I Won’t Drink at Church

I stopped at the gas station after work, my nightly routine. Feeling shaky, I picked up a bottle of vodka and my favorite mixer. I just needed a couple drinks to take the edge off.

I know my drinking has been out of control. I’ve begun thinking about it at work, looking forward to getting off so I can go home and have a drink. My job is stressful. I deserve this, right?

I make myself anywhere from 2-4 strong drinks each night, depending on how early I start and what my family is doing. It helps me sleep.

It helps me shut off the neverending chatter in my brain.

“What am I going to do about that?”

“Well, you screwed that up.”

“Why did you say that this morning?!”

“What if I don’t make enough money to pay the electric bill this month?”

Sometimes memories of horrific things from my past would pop up unexpectedly. Nope, I can’t go there. I need to shut this off.

Drinking is the only way I can truly relax. I’m so overwhelmed. It never ends. I want to do better for my kids, but I just can’t get it together no matter how hard I try.

Oh no, it’s Wednesday. Tonight my kids have their church program, and I have to drive them. I could drop them off and go home for a couple of hours, but I know I will drink if I do that. I can’t drive my kids after I’ve been drinking. That’s a line I won’t cross.

My whole evening was being planned around how and when I could have a drink.

I know! If I sit at church and wait for them to be done, I won’t drink. Maybe there will be someone to talk to there too. Maybe I can get some help.

I pull up to the church. My two kids hop out of my car and race to the church doors. They love church, especially Wednesday nights. I’m glad someone is there to teach them what I don’t know. I believe in God, but I don’t understand anything more than that. My family just started attending church earlier that year. I want to learn more. I just don’t know how.

I get inside. I hear the kids singing. I sit at one of the tables just inside the church. There are a few other moms waiting for their kids, too. They are already sitting at a table together talking. I don’t want to insert myself into a group I don’t know, but secretly I hope they talk to me. I don’t have any friends. I could use some good friends.

I feel a peace at the church. I don’t feel this kind of peace at home. None of my problems went away during the couple of hours that I sat there alone, but somehow I felt better about everything. Maybe it was the excited chatter of kids up and down the halls. Maybe it was the songs they sang? No, I’ve always felt this way in churches, even as a teenager when I occasionally got to attend church with a friend.

I always felt an unexplainable peace in the atmosphere at church. It’s like a wave goes over my body as soon as I walk in the door.

The kids sang their final song. I was disappointed that it was time to go. I didn’t even have the chance to talk with anyone. I drove the kids home, tucked them into bed, sat on the couch, turned on the tv, and poured myself a drink…

Meet the Author

Megan grew up in rural Wisconsin, where she was always known as the quiet girl with a book in her hands. Now Megan is working on her lifelong dream of becoming the author of her very own book. Out of her own struggle with trauma and mental health, she created the Jordan Crossings Blog to empower those who are healing from trauma and educate Christians on how to minister to those who are hurting.