Glennon Doyle Melton - Carry on, warrior: the power of embracing your messy, beatiful life

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Copyright 2013 by Glennon Doyle Melton

Certain names and identifying characteristics have been changed and certain characters and events have been reordered or compressed.

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First Scribner hardcover edition April 2013

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-4516-9724-7
ISBN 978-1-4516-9823-7 (ebook)

Carry On, Warrior contains essays previously published on momastery.com as well as new material.

Lyrics on page 111 from HALLELUJAH 1985 Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC. All rights administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 8 Music Square West, Nashville, TN 37203.

Excerpt from On Self-Respect from SLOUCHING TOWARDS BETHLEHEM by Joan Didion. Copyright 1966, 1968, renewed 1996 by Joan Didion. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC, and by permission of the author.

Dedication

One night my mom, Tisha, was visiting and she asked to talk to me privately. She looked nervous. We walked into my bedroom and leaned up against the bed pillows together. We talked, slowly and carefully, about my writing. She told me how beautiful she thought it was and how hard it was for her to read. She described the pain she felt when she read about my secret life and how confused she was that it all happened while we did our very best to love each other. We talked about how scary it is to share these stories with friends and strangers.

We cried a little and laughed a little, too. But they were teary laughs.

We talked for a long time, and then it felt as if we were almost done. I was sad, because I wanted to stay on that bed with my mom forever. I thought about that in the quiet for a while. I wondered what she was thinking. Then my mom looked at me and her lip quivered and even though she was very, very scared she said, I am so proud of you. I am in awe of what you and God have done together. You have to tell your stories. This is what you were meant to do. Dont stop telling your stories, Honey.

It was like when I told her I was pregnant, and she was very, very scared, but she looked straight at me and said, Glennon, you dont have to marry him if you dont want to. We can raise the baby together. We can handle this.

It was like when my baby sister, Amanda, announced she was moving to Africa to save little girls from an epidemic of child rape. And even though my mom was very, very scared, she eventually said, Its what you need to do. Go.

People are always calling my mom an angel, but I think she is a warrior.

And I want her to know that this book, and every single word that I write, is for her.

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Rev. John Watson

Including you.

Glennon

Contents

Cast of Characters

Like yours, my story is tough to categorize. My life is a tragedy, comedy, romance, adventure, or redemption story depending on the decade, time of day, and how much sleep Ive had. The constant in my storythe river that runs through itis my cast of characters.

My husband, Craig, volunteers to help friends move before they ask. He dances in the kitchen, bathroom, and grocery store. He plays hide and seek with our dog, Theo, when the kids get tired of playing. He remains calm. He wakes every two hours to check our kids fevers when theyre sick. He holds his tongue and my friends crying babies. Hes golden. And broken. Just like me.

My firstborn, Chase, is the one who changed everything, just by being born.

My girls, Tish and Amma, mostly scare me. How do I raise little girls before Im finished raising my own little girl self?

My Sister, Amanda, is my Lobster and my left lung. How I breathed without her for the first three years of my life remains a mystery. Sisters husband, John, is my safety deposit box. I trust him to hold and protect my most precious treasure.

My dad, Bubba, translates his love and wisdom into words, like me. My mama, Tisha, translates her love and wisdom into actions, like Craig.

Ill add God to my cast of characters. I cant explain him or her at all, because I dont understand his ways. I just know hes the one who cast these folks in my story. Im grateful.

Building a Life

A few years ago, strange things started happening to me at church. Id find myself in the middle of a lighthearted conversation with a woman Id just met, and the woman would make a joke that didnt sound like a joke, suggesting that our family was perfect and that this perfection made her feel bad about her own family. This happened three or four times over a two-week period. Once a woman said, You are so pulled together. It makes me feel so apart .

My husband, Craig, was standing next to me at the time, and I looked at him confused while he looked back at me, equally confused. This is our signature interaction. I stammered my way through the rest of the conversation, and on the way home Craig and I debriefed.

We were baffled. Craig and I adore each other, but neither of us would describe the other as pulled together. These women may as well have been saying to me, Im just so jealous of your height and culinary genius. Im five two and a half, and all I know of cooking is how to make the call that results in the delivery of dinner. During our debriefing, Craig and I developed a theory that if you are thin and smile a lot, people tend to believe that you have the universes secrets in your pocket and that a raindrop has never fallen on your head. If you also happen to be wearing trendy jeans, well then, fuggedaboutit .

This theory distressed me greatly. I do not like to make other women feel less than. And I wanted my insides and outsides to match somehow. But I was scared Id have to start looking like Pig Pen or Courtney Love to make that happen. You see, Im a recovering bulimic and alcoholic. For twenty years, I was lost to food and booze and bad love and drugs. I suffered. My family suffered.

I had a relatively magical childhood, which added an extra layer of guilt to my pain and confusion. Glennonwhy are you all jacked up when you have no excuse to be all jacked up? My best guess is that I was born a little broken, with an extra dose of sensitivity. Growing up, I felt that I was missing the layer of protection I needed to expose myself to lifes risksrisks like friendship, tender love, and rejection. I felt awkward, unworthy, and vulnerable. And I didnt want to walk through lifes battlefield feeling that way. I didnt think Id survive. So I made up my own little world called addiction and I hid there. I felt safe. No one could touch me.

Then that changed. On Mothers Day, 2002, unwed and addicted, I discovered I was pregnant. I alternated between staring at the test in my shaking hand and into my bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror. I tried to force these truths to mesh: I am a drunk. I am alone. I am pregnant.