'My husband's drinking problem left me mentally and physically broken'

The effects of heavy alcohol consumption on the drinker are well-documented. Less understood, though, is the equally devastating impact it has on those closest to them.  

Alcohol misuse is the biggest risk factor for death, ill-health and disability among 14-49-year-olds. In the shadows, meanwhile, it’s estimated that for every alcoholic at least five other people are directly affected.

Nina* is one of them. The wife of an alcoholic who, like a growing number of adults in the UK, is unable to manage his life or his drinking, it took the 35-year-old from Berkshire eight years before she found help from Al-Anon, a charity that supports those affected by a problem drinker. Here, as the UK marks this year's Alcohol Awareness Week, she tells her story:

“I was just 21 when I met the man I would marry. Following a whirlwind two-year romance we were wed, and two children quickly followed.

My own family had never drunk much. Indeed, they rarely touched a drop. But my husband’s family worked hard, ate well and enjoyed the odd glass to unwind. There didn't seem much wrong with that. I had a special, loving man and that was all that I thought mattered.

Looking back, however, I can see that what seemed like a healthy marriage quickly developed into a heavily co-dependent relationship with alcohol at its heart. By the time we were five years in, things had started to change.  Some minor incident might occur when my husband was out drinking and not only did I feel jealous but my reaction would be explosive. He worked long hours for his family’s landscaping business and frequently came home drunk. But, perhaps willfully blind, I’d blame his relatives or the business and never the alcohol.

We moved house that year, full of hope and excitement. It was not to endure. My sister soon suffered a late miscarriage after a meal my husband had cooked her. Although it was of course not his fault, he felt responsible and thereafter threw himself into 15-hour working days and restricted his eating. He’d skip meals and just nibble on a few nuts, then go about his very physically demanding job.

One day I met him from work to go for a pub lunch and he said he needed to quickly pop to an outbuilding. I spotted him through the window knocking back a bottle of beer. He was minutes away from ordering a pint at the bar, yet that wasn’t enough.

At home, I started to find empty bottles of beer in drawers, cupboards or behind the computer. I couldn’t understand why he’d leave them there. I repeatedly told him to stop, and moaned about what he drank in the evenings. 

Then the truth dawned on me: these empties weren’t from an evening session: he was drinking from morning 'til night. He got away with it too, because he worked with his family and could slope off when he felt like it. No normal boss would have kept him on.

When I first confronted him, he denied everything. This not only didn't help him, it also triggered in me a need to control both him and the drinking. Deep down, I was terrified of where it would all lead.

But naturally I could not control things. He would tell me I was mad for ‘policing' him and ask why I was even looking for bottles - a master at the art of taking the focus off himself.

There were two sides to him though. He’d accuse me of being crazy one minute, but then declare there was no-one he loved more and that I was his best friend.

Filled with hopelessness and shame at the way he was playing me, I was reluctant to tell our families and had no close friends. So I went to my GP, who suggested I threaten to leave him. This, she advised me, might shock him into stopping.

Sadly it didn't. But it did bring things into the open. My husband even said he was relieved.  

His family were told, and were supportive, cutting out alcohol from their own lives for a year. But my husband wasn’t cured - far from it. He’d drink the non-alcoholic beer his relatives provided after work, but tuck into his stash of normal beer too. He became depressed, moody and started to skip work.

When the hidden bottles appeared again I told him enough was enough; that this time I was off as he had failed to curb his drinking. But he knew where my weaknesses lay and would use our children, then four and six, against me, making them beg me to stay.

One night he left and rang me from the railway tracks. I had to plead with him to come home, and he promised to get it back under control. “Three beers after work, dinner, then a cup of tea,” was his goal. Or so he said.

But he couldn’t manage that, and when his family returned to their normal drinking habits, it gave him free rein. Fearing he may walk out of the family business, they didn’t want to confront him about it either.

By 2011 I’d hit rock bottom. Torn to pieces by the horror into which my married life had descended, I decided to take my own life. Nothing had worked: I was obsessed with fixing my husband but couldn’t. Desperate for him to take some responsibility for the situation, this was my warped solution.

So I did the school run and took the dog to the woods. Tearfully I walked, looking for the right spot, but I just couldn’t find it. And I realised then that I couldn’t leave my family. My husband had made his choice, but I didn’t have to become as sick as him.

After two bouts of fatty liver jaundice and further hospital stays, he finally went to rehab and AA. This is what prompted me to seek help too. I was told Al-Anon would help me and it went in my husband’s care plan: he agreed to go to Alcoholics Anonymous and I agreed to Al-Anon.

If nothing else, it would get me out of the house and out of my life, I reasoned. After all, I had nowhere else to turn. All of my controlling, fixing and obsessive thinking had delivered nothing. I was mentally and physically broken.

For years I’d been praised for being a strong, resilient wife, but in the clinic I could express my sadness and fears. My husband only lasted a few weeks at AA, but I stuck with Al-Anon.

Since then, I have sought help for depression and anxiety and have learned the term ‘garden necrosis’ for symptoms related to ongoing obsessive thinking. Mine have included lock jaw, bowel problems, pins and needles, blurred vision and night sweats.

I enjoyed our family holiday in Tenerife that summer, despite my husband’s drinking. He’d take four glasses of prosecco up to our room after dinner, drink two at bedtime and have two ready in the fridge for the moment he woke up.

He hadn't changed, then, but what had changed was my attitude. I’d stopped fighting him or asking why and just accepted the situation. I kept my expectations low so I wouldn’t feel disappointed. It was a relief for me and for him.

Not long after we returned, he contracted a serious foot infection. This time it was his parents and not me who kept the bedside vigil. I told them I’d had enough. I packed three bags and took the kids to spend the next month living with my mum.

My husband, meanwhile, spiralled downwards. He didn’t work, answer the phone or see anyone for weeks. I needed the family home back for myself and the children and so he moved in with his parents.

That physical detachment gave me the space I needed. I can now acknowledge the deadly power of the disease of alcoholism and have compassion for those it takes.

Crucially, moreover, I have learned that I have a choice about what part I should play and the importance of looking after myself first. I now know how to set healthy boundaries. I drink no alcohol when my husband is over, though I have an occasional social drink when I’m out. The kids - who have been affected too - never stay overnight with him, but he sees them every day and at weekends.

He is on his own path to recovery, but it is very much one day at a time. For my part, I’ve realised I don’t have to be the perfect wife or mum. I’m powerless over another person’s drinking and I accept that. By placing my trust in the support network around me, life has become more manageable. My doomed urge to control everything had brought me to my knees. Now, thank goodness, it is gone."

*Name has been changed.

If you are concerned about someone else’s drinking or worried about how it is affecting you and would like to find out more about Al-Anon Family Groups, call the national helpline on 020 7403 0888 (10am-10pm)  or visit the website www.al-anonuk.org.uk to find your nearest meeting.