Author Anonymous

The Grit and Grace Project will periodically have guest contributors who are willing to share their challenging stories. When they do, we are thankful, but we are also aware that sometimes this can open them up to comments that will potentially cut at the tender skin of healed wounds. When we have one of those writers, it is our choice to keep them anonymous. Personal stories shared are excellent teaching tools, and their corresponding lessons can still be learned while never knowing a name.

What It's Really Like to Have a Child With ADHD

What It’s Really Like to Have a Child With ADHD

I ran inside before the car even pulled away from the curb. Letting them see me cry was not an option. Whether they could tell by my anxious pace or the slope of my shoulders, I’m not sure. But I needed the space, the separation, to cry. Really cry. Looks Can Be Deceiving I am a tangled mess of emotions. I felt like a failure, my nerves frayed, and my ego constantly bruised. I needed the space to let it all out, in choking heaps of sobs. I needed to grieve the “normal life” and “normal child” fantasy that has been slowly eroding for 12 long years. My son looks “normal” on the outside. He’s very good-looking. He dresses nicely. There is […]

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How My Husband and I Survived My Affair

How My Husband and I Survived My Affair

“How did I get here? This can’t be happening,” these words raced across my mind as I sat in a room with our pastor and the seeming stranger I was married to. But there I was, a church-raised, young woman in the throes of a nasty adulterous mess… but my affair was what got us there. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I could slip so far or that divorce would seem like an obvious lifeline amidst the chaos. I so badly wanted to flee this moment of accountability, wanted to flee this marriage, and by doing so, escape the mess I had made. That summer, almost 11 years ago now, things had come to a head. But the

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How Grit and Grace Are Carrying Me Through Infidelity

Finding Grit and Grace Through My Husband’s Infidelity

I sit on the rigid, metal chair in the dismal clinic and wait. The air reeks; it is a stale alliance of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol. No one here smiles. Soon, the nurse will call my name and have me follow her into what I assume is another uninviting room where I’m to have my blood drawn. Then, it’ll be mailed off and tested by strangers wearing lab coats and latex gloves. “Why can’t they offer some sort of reassuring setting for the brokenhearted—infused waters, spa music, aromatherapy… something?” I think, “Don’t they know the hell some people are enduring that brought them here in the first place?” I am numb, raw, and well, scared-you-know-what. It’s not the clinic’s fault I’m here,

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6 Ways to Love the Addict in Your Life NEW

6 Ways to Love the Addict in Your Life

My first Narcotics Anonymous meeting also happened to be my last. I was “encouraged” to attend NA with my uncle—a recovering alcoholic himself—once my folks discovered the bottles of prescription painkillers in the corner of my bathroom cabinet. I stepped into the room and took one look at the weathered, motley crew which comprised the members of the group, and quickly decided I wouldn’t be returning the following week. I wasn’t ready to quit downing pills with alcohol, much less admit I had a problem. My family is no stranger to addiction. Gambling, sex, alcohol, narcotics, pornography, tobacco, bulimia…you name it, and I’ve seen it. Some of the addictions have manifested themselves in more secretive, less overt ways—even in ways deemed socially

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How to Protect Your Children From Sexual Abuse

How to Protect Your Children From Sexual Abuse

The second the door to the light-filled room opened, she made a beeline toward the wooden shelves. Housed upon them were plastic figurines, standing upright in tidy rows. Her little hands would pause before choosing the ones that would take part in the sandbox game. Sometimes, she grabbed the impish elf first, or the medieval knight, or the boy and girl dressed in ordinary t-shirts and jeans. Without fail, she’d reach for the jovial princess whose miniature hands held the seams of her cobalt blue gown in a frozen curtsy. Next were the pegasus, triceratops, beastly creatures, and sword-swinging soldiers. For the next half hour, her therapist and I would sit beside her, dig our hands into the sandbox, and enter my

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Why I Won’t Be Posting #metoo

As the #metoo movement sweeps social media, I have had a lot to think through. I am a part of that statistic, and I cannot deny that there is part of posting “#metoo” that is intriguing. Could it be that our society is finally ready to accept the ugly truth and see that your barista, the girl from your Intro to Comp class, your coworker, your friend, your cousin, was in some form sexually harassed and/or assaulted? Could it be that it is finally okay to let my guard down? Is it okay to let the whole world know that this month marks 9 years since I was #metoo’d? It could be for some. But for me it’s a no. Don’t get

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