty so much. I’m moved to tears today. Thanks so much for writing this. I’ll pray for Maggie.

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