Alcoholism isn’t just the drinker’s battle–it’s a battle for everyone who loves them. I know this because I lived it.
I grew up in a home where alcohol was never present. Family gatherings weren’t centered around drinking, and I never had to worry about the chaos that addiction brings. But when I married, I walked into a world where alcohol was at the center of everything. My husband’s family celebrated, coped with it, and, in many ways, revolved around it.
At first, I didn’t fully grasp what that meant. I believed that love, patience, and faith would be enough to overcome the presence of alcohol in our lives. But as the years went on, the toll became undeniable. It wasn’t just about the drinking itself–it was about what alcohol took from us. The broken promises. The nights of disappointment. The way it changed the person I loved—the way it made me feel unseen, unheard, and unimportant. The worst of all is the way it affected our children.
There were so many nights I questioned if I should stay. I wrestled with the guilt, wondering if I was doing the right thing by keeping our family together or if I was causing more harm by exposing our children to the instability that comes with alcoholism. I tried to shield them, to carry the weight alone, but they saw more than I realized. The sadness, the frustration, the prayers whispered through tears.
It took years before my husband quit drinking. Years of hoping, praying, waiting. And while his sobriety was a blessing, the damage didn’t disappear overnight. Even now, I struggle with the lingering hurt and resentment. The years of pain doesn’t just vanish because the drinking stopped. Healing is a process, and forgiveness is something I am still working on, one day at a time.
One of the hardest things about loving someone with an addiction is the feeling that they love the bottle more than they love you. Alcohol steals their time, their energy, and their presence. And while deep down you know they care, it doesn’t feel that way. I have wrestled with that truth, asking God why I had to endure so much pain and why my love wasn’t enough to change things sooner.
But here is what I do know. Through all of it, God never left me. In the moments when I felt most alone, He was there. When I didn’t think I could keep going, He gave me strength. Even now, as I continue to heal, He is teaching me that my pain was not for nothing. My story, my struggle, my survival it all has a purpose.
“Over time, I realized I had to make choices for my own peace. That meant stepping away from certain environments, including my husband’s family gatherings, because I could no longer tolerate the behaviors that alcohol fueled. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was necessary for my healing.”
If you are loving someone through addiction, I see you. I know the heartache, the exhaustion, the deep longing for things to be different. And if you are carrying the weight of resentment and the pain even after the drinking has stopped, I understand that, too. Healing takes time, and it is okay if you are not there yet.
I don’t have all the answers but I do know this: You are not alone. Your pain is real. And no matter how broken your story feels, God can use it for something greater.
Have you walked a similar path? I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences in the comments. Let’s support and encourage one another.
