A journal entry from June 13, 2017.

Your behavior is bordering on codependency.

Do you feel defeated? Frustrated?

I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth.

I feel like you’re my mom.

I feel like your mom.

That’s a problem.

If it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck…

You’re smothering me.

Are you using again?

I’m sorry.

I love you.

At the end of the day, say I love you. Because it is true.

A journal entry from March 30, 2018: We are all struggling.

I know a mom whose husband recently told her he doesn’t want to be with her anymore.

Another mom whose 1-year-old is undergoing chemotherapy

A friend at work, with a son M’s age, just went through a divorce.

Another woman at work left her husband.

A family friend was diagnosed with ALS. The doctors say he has two years left to live.

A girl I know from college who I follow on Instagram just delivered a 20-week stillborn child.

My old roommate’s mom died suddenly. They found cancer in her brain. Days later, she was gone.

My husband is a recovering addict. Every day I fight fear and pray for peace, love in our lives.

There is suffering everywhere. I don’t know if I notice it more now, or if I am more sympathetic to those suffering, or life just gets more difficult the older we get, or all of the above. I hear these stories, and my heart aches. I feel pain. I know what it is to feel helpless, hopeless, alone, like my world is crumbling down around me. And I want to tell them it will be okay. I want to tell them to let go. Take care of yourself. Surrender to love. But I don’t know that everyone wants to hear that when they’re struggling.

How did I find my path? I picked up an Al Anon book and I started reading. I opened my heart. I prayed. I cried. I let go, and I became very afraid, but I stopped letting the fear take over. I breathed in, and put my future in the hands of the universe. It was hard, but also easy because I felt I had no other choice. I felt so alone.

I am still here. We are still here. We are happy and healthy. We are always working to be good.

We are meant to suffer and struggle. It makes us stronger. It heals us. And for me, it creates connection. Especially when we become vulnerable enough to share that struggle. To open up and let people know that we are hurting, that life is hard, that we are sometimes lost and alone, and that we need support. It’s that vulnerability that breaks down walls of perfection – the Instagram exterior that showcases a happy life . The highlights reel of life, the corner of the kitchen that is clean when just out of the frame, chaos. And when you show that mess, you open up to show the real you.

I crave transparency and meaningful connections. Conversations about faith and God and the universe. About pain and love and prayer. About writing, and mothering, and adulting. Connection. Community.

At one of my first Al Anon meetings, a woman said that eventually, whenever something went wrong, she looked forward to seeing how God would fix it. “Oh goody,” she said. I almost wanted to smack her. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing for her to say to a newcomer whose husband was still using. But I think I understand now. The universe is amazing. In a way, it is exciting to see what else it has in store. Because in the end, it will all be okay.

A journal entry from October 25, 2017.

I watch the map. Would he be moving east or west on 88? West meant he was going to his counselor. East meant into the city for drugs. He merges heading west. A sigh of relief.

I sit in my car in a parking lot not far from home. I just made an appointment with a new therapist. I miss those evenings in C’s office – a safe space to talk about all of it. Lately I have been feeling anger. And although I am often aware of it, I still hold on to it. I research which crystals help me let go, but when I’m feeling it consume me, I hang on. Like I own it, like I have a right to keep it.

I held on last night, and again this morning. As the day went on, fear set in. I checked his location at lunchtime. A suspicious stop.

What if?

I can’t control it, I didn’t cause it, I can’t cure it.

Then, hurt. Why hadn’t he texted? Shame. Why can’t I just suck it up and tell him I love him? Guilt. He kissed me this morning. He’s trying to let go. He’s going through so much. We both are. Why can’t we just see eye to eye?

I slept on the couch. I didn’t know what else to do.

I pray. I admit my powerlessness, my confusion. Take this pain, this anger, this darkness. Please show me light and love, toward him. Toward myself.