Of my alcoholic marriage.
I like to say all alcoholic marriages are alike in different ways and as I meet more and more women married to alcoholics, I am discovering that my marriage to an alcoholic does indeed, have it’s own unique “twist.”
My husband’s compulsive drinking has manifested itself in the form of his near utterly complete withdrawal from family life and me in particular.
I mean he does nearly NOTHING around the house and interacts with me to the point that “roommate” would be a generous title. There are days he comes home from work and I would say we literally exchange no more than ten words. He doesn’t greet me hello; he doesn’t kiss me good night. Forget family dinner. We are a family of individuals living together separately. Anything I do with the kids, I do solo. He does attend sporting events or other such events that are “mandatory” appearances for a parent. He supplies any necessary back-up taxing I may need but other than that, he lives like a boarder who comes and goes according to his own (and his only) needs and wants.
I can’t even say we are “just” raising children together.
It’s more like we are each raising our children seperately.
I’ve spent a long time (LONG! TIME!) being justifiably hurt and saddened by this.
But no more.
Everyday I am making a conscious effort to let that pain, anger and expectation go.
I didn’t get the marriage I thought I was getting.
The one I wanted.
It’s a hard pill to swallow, as my mother would say.
But each day I recite things to myself like,
“That is his choice for living.”
“That is how he chooses to be in the Universe.”
“I do not choose to live in that manner.”
“His anger does not enter my life.”
“I choose for my life to vibrate in a higher frequency.”
Yes, it’s that sort of “hippie,” “Zen,” metaphysical stuff but turns out the hippie, Zen, metaphysical stuff is incredibly powerful against the erosion of your soul because each day, I believe it more and more. I heal more and more.
And, I dare say, I get back to living more and more.