On September 7, 2014, I finally felt the air fill my lungs for the first time in a decade. The bitterness of unshed tears was sharp in my throat, and I was still grappling with fear and uncertainty. However, as I witnessed my partner pour an entire bottle of whiskey down the drain, a sense of relief washed over me. With each breath, I felt lighter and my thoughts clearer. When he asked me to discard the unopened beer cans, I believed we were on the path to saving our marriage, believing that his decision to get sober was the turning point.
Sadly, I was mistaken.
Our seemingly ideal marriage lasted a mere week. During that brief period, I felt a sense of safety, hope, and happiness, envisioning a future free from alcohol. The truth, however, was not that my partner returned to drinking—he was approaching his one-year sobriety mark. The real challenge lay within me; a storm had been brewing for ten years, kept at bay by the distraction of his alcoholism. His sobriety meant confronting my own pain and the need for healing and forgiveness.
The burden of his past mistakes weighed heavily on me. Accepting his apology and facing what I had endured allowed the storm to surge. While he engaged in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, I was left alone with our young child, nurturing feelings of resentment—not towards his recovery, but the unchanged dynamics in our relationship. I was still the one holding everything together, while he focused on his healing. My emotions felt sidelined, and I was forced to support him, even though he had never reciprocated that support. I was pretending everything was fine when it was not.
This may sound immature, but unless you have been intimately connected to an alcoholic, you cannot grasp the selfishness inherent in both the addiction and recovery processes. The “us” versus “them” mentality is very real, particularly in those early days. I felt unable to help him because I couldn’t fully comprehend his struggle. Much of the recovery journey mirrored the drinking days—just with fewer visible scars. I was left feeling isolated, as if I had always been alone.
In the initial phases of sobriety, anger consumed us both. I was filled with rage, hatred, and doubt—directed at him and myself. How do you forgive someone who has caused you physical harm? How do you forgive yourself for allowing it to continue? This was the harsh reality of his sobriety—the truth I had been avoiding for a decade. My marriage had been marred by both physical and emotional abuse. I had remained with my abuser and started a family, which was not a badge of honor, but a source of shame.
People often commend me for my resilience and for enduring the situation, but that is not a badge I wear with pride. There is nothing brave about being a victim of abuse and being too terrified to leave—not out of fear for your life, but because you feel worthless without your partner. This is not a strength I wish to perpetuate or an ideal I want to pass on to my child.
As we transitioned from days to weeks and then months of sobriety, we became gradually more attuned to one another, yet we remained like strangers. The “us” versus “them” mentality persisted. My depression deepened, prompting me to seek therapy. It took time, but I began to vocalize our struggles, the violence, and the state of our relationship. Each week, as I grew stronger, I found myself drifting further away from him. The more empowered I became, the less I wanted to stay.
In early 2015, I found the courage to say the word “abuse” aloud for the first time. I expressed to him that while I would always love him, I was no longer in love with him and desired a divorce. I had seen the statistics about Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and its higher likelihood of leading to marital separation rather than fostering sobriety. Determined to defy the odds, I attended Al-Anon meetings, sought sponsorship, and absorbed all the literature I could find. However, I soon realized that Al-Anon was not the right fit for me. It was not the “God” aspect that deterred me, but rather the struggle of reliving my past victimization. I needed to break free from both him and the trauma.
We began couples therapy shortly after. It has been nearly a year since his last drink and over a year since he last harmed me. Yet, it has also been eleven years since I genuinely felt safe or loved. We have experienced wonderful moments, and they are becoming more frequent, but the work is ongoing. We still struggle with the shadows of our past. What defines us is not the trauma we have endured, but how we choose to address and learn from it.
To those in AA, I commend your strength and courage in finding a community and rediscovering yourselves. For those with loved ones in AA, your strength lies not in your endurance, but in taking care of your own needs. And for those supporting individuals grappling with addiction, remember that you are not alone. While you may feel powerless to help them, you can still seek assistance for yourself.
This is how we coexist as both “us” and “them”—not so different after all.
For more insights into fertility and home insemination, check out this informative resource on Intrauterine Insemination. If you’re looking for fertility boosters for men, visit this link. Additionally, explore how to use an at-home intracervical insemination syringe kit for a more personal approach.
Summary
The journey through addiction and recovery is fraught with complexity, often leading to feelings of isolation and resentment among loved ones. Sobriety can unveil underlying issues and emotional trauma that need to be addressed for healing to occur. While the initial hope for a renewed relationship may fade, it is essential to focus on personal growth and well-being. By seeking support, both partners can navigate their individual and shared struggles, ultimately finding paths towards healing and understanding.
Keyphrase: sobriety and marriage struggles
Tags: [“home insemination kit” “home insemination syringe” “self insemination”]