I read many stories of marriages breaking down when the wife (or husband, or both) stops drinking.
Some of these women were drinking too much because their marriage was already toxic. As soon as they stop drinking they can't hide from the truth any more, and can find the strength and courage to leave.
Sometimes they stop drinking too late. Years of alcohol abuse has taken such a toll on the marriage that it can't be repaired. Which is a fabulous reason not to wait until you get to 'rock bottom' to quit. Rock bottom can be a very lonely place.
Then there are the co-dependant marriages. The husbands that really don't want their wives to stop. They'll pour her glasses of wine and wave them under her nose saying "go on, just the one. You deserve it!" She has to leave if she really wants to quit.
Well, I married Mr SM fourteen years ago today. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that I quit before I drove him away.
Elizabeth Gilbert (author of Eat, Pray, Love) writes To be fully seen by somebody, then, and beloved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.
There is no doubt that over the last fourteen years Mr SM has 'fully seen' me, through all my ups and downs, tempers and sulks, in richer in poorer, in sickness and in health.
(Especially now that he reads my blog posts).
And, miraculously, he seems to love me anyhow. Wonky left boob and all.
To be fair, he's not perfect either. He has a terrible habit of leaving wet towels on floors, and dirty plates on top of the dishwasher rather than in it.
There is more tummy to love than there was fourteen years ago, and a little less hair. He's Scottish, so very 'careful' with money, and has been known to put gaffer tape over the central heating controls.
But I wouldn't have him any other way.
I loved him the minute I met him, twenty years ago on New Year's Eve.
He was wearing a kilt, and I've always had a weakness for men in skirts. He made me laugh - a lot, and he was one of the kindest people I've ever met.
We became best friends, but, back then, I was still in thrall to the bad, arrogant boys. The ones who'd make you feel grateful for their time and attention, however begrudging.
So it was four years before we kissed. I felt my foundations morph from sand to rock, and wondered why on earth I'd taken so long.
Since then, Mr SM has loved me patiently through thirteen years of over-indulgence and bad behaviour, and supported me quietly when I threw in the towel nine months ago.
(See Secret Drinker Hits the High Bottom)
Only he could make me laugh through a cancer diagnosis and treatment.
I think marriage is like a piggy bank. Every time you do something thoughtful for the other person you put a token in the bank. When you treat them carelessly you take one out.
In a strong marriage, the piggy bank gets really full - there's plenty there to see you through the bad times.
I ran my piggy bank right down to the bottom.
This morning Mr SM bought me wedding anniversary scrambled eggs on toast in bed. I started sobbing into the egg. He looked alarmed, assuming he'd done something terrible.
But I was crying because I'm just so terribly grateful. Not just for the egg. For everything.
Quit drinking, and top up that piggy bank before it's too late.
Love SM x
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Monday, 7 December 2015
Saturday, 23 May 2015
Husbands. Who needs 'em?
Day 84! Creeping towards three figures...
Yesterday I found The Husband laughing uproariously at something on the computer. He spotted me, stopped abruptly and looked up guiltily.
He was reading my blog.
Now I've suspected for a while that he sneaks a peak from time to time, but here was proof. And he didn't appear to be laughing with me. He was laughing at me.
"What's so funny?" I asked, cocking The Eyebrow of Fear. Whereupon he accused me of misrepresentation. Or, at least, of viewing my life through rose coloured spectacles.
The Husband thinks that I should point out (with regards to yesterday's post: Gardening) that I have, in actual fact (and he checked said facts with #1) never baked a cake for a school bake sale. The closest I got was buying one from Waitrose and 'distressing' it.
Our 'lawn', apparently, would be better described as 'a patch of grass', which is now mowed rather than 'manicured.' My 'herb garden', I should point out, is a collection of herbs in pots clustered on an old bench rather than a large kitchen garden.
"Where is this nirvana?" he chortled. "Can I go and live there?"
Ha ha.
I would like to point out to The Husband, should he be reading this, that it is in his interests that I view things through (climbing-)rose coloured spectacles because, despite thirteen years of marriage and having removed the beer goggles, I still think he's the most gorgeous guy around.
Happy, hangover free Sunday morning!
Love SM x
Yesterday I found The Husband laughing uproariously at something on the computer. He spotted me, stopped abruptly and looked up guiltily.
He was reading my blog.
Now I've suspected for a while that he sneaks a peak from time to time, but here was proof. And he didn't appear to be laughing with me. He was laughing at me.
"What's so funny?" I asked, cocking The Eyebrow of Fear. Whereupon he accused me of misrepresentation. Or, at least, of viewing my life through rose coloured spectacles.
The Husband thinks that I should point out (with regards to yesterday's post: Gardening) that I have, in actual fact (and he checked said facts with #1) never baked a cake for a school bake sale. The closest I got was buying one from Waitrose and 'distressing' it.
Our 'lawn', apparently, would be better described as 'a patch of grass', which is now mowed rather than 'manicured.' My 'herb garden', I should point out, is a collection of herbs in pots clustered on an old bench rather than a large kitchen garden.
"Where is this nirvana?" he chortled. "Can I go and live there?"
Ha ha.
I would like to point out to The Husband, should he be reading this, that it is in his interests that I view things through (climbing-)rose coloured spectacles because, despite thirteen years of marriage and having removed the beer goggles, I still think he's the most gorgeous guy around.
Happy, hangover free Sunday morning!
Love SM x
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Not the Girl he Married Part 2
Day 65.
My regular readers might remember that, exactly a month ago, I confessed my fear that in stopping drinking I'm ruining the husband's life (see Not the Girl he Married).
After all, he never signed up to being married to a teetotaller. I was convinced that he was hankering after our long, boozy, romantic dinners and feeling huge trepidation about the dry wasteland ahead of us. Or, rather, ahead of me.
So, a couple of nights ago I finally plucked up the courage to ask him about it. We were having dinner. He was slowly sipping his one glass of red wine. Ggrrrr.
(Actually, I know he sometimes has more than one, because I found a half full bottle in the playroom hidden behind some books! He must be having an extra glass from time to time while watching TV. How hilarious to find someone else hiding bottles! Don't worry, though. Mr SM is definitely not on first name terms with the wine witch. He's just, thoughtfully, trying not to wave too much vino in my face).
"Darling," I say, "can I ask you a question?" He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Mr SM is old school - he doesn't do 'talking about stuff'. He went to boarding school at the age of seven. His mind is whirring, running through his mental filing cabinet of 'appropriate answers for tricky conversations' in advance.
"Does it bother you that I've stopped drinking? Do you miss having a drinking partner?"
Mr SM looks relieved. At least I hadn't asked him "does my bum look big in this?" He always struggles with the correct response to that one.
"God no, it's a wholly good thing" he replies. I press him for more. I want to know details.
The benefits, according to Mr SM are as follows:
1. I no longer fall asleep while watching TV, so we can genuinely share a box set.
2. I'm less grumpy.
3. I don't keep him awake tossing and turning at night time.
4. He doesn't have to drink really fast to make sure he gets his share of a bottle of wine.
I grill him for any negatives. He thinks hard, then replies "I don't get as much access to the TV remote control." Then he hides behind his newspaper, like a tortoise sticking his head back in his shell. Conversation over.
Men. Simple creatures. Don't mess with their sleep, their TV watching or their comfort blankets and they're happy.
The truth is, I suspect, that the idea of losing a drinking partner is only terrifying to us - the pickles - not to the 'normal' drinkers.
But if I tried to take away his remote control permanently? That would be a deal breaker...
Love SM x
My regular readers might remember that, exactly a month ago, I confessed my fear that in stopping drinking I'm ruining the husband's life (see Not the Girl he Married).
After all, he never signed up to being married to a teetotaller. I was convinced that he was hankering after our long, boozy, romantic dinners and feeling huge trepidation about the dry wasteland ahead of us. Or, rather, ahead of me.
So, a couple of nights ago I finally plucked up the courage to ask him about it. We were having dinner. He was slowly sipping his one glass of red wine. Ggrrrr.
(Actually, I know he sometimes has more than one, because I found a half full bottle in the playroom hidden behind some books! He must be having an extra glass from time to time while watching TV. How hilarious to find someone else hiding bottles! Don't worry, though. Mr SM is definitely not on first name terms with the wine witch. He's just, thoughtfully, trying not to wave too much vino in my face).
"Darling," I say, "can I ask you a question?" He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Mr SM is old school - he doesn't do 'talking about stuff'. He went to boarding school at the age of seven. His mind is whirring, running through his mental filing cabinet of 'appropriate answers for tricky conversations' in advance.
"Does it bother you that I've stopped drinking? Do you miss having a drinking partner?"
Mr SM looks relieved. At least I hadn't asked him "does my bum look big in this?" He always struggles with the correct response to that one.
"God no, it's a wholly good thing" he replies. I press him for more. I want to know details.
The benefits, according to Mr SM are as follows:
1. I no longer fall asleep while watching TV, so we can genuinely share a box set.
2. I'm less grumpy.
3. I don't keep him awake tossing and turning at night time.
4. He doesn't have to drink really fast to make sure he gets his share of a bottle of wine.
I grill him for any negatives. He thinks hard, then replies "I don't get as much access to the TV remote control." Then he hides behind his newspaper, like a tortoise sticking his head back in his shell. Conversation over.
Men. Simple creatures. Don't mess with their sleep, their TV watching or their comfort blankets and they're happy.
The truth is, I suspect, that the idea of losing a drinking partner is only terrifying to us - the pickles - not to the 'normal' drinkers.
But if I tried to take away his remote control permanently? That would be a deal breaker...
Love SM x
Sunday, 5 April 2015
Play it forward
I've been thinking more about my last post - 'not the girl he married'. Thank you so much for your comments - as always, a wonderful mix of empathy, humour and sound advice.
I realised, on re-reading, that the wine witch - yet again - had me romanticising the past.
I was waxing lyrical about boozy Sunday lunches with friends, elaborate gourmet dinners at home with fine wine, and date nights in fancy restaurants with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Oh it is so, so easy to view it all through rose (I want to put an ecoute on the e of rose, but my iPhone won't let me!) coloured spectacles.
The AA advice is, I think, to 'play it forward', so in the interests of honesty, and to cast a blow against the wine witch, here's what happens when I press forward on the memory tape....
The boozy Sunday lunches with friends: I start drinking while preparing lunch (after all, I need to add wine to the gravy!). By the time the friends arrive with various children in tow I'm about 2/3 of a bottle down and finding it seriously tricky to co-ordinate all the cooking with the chatting, and hostessing.
By the end of the meal I've become horribly boring as I repeat anecdotes I've told a million times and/or forget the punchlines. I'm stuck on 'transmit' rather than receive, so don't ask my guests anything about their lives.
Usually at least one or two of our guests aren't drinking as they're driving, or on water after drinking too much on Saturday night. I must look seriously raddled to anyone completely sober!
Once everyone leaves (about 3.30pm) I clean up, while polishing off any leftover wine, then invariably fall asleep for a couple of hours. I wake up feeling really grumpy and yell at the husband and children. I realise that homework's not been finished, and the children have spent hours on electronic devices and are bouncing off the walls. Horrible evening followed by restless night. I start the week exhausted and depressed.
And those gourmet evening meals at home over a shared bottle? Here's the truth - I spend most of the meal trying to ensure that I get more than half of the wine. Husband gets cross as he had to drink at top speed if he's going to get more than a small glass. I start planning how to casually produce second bottle without getting a 'look', or a lecture.
If I do manage to open the next bottle (or if I'd quietly polished off a few glasses before husband got home) I'm drunk and cross by the end of the meal and end up picking a fight - often over horribly boring stuff like loading the dishwasher. We try to watch TV together, but I fall asleep after ten minutes. I wake up at about 3am hating myself (again).
What about 'date nights'? I usually manage not to pick a fight, and generally collapse in a cheerful(ish) heap when we get home, but I sleep really badly and wake up with the hangover from hell. I spend all morning counting the minutes until I can open the next bottle, as I know it's the only way of making the headache go away.
So, the truth is that whilst the husband probably does miss the girl he married 13 years ago (if he can remember her. Not sure that I can!), he almost certainly doesn't miss the girl he was married to 35 days ago.
Happy, sober Easter everyone!
Love SM x
I realised, on re-reading, that the wine witch - yet again - had me romanticising the past.
I was waxing lyrical about boozy Sunday lunches with friends, elaborate gourmet dinners at home with fine wine, and date nights in fancy restaurants with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Oh it is so, so easy to view it all through rose (I want to put an ecoute on the e of rose, but my iPhone won't let me!) coloured spectacles.
The AA advice is, I think, to 'play it forward', so in the interests of honesty, and to cast a blow against the wine witch, here's what happens when I press forward on the memory tape....
The boozy Sunday lunches with friends: I start drinking while preparing lunch (after all, I need to add wine to the gravy!). By the time the friends arrive with various children in tow I'm about 2/3 of a bottle down and finding it seriously tricky to co-ordinate all the cooking with the chatting, and hostessing.
By the end of the meal I've become horribly boring as I repeat anecdotes I've told a million times and/or forget the punchlines. I'm stuck on 'transmit' rather than receive, so don't ask my guests anything about their lives.
Usually at least one or two of our guests aren't drinking as they're driving, or on water after drinking too much on Saturday night. I must look seriously raddled to anyone completely sober!
Once everyone leaves (about 3.30pm) I clean up, while polishing off any leftover wine, then invariably fall asleep for a couple of hours. I wake up feeling really grumpy and yell at the husband and children. I realise that homework's not been finished, and the children have spent hours on electronic devices and are bouncing off the walls. Horrible evening followed by restless night. I start the week exhausted and depressed.
And those gourmet evening meals at home over a shared bottle? Here's the truth - I spend most of the meal trying to ensure that I get more than half of the wine. Husband gets cross as he had to drink at top speed if he's going to get more than a small glass. I start planning how to casually produce second bottle without getting a 'look', or a lecture.
If I do manage to open the next bottle (or if I'd quietly polished off a few glasses before husband got home) I'm drunk and cross by the end of the meal and end up picking a fight - often over horribly boring stuff like loading the dishwasher. We try to watch TV together, but I fall asleep after ten minutes. I wake up at about 3am hating myself (again).
What about 'date nights'? I usually manage not to pick a fight, and generally collapse in a cheerful(ish) heap when we get home, but I sleep really badly and wake up with the hangover from hell. I spend all morning counting the minutes until I can open the next bottle, as I know it's the only way of making the headache go away.
So, the truth is that whilst the husband probably does miss the girl he married 13 years ago (if he can remember her. Not sure that I can!), he almost certainly doesn't miss the girl he was married to 35 days ago.
Happy, sober Easter everyone!
Love SM x
Saturday, 4 April 2015
Not the girl he married
Thirteen years ago my husband married a party girl. A bon viveur.
Until recently our lives revolved around entertaining friends over boozy Sunday lunches, getting happily plastered at parties and cooking elaborate dinners accompanied by expensive wine. 'Date nights' generally involved meals out at the latest restaurant with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Followed by a nightcap.
And now he's married to a teetotaller. I signed up to this - he didn't. He wanted me to cut down (drastically). He didn't ask (or want) me to stop completely.
The difference is especially stark now we're on holiday. I haven't asked him not to drink. I'm happy to have alcohol in the house. After all, it's unrealistic to avoid alcohol given that 90% of the adult population drink the stuff. But he very kindly doesn't leave open bottles of wine around - at home he's switched to beer, and I join him with a non alcoholic beer.
When we eat out he orders a small carafe of wine (having checked that I don't mind first). But I can't help worrying that he's missing the company. That he's missing the girl he married.
In my low moments BS (before sober), usually at around 3am, I'd have visions of the husband leaving the puffy, boozy, raddled wife and running off with a younger, slimmer, more vibrant version.
Now in my low moments I have the same vision, but in this one they are happily sharing a bottle of wine in a romantic bistro. Aaarrrggghhh! Stab the filthy hussy drinking in moderation in the eyes! Leave my husband alone, damn you.
There's a lot of help and discussion for families of problem drinkers, but not much help - as far as I know - for husbands of non-drinkers.
The problem is that I can't even discuss my fears with him as he's too kind to ever confess to any pangs of regret, so whatever he says I won't believe him.
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for drunker and more sober.....
Love to you all,
SM xx
Related post: Not the Girl he Married Part 2
Until recently our lives revolved around entertaining friends over boozy Sunday lunches, getting happily plastered at parties and cooking elaborate dinners accompanied by expensive wine. 'Date nights' generally involved meals out at the latest restaurant with aperitifs, wine and digestifs. Followed by a nightcap.
And now he's married to a teetotaller. I signed up to this - he didn't. He wanted me to cut down (drastically). He didn't ask (or want) me to stop completely.
The difference is especially stark now we're on holiday. I haven't asked him not to drink. I'm happy to have alcohol in the house. After all, it's unrealistic to avoid alcohol given that 90% of the adult population drink the stuff. But he very kindly doesn't leave open bottles of wine around - at home he's switched to beer, and I join him with a non alcoholic beer.
When we eat out he orders a small carafe of wine (having checked that I don't mind first). But I can't help worrying that he's missing the company. That he's missing the girl he married.
In my low moments BS (before sober), usually at around 3am, I'd have visions of the husband leaving the puffy, boozy, raddled wife and running off with a younger, slimmer, more vibrant version.
Now in my low moments I have the same vision, but in this one they are happily sharing a bottle of wine in a romantic bistro. Aaarrrggghhh! Stab the filthy hussy drinking in moderation in the eyes! Leave my husband alone, damn you.
There's a lot of help and discussion for families of problem drinkers, but not much help - as far as I know - for husbands of non-drinkers.
The problem is that I can't even discuss my fears with him as he's too kind to ever confess to any pangs of regret, so whatever he says I won't believe him.
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for drunker and more sober.....
Love to you all,
SM xx
Related post: Not the Girl he Married Part 2
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