My partner Dan went from near-total abstinence, to an enthusiastic social drinker, to a bottle-of-vodka a day secret drinker in the 10 years we were together in the first leg of our relationship. In his younger years, he was extremely cautious around alcohol, with some hard precedents in his family. But because I drank, he drank. We drank together for a long time. One of my favorite outings with him was to go to the chapel down the street that had been converted to a pub, have some burgers and beers, and wrap the evening up with a warm brandy and orange toddy. It was heaven.

About 8 years in, Dan’s drinking took on a life of its own. For a long time, I had seriously not-normal drinking, but I was still several years away from applying the alcoholic label to myself without reservation. But him, he had a drinking problem. He would try to hide the extent of his drinking with mouthwash and careful disposal of bottles, but he was never as good at hiding his inebriation as he thought he was. 

I am ashamed to admit it, so obviously the only sensible move is to expose it in public: For a long time, I didn’t resist his drinking because if he had to change his drinking, I would have to change my drinking. To support him in giving up alcohol, that surely would have meant no alcohol in the house for me, and no more Chapel Pub brandy drinks. I didn’t want to give that up any more than he did. For a long time, I encouraged him to employ various methods to control his drinking, like cognitive behavioral therapy and harm reduction. Anything but both of us needing to quit.

But of course, eventually his addiction reached a point where I was desperate for him to stop. I was concerned for his physical safety, as he would occasionally go out alone to a bar when he felt he couldn’t drink at home, and become totally incapacitated. I saw that he was missing more and more work, and we both depended on his job for our livelihood (he was way better compensated than me). And it was just hard being around someone all the time who was too drunk to have a conversation with – a person who, when sober, is one of the sharpest minds I know and an Olympic-level conversationalist. Seeing his bright light so dimmed just broke my heart.

Over and over, I demanded that he quit. The impact his quitting would have on me was nothing compared to the impact his drinking was having on me. I did not know enough about how addiction really works to know that my demands were futile and I was powerless to change his disease. We fought. He seethed with resentment about my totally unsuccessful efforts to control his behavior. We basically separated in our own house – he would drink until he passed out in the bed upstairs, I would drink until I passed out in front of the TV in the basement. 

Finally, I gave him a predictable ultimatum: He had to choose. Either he would quit, or I would leave. I am so ignorant about addiction that I was actually pretty surprised when he said I should move out. Our relationship was in tatters, but I still didn’t think he would just prefer to be alone. I was also relieved. I didn’t have the courage to end the relationship myself, but I knew we weren’t doing each other any good at all any more. 

So I moved out. And I drank as much as I wanted. And he drank as much as he wanted. We were both in terrible danger alone, him from drinking to unsafe levels by himself, me due to my crippling depression, made worse by my badly failed relationship and substance dependence. This drinking went on for a long time, until we both got sober, first him two years later, then me 7 years later. 

In the meantime, we flourished under a small miracle: We grew back together. For people who had put each other through so much misery, somehow we were able to offer each other forgiveness and a clean slate. Until the day I die, I will always remember the first time I visited Dan in rehab: After years of Dan missing in action, I had an actual conversation with the man I fell in love with in my 20s. There he was. He had been gone so long, and he was restored to me all these years later. It was a revelation. We waited until he’d been sober over a year to resume our relationship, but we’ve been strong supports for each other ever since. You know, until my alcoholism nearly ruined everything 5 years later. Except for that.

It’s no accident that Dan and I sobered up separately. He couldn’t have done it with me around, still drinking. And I probably couldn’t have sobered up without him having blazed the trail, introducing me to support groups, and being a wise and insightful thought partner on my own journey. Our relationship is better now than it ever was in the Before Times – we are more loving of each other, more sure of each other, and certainly emotionally healthier than we were in the first 10 years.

Partners are drawn toward each other based on common interests and things they enjoy doing together. It’s plenty common that one of those things is drinking. When it tips over into addiction, it gets complicated. I’ve known a lot of alcoholics, and many of them are afraid that they won’t be as much fun as they used to be, and that they’ll have to cut ties with friends and loved ones and even family. To have your significant other scornfully sneer, “You’re not going to become some kind of teetotaler, are you?” is a validation of every one of those fears. 

Additionally, If we drink together, drink for drink, and you conclude that you’re an alcoholic, you must think I’m an alcoholic. And in order for you to quit, I must also quit. Your desire for sobriety threatens my ability to behave how I like. And if we do somehow quit together, and I fail, does that mean I will pull you down with me? For two people to arrive at the same point of desperation in their addiction at the same time is nearly impossible. 

In my case, to my surprise as much as anyone’s, Dan’s success in sobriety pulled me along with him – we had addiction in common, and now we have recovery in common. Hardly a day goes by where we don’t talk about it. He has been instrumental in the writing I am doing here. We had a long time of a mutually reinforcing downward spiral. I still don’t fully understand how we reversed that into a positive feedback loop, but I am grateful for it every day.