The Alcoholic Womaniser
A look back at my first relationship, and the patterns of control, addiction and survival I couldn't see clearly at the time — and the lasting impact they left behind.
Before I understood the language of abuse, I simply thought I was trying to make a relationship work.
Looking back now, with the perspective that comes from time, healing and counselling training, I can see things I couldn't see then. I can recognise the patterns, the control, the fear and the ways in which I slowly adapted myself around someone else's behaviour.
This is the story of Relationship No. 1, my first marriage.
Not because it was the beginning of everything, but because it was one of the relationships that shaped what came afterwards.
Sometimes we don't realise how much our experiences stay with us. We leave the relationship, but we don't necessarily leave behind everything we learned to do to survive it.
We carry the coping mechanisms.
The hyper-awareness.
The fear of conflict.
The need to keep the peace.
The belief that love means adapting yourself to someone else.
And sometimes, those things quietly follow us into the next chapter.
This is my reflection on that first relationship, and on what I understand now that I couldn't understand then.
Introducing THE ALCOHOLIC WOMANISER
Alcohol consumed our relationship. It wasn't simply that he drank. His drinking became something I had to organise my life around.
I learned to manage his moods, his anger, his drinking, and even his supply — constantly trying to anticipate what version of him was going to come home, or what might happen if I said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing, or simply wasn't able to keep everything calm.
I became hyper-aware of his moods.
How much had he had?
What mood was he in?
What would tonight bring?
There was never any real sense of safety because I couldn't predict which version of him would appear.
His anger could be frightening. There were degrading and humiliating acts that chipped away at my dignity and made me feel increasingly small.
I wasn't simply controlled through what he did. I was controlled through what I believed might happen if I stepped outside the boundaries he had created.
I wasn't allowed the freedom to go out as I wanted. My friendships disappeared. My world became smaller. And when your world becomes small enough, the person controlling it can begin to feel like your whole world.
There were also other women throughout, adding another layer of betrayal, insecurity, and humiliation to an already unstable relationship.
I spent so much energy trying to manage the environment around him that I gradually lost sight of myself.
I became the peacekeeper. The mood monitor. The person who tried to prevent the next explosion. The person who made excuses. The person who adapted.
And perhaps one of the hardest things to acknowledge now is that I thought this was what I had to do to keep my family and my relationship together. It's what I thought love looked like.
I left that relationship around 25 years ago. He is still an alcoholic today. A quarter of a century later, the drinking continues. And that has given me a very different perspective on something I couldn't see clearly at the time:
I couldn't love someone out of their addiction.
I couldn't manage it for them.
And I couldn't make myself small enough to make it safe.
For years, I thought surviving that relationship meant I had escaped it.
But I now understand that experiences like that can leave their fingerprints long after the relationship itself has ended.
They shape what you tolerate. What you fear. What you believe love looks like.
And sometimes, without realising it, they shape what you accept in the relationships that come next.
Love Molly x