You Didn't Cause It.
You Can't Control It.
You Can't Cure It.
I wish I'd heard these when I was young and still living at home with my alcoholic father. Back then I alternated between trying to tiptoe around him so that he wouldn't get mad, and instigating arguments with him about his drinking. My mom was there, but she was so exhausted from living with him that her health was in jeapoardy. I know now that she was doing as I was doing, but had been doing it for many years longer - since they got married, actually. By that point she'd given up and hit her bottom.
I really don't want to talk about my marriage. But I will say this: I remember that ten years ago I hit a point where I felt like all we did was drink. I got mad and said I was sick of it. Things calmed down. Fast forward four years and I, pregnant with my second child, was yelling and stomping my feet about it again. You know what? It doesn't make any real difference. Now, I don't yell or stomp my feet. In fact, I can count only three times that we've even discussed his drinking over the past eight months. Sometimes this feels like a cop-out, as though I should be talking about every feeling I have so that I can prove that I care. When I truly come back to the three C's I realize that it doesn't really matter what I do: what matters is that I'm honest with myself and that I do what I need to do to be healthy.
I just realized that today I have 8 months of sobriety, 35.3 weeks of sobriety. I've now been sober longer than my first pregnancy, and in a two weeks it will have been longer than my second one. In both cases, I was a dry drunk. I did nothing to further any sort of recovery. In fact, I used that excuse to deny my alcoholism. I figured that if I could stay sober while I was pregnant, it meant I didn't have a problem. I find it unfathomable that we have to go so far from what is normal to realize and admit that we have a problem with alcohol. Or, at least I did. I had to sacrifice everything before I was able to get to that place.