Oxygen

Or, How did you know it was time to leave your marriage?

I get quite a few private questions about addiction and divorce. None more than this one:

How did you know it was time to leave?

A heartbreaking question. And one I cannot, and would not, attempt to answer for anyone else.

So while I will never hold myself up as someone with advice to give, I will tell you stories. And as I do, I will pray with you for the community, clarity, and Holy Spirit conviction you need to be strong enough to stay, or strong enough to go.

As always, if accessing content behind the paywall is a financial hurdle for you, please reach out to me directly 💚

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I got married on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in August, at the park down the street from my childhood home. As a five-year-old girl, I spent summer days collecting acorns off the ground near the creek there, capturing tadpoles in small mason jars to study before setting them free. I climbed the big oak tree just up the slope from the water’s edge with no shoes on, wrapping my toes around a sturdy branch for balance, feeling the carefree invincibility of a child who had not yet fallen, who didn’t know how much that could hurt. The air was always fresh and clear at that park.

My wedding ceremony took place right above the creek bed, looking directly over the place my mind once ran wild with imagination. A white dress worn where my hands and feet used to get covered in mud as I lost myself in worlds where acorns were magic and tadpoles could talk. My dad walked me across a bridge over the creek and gave me away to the man I promised to love forever. Afterwards, we danced under twinkle lights and toasted to always as the frogs sang to us from below.

Twelve years later, my marriage ended on a Wednesday morning in September. And I’m still trying to figure out how to explain what happened in between.

This is a long story, my story, made short.