Rescue, Relapse and Redemption
When confession is an invitation.
It had been four months since I’d had a drink when I received an unexpected call from my pastor. The sober life felt more solid than ever, and outside of pregnancy, it was the longest I’d gone without alcohol since high school.
I’d finally found a bit of balance on the beam of sobriety, but I was graceless, and it was still fragile. Forever still sounded unthinkable and—confession?—terrifying.
My palms sweated as my pastor asked me to share how God had moved in my life for a sermon series on freedom in Christ.
He had no idea what was happening behind my life's scenes. Yet, conviction gripped me. This was my opportunity to testify to a bold faith and share what God had done to free me from alcohol.
Was I overzealous to share a story that was still very much being written? Or was this God calling me to share? A confusing exhilaration racked my body as these questions emerged.
I knew a couple of things for sure:
I wasn’t drinking now, and I couldn’t have done that without Him.
He deserves the glory. He deserves the glory.
I quickly decided that sharing how God is moving in your life is never a bad idea, even if the story isn’t over. And, really, the story is never over until our last breath.
We are meant to testify His love, to “each day, proclaim the good news that He saves” and to “publish His glorious deeds among the nations.” (Psalm 96:1).
I knew the Spirit was in full force when that day came because of what happened on the drive to church. A familiar voice whispered:
“You’re a horrible person.
I hate you.
You’re a horrible person.
I hate you.”
On repeat, round it went, increasing in volume the closer I got to the parking lot. Rather than dissuade me, it strengthened my resolve to speak. The voice didn’t work anymore.
I’d heard that voice since I was 15, attempting to starve myself into perfection, and at 25 when I woke up unsure of how I got home.
Finally, I recognized the voice's owner and knew he was no match for the owner of my heart.
When I arrived, I entered church clutching my printed-out testimony about the last year of my life and my changed relationship with alcohol. I was terrified but encouraged by my pastors.
Would everyone be shocked? What if I later disappointed them – or God and myself – by giving in to the temptation to drink again?
But this wasn’t about “someday.” It was about today. I stood surrounded by my church family inside the sanctuary (a place I like to call the “embassy of heaven”) and I knew God’s Holy Spirit was fully present.
I could testify to God’s work today without worrying about what happened tomorrow – and I would. If not me, then who?
Still, public speaking was difficult for me — especially about something so personal.
I approached the stage feeling hollowed out, emotionally and spiritually naked, more vulnerable than ever. Faces blurred into a sea of expectant humanity, unaware I was about to share one of my deepest secrets with them. Before even speaking, I felt a lump welling in my throat.
Even in practice, I’d been unable to talk without crying. How could I possibly get through this? What kind of stories would they tell themselves about me now?
I had no control over the narratives people might write with this information, but that wasn’t my concern anymore. God called me to this church on this day in front of these people.
I couldn’t tell you who was there despite knowing nearly everyone in the audience. It was like watching myself from the outside, willing the words to come out and praying I wouldn’t flounder.
My notes shook, tremors, as I shared tearfully with 150 people that I’d spent the past 20 years struggling with a sinful dependence on alcohol.
How It All Began
Ineloquently, I explained how it all began: that one night when, for the first time, I felt at ease with my peers—all thanks to a cheap mix of liquor sloshing in a red cup.
Conversations felt so effortless—why had I held off drinking for so long? These hazy thoughts bounced around my mind as I drifted from one new "friend" to the next, people I’d barely exchanged a glance with in the school halls over the past three years.
Even that night, something felt “off” about how I handled alcohol. It soon led to frequent, boozy nights with friends – normal for a high school student – but as a Christian, conviction was always posted up in the corner of my mind. I drowned it with more alcohol.
The following week at school, I shared that my new “friends” reverted to strangers, and I took the long way around the lockers to avoid eye contact. The connection we’d shared at the party house had been entirely superficial. I was still a nobody at school, awkward and uncool, not welcome at the popular corner in the lobby where jocks and cheerleaders were stationed together each day.
Such feelings of discomfort signaled to my mind and body: you’ll need to keep drinking if you want to fit in.
By the end of my testimony at church, my body was depleted – sweat stains and a vulnerability hangover wracking seeping out of my pores. Applause flooded the room, but I barely registered the noise. I was already wondering how these subsequent conversations might proceed.
After the service, multiple people approached me to speak. Several touched my shoulder to say “thank you” for sharing.
Others pulled me into the corner to whisper, revealing some of their pains: pills, affairs, codependence, a family member’s struggle with alcohol.
Despite our differently manifested behaviors, they came from the same place: a desire for acceptance, love, and wholeness and a low self-perception that felt impossible to manage without reaching outward.
A couple of people told me they’d been thinking about how alcohol affected them on a health-based level and said they’d recently cut it out or were paring it down. The spectrum was broad, but the unspoken seal had been broken, and we could finally discuss it.
➡️➡️➡️ SPOTLIGHT: Hungover at Church: Was my love for God not enough to quit drinking?
Confession is an Invitation
Later, I heard from a woman in the audience that day. My public confession was an invitation to someone who thought she was utterly alone.
We met for coffee the following week. It was the early days of COVID, so we settled at an outdoor table, sufficiently separated and unmasked. You can’t talk about your deepest struggles with half your faces covered.
*Lucy had been pulled over after drinking — and was now suffering the consequences. Alcohol and life collided, creating the perfect storm of stress and an irresistible escape.
When you divulge your deep insecurities, others feel safe to admit theirs. I knew this was one reason God had called me to share.
As a nurse and a mother, Lucy was a respected member of the community, someone you’d never know was silently struggling this way. Behind the scenes, she kept promising herself “one more night” of drinking. The latter point was one I knew well.
So many of us know that feeling.
At the time, I had no idea that I was on the verge of a relapse. A tempting moment alone in a dark basement with a refrigerator full of wine coolers caught me off guard.
Later, I noted the ease with which I fell: Satan merely isolated me, whispered a lie, and I was back into the clutches of alcohol.
Sin and setbacks are natural parts of life. Acknowledging this reality allows us to see them for what they are, reduce their impact, and strive to 'fail better' next time.
My relapse started out “fine” until it progressed back into where I was before. Within months, I knew I had to try again. This time, it would be the last. Thank goodness I didn’t stop trying there.
Can you believe that God does have something better than where you are right now?
➡️➡️➡️ SPOTLIGHT: DO I HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM?
I know how hard it is to imagine now. I was trapped in this place of mediocre faith and doubted that I’d ever escape life without my security blanket of substances.
But I did and here we are 4.5 years later. We can do hard things. With Christ, we are stronger than we feel (so much stronger!).
Sharing with your church may not be the answer, but sharing with someone is. Shame is vanquished in the light of day. Satan whispers in your ear, like he did mine, that no one will understand. It’s not true.
Walk outside. Say it anyway. Say it even if you feel like you can’t do it. Say if you feel like you’ll fail tomorrow. Say it and hold those words up to God. And see what happens next.
OTHER POSTS ON THIS TOPIC:
The best way to support this newsletter is to buy a copy of my books, share, and leave a review on Amazon + Goodreads. I appreciate every single purchase + review!
Reason to Return: Why Women Need the Church & the Church Needs Women
Leaving Cloud 9: The True Story of a Life Resurrected From the Ashes of Poverty, Trauma and Mental Illness
Grace in the Glass: How Women of Faith Wrestle with Alcohol (coming soon — click for updates!)
I'm sure your writing here and in your books, including the one soon to be released, is having a huge impact on women who have been too ashamed to seek healing. Thank you for being so transparent. That gives others permission to be real also.