Skip to main content

 This Is What It Costs


No one tells you what it costs to stay.
They only ask why you don’t leave.

They ask it casually. Over coffee. In passing. Then, with concern that feels more like impatience than care. As if leaving is a single decision instead of a thousand small calculations made every day in your body.

What they don’t see is the cost already being paid.

Living beside addiction doesn’t just change the person who drinks.
It reshapes the person who stays.
It teaches you to become flexible in places that should be firm.
It teaches you to doubt your own instincts.
It teaches you to lower your expectations so disappointment hurts less — until one day you realize how much you’ve given up without ever agreeing to it.

The hardest part isn’t the drinking itself.
It’s the unreliability.
The emotional absence.
The way promises lose meaning.
The way you feel completely alone inside a relationship.

You learn how to carry the weight.
You stop asking for help because it creates tension.
You stop explaining because you’re tired of sounding dramatic for telling the truth.
And slowly, subtly, your world gets smaller.

You become the steady one.
The responsible one.
The one who absorbs the impact so no one else has too.
From the outside, it might look like strength.
From the inside, it feels like erosion.

This is the part no one prepares you for:
How much mental energy it takes to coexist with unpredictability.
How exhausting it is to love someone you can’t rely on.
How lonely it feels to share a life with someone who isn’t fully present in it.
And still — you stay.

Not because you’re weak.
Not because you don’t know better.
But because life is complicated, and love doesn’t disappear just because reality hurts.
Staying costs something.
So does leaving.
But pretending there is no cost at all — that’s the lie that does the most damage.

This space exists to name the truth without sugarcoating it.
To talk about the toll without dramatizing it.
To say the things that are usually whispered or swallowed.
Not to tell anyone what to do.
Not to diagnose or condemn.
But to acknowledge what it actually takes to live beside addiction — especially when you’re the one holding everything together.

This is what it costs.
And if you’re here, you’re probably paying it too.

Popular posts from this blog

This Is What It Costs: Will this time be different?

  As of today, my spouse has been sober for one week. The longest stretch in 6 months.  My nervous system has learned not to trust it. We’ve been here before. I would like to say that this time is different. But, I don't know. I have no control over it.  So, maybe it is different. Not for them, for me. I have relinquished control. I have accepted - fully accepted that this is not a battle I can fight. I can support, I can love, I can encourage. But, thats it.  Is love enough? No. Against addiction - love is not enough. The first time he got sober was at rehab. I was so filled with hope and was determined to do everything I could to make sure he would never drink again. But he did. The second time he got sober was after I discovered his affair. I hoped and prayed that that was going to be his rock bottom. Because my heart was feeling pain like it never had before. But, it wasn't.  This time he was in a horrible accident. An accident that could have killed him. Bu...

The Cost of Realizing My Husband is an Alcoholic Too Late

  When I first realized my husband’s drinking was abnormal — at least from my point of view — it already felt too late. We had been dating for a couple of years, living in different cities. I knew he drank. I drank. We were in our twenties. He had no kids. I did. We saw each other a couple of times a week and always had a few drinks together. It felt social. Normal. When we first moved in together, we were working a summer construction project with friends. We paid them in pizza and booze. Nothing about it felt alarming. Maybe I had my blinders on. Then everything happened fast. Engaged. Married. Pregnant. The pregnancy is when I really started to see it. When I stopped drinking, he wanted to be around me less. He went out more. Stayed for drinks after work more. Found more “errands.” More “chores.” I started finding hidden cans. Bottles. I didn’t understand what I was dealing with then. I took it personally. Why didn’t he want to be home with his family? Why wasn’t...