Soli Deo Gloria
Here’s a thing pretty much everyone who knows me already knows: on April 18, 2014 at 7:45PM, I crashed my car into a public building because I was drunk. It was Good Friday. I was fighting a custody battle with my ex-husband, and because of my actions, I lost almost everything I’d been fighting for.
Later that night, like all crazy addicty people do, I pleaded hysterically with my lawyer–I did not want my parents, who were 800 miles away, to know what had happened. I can still hear his logical, kindly but urgent voice: “Leslie, I understand. But you have no choice. You HAVE to tell them.” I couldn’t see the terrifying path ahead, but he could, and he knew there was no way I’d be traversing it alone.
I was both utterly humiliated and entirely numb. My accident was in the local newspaper. Someone made a video of it with her cell phone. It took about three days for most of my relatively small community to hear about it. I was excruciatingly humiliated, bruised with two black eyes, in constant pain, and at the same time, absolutely numb.
On my first day of treatment, April 24, 2014, which my parents had helped me get into, my God-given addiction therapist, Roxanne, looked at me, terrified and shaking in her office. She was wearing a gold blouse with the coolest black boots I’d ever seen. Her nail polish matched her blouse, and she radiated fearlessness. I wanted to be her, but all I was was fear. Continue reading