I am feeling a little weird this morning. Last night, on my way home, I stopped in at a restaurant I used to work at to see some friends. I ended up having a couple of drinks and staying to chat and watch hockey for a while.
I couldn’t help feeling like I was doing something wrong. I still feel like it was wrong. But was it?
For most of my marriage, it’s been me at home with the kids. Me doing the cooking, cleaning, driving, organizing, paying bills — everything. My husband has worked and done whatever else he wants, whenever he wants. Drinking every day. Every day’s a party.
The odd time I would go out, I would be so damn grateful that I’d thank him profusely when I got home — not too late, not too drunk, not too anything. I always made sure I ruffled as few feathers as possible.
Now that he’s a week off booze, it did feel like I was being unsupportive. But if I’m honest, I just needed the time. And the space. I needed to not head straight home. When I drove by the restaurant alone, I just pulled in and hoped a friend would be there.
I feel so selfish when I do something for myself. And I honestly can’t tell if that’s because what I did was wrong, or because I’m grossly codependent, or because he’s pissy with me, or because I’m so used to everything being about him or the kids that when I do something for myself, it just feels wrong.
As I wrote that last line, it occurred to me that it always feels wrong when I do something for myself — whether it’s working out, relaxing on the couch with a book, having a nap, or taking a bath. I think a lot of parents feel this way. When you add an addict spouse, it’s magnified. Everything becomes about them and their addiction. I’m not being dramatic. Somehow it touches and influences every move I make, every thought I have.
I want to be supportive. But taking an hour for myself does not make me unsupportive.
The guilt is loud. But it isn’t truth.
And if the cost of loving an addict is erasing myself completely, then that’s a price I can’t keep paying.