Pack your sh** and get out.

This morning as I was getting ready and putting my make-up on, my mind wondered (as it often does) back to January 6th 2015. Things that I haven't thought of for a long time, and maybe even some things I had forgotten, flooded over me. I remember nearly every minute detail of the story I'm about to tell you only because it was the night my life changed...once and for all.

It was a random Tuesday evening and Chad and I were driving home (in a two-door red Honda Civic) from Celebrate Recovery. I had relapsed weeks before, and he had no clue. The guilt had consumed me and I knew I had to let the cat out of the bag. I needed to make myself feel better. I mean, we'd done this dozens of times before. I would tell him I had relapsed and then pinkie swear that it would never happen again. He would get really mad, tell me I was only a few months away from being a crackwh***, then tell me I was on my last chance...that he just couldn't do it anymore. We would go to bed and wake up the next morning as if nothing ever happened.  I had it all planned out. I would shed a few tears, tell him he couldn't be any more disappointed in me than I was in myself, apologize, then start fresh.  Sounds easy, doesn't it? I had become a pro.

So, there we were, driving, and I started the conversation by telling him that I had "messed up" again (that makes it sound more like a mistake than a relapse). He asked me what I had used and where I had gotten it, along with how long this had been going on. I just sat and stared out the window. I can actually remember looking at a certain house that we were driving by as I contemplated on whether or not to tell the truth.  I decided on the truth, considering what a forgiving husband I have. What could it hurt?

So, I took a deep breath and told him the worst answer he could ever hear. I had done something that I swore I would never do again. Yet, I did it. They were the heaviest four words I've ever said and they just kind of got stuck in the air, just floating because no one knew what to do with them. I waited for a reply, but there was none. I said I was sorry, but the forgiveness never came. Nothing came from him other than an eerie silence. We pulled into our driveway and he parked the car. I waited for him to turn to me so we could "talk things out", but he didn't. He simply got out of the car and before he closed the door, he leaned in and said the six words that would forever change my life. The six syllables that finally woke me the heck up. "Pack your sh** and get out." That was it. Not another word...only the slamming of a door. I sat in that dark, silent car completely dumbfounded. This is not how I imagined things would go, and I wished I had just kept my mouth shut. He had never threatened to kick me out before. Surely he couldn't be serious. He would change his mind in the morning.

Morning came and he was gone before I woke up. I took the kids to school then returned home to get ready for a follow-up appointment with the neurosurgeon (I was four weeks post-op). I picked up my phone and called Chad's work number to see what time we would leave. I knew that things had ended rather awkwardly last night, but today we would be in the car for several hours and we would talk through everything. I would make it all right....set it all straight. We might even go for a nice lunch and do some window shopping after my appointment. I was already getting a little excited for the day....we needed this. He answered the phone in a stoic voice and I asked what time we were leaving. He seemed almost taken aback, and then he replied. "I'm not sure if you know how serious I am about this. I want you out of my house. Find your own ride to the doctor and take your clothes with you."

At this point, I knew he meant business. The compassion and understanding that used to fill his voice had been replaced by anger, exhaustion, and apathy. He was done, and I knew it.

Thankfully the story doesn't end there, and I later came to understand that his decision saved my life. He let me stay in our home until the following Monday when I went to treatment.

Looking back, I now realize how distorted my thinking was, that the little 'mistakes' I was making were tearing my family and my marriage apart. I now realize that I had never suffered any real consequences for my actions. I now realize that I continually took advantage of the fact that my husband is head over heels in love with me and that I didn't even care who I hurt...that their love for me just made them more willing to forgive and forget. I now realize that I had been right on the cusp of the point of no return. I now realize that I had done the most appalling and disgusting thing and I deserved much worse than what I got. I now realize that the nicest thing Chad could possibly say to me that night was "Pack your sh** and get out", because it opened my eyes (finally) and changed my life forever.