This is a record of personal experience that has been de-identified, risk-screened, and linguistically organized; no identifying details about the original author's identity, location, or personal information are retained.
At first I just thought he liked to drink; I never expected it to become like this
When we first got together, he didn't drink all that often. He would have a few drinks at weekend gatherings or dinners with friends, but never to excess. I thought it was just part of his social life, and I even found it endearing how talkative and cheerful he became after a drink.
The turning point came in the third year of our marriage. He switched to a very stressful job and started drinking a few glasses every evening after work. At first it was beer, then it became baijiu. He said it helped him relax and sleep better at night. I didn't think much of it, until one day he came home in the early hours, reeking of alcohol, and collapsed onto the sofa. When I asked him the next day, he had no memory of how he got home.
From that day on, I started paying attention to how much he drank. He became more and more dependent on alcohol, drinking from morning to night on weekends and often late into the night on workdays. I tried to talk to him about it, but he always said, "It's fine, I can control it." But I knew he couldn't anymore.
The hardest part was never knowing when it would happen next
What broke me wasn't the drinking itself, but the uncertainty. I never knew whether he'd come home sober or drunk; whether he'd suddenly lose control of his emotions at the dinner table; whether he'd miss important family events because of drinking.
Once, we agreed to take the kids to the park on the weekend. In the morning he promised nicely, saying he'd just have a cup of coffee. By the time I had everything ready, he'd already opened his second bottle of beer. When the kids asked why he wasn't coming along, he mumbled, "Dad's tired." That day I took the kids to the park alone, and watching other children play with their fathers made my heart ache.
Another time, he fell in the bathroom while drunk and cut his forehead. I took him to the hospital in the middle of the night. The doctor asked if he'd been drinking, and I nodded. The doctor said he needed stitches, and he was still rambling incoherently. That night I sat in the hospital hallway and suddenly felt exhausted. Not physically exhausted—emotionally exhausted.
I looked up a lot of information before I understood this wasn't a matter of willpower
At first, I thought he just lacked self-discipline. I complained, fought, gave him the silent treatment, and even threatened divorce. But every time he sobered up, he would apologize and say he'd change next time. And then the next time was exactly the same.
Later I started searching online to understand why he couldn't quit. I came across studies saying that heavy drinking has a strong genetic component. One study noted that if one identical twin is an alcoholic, the other twin's likelihood of being an alcoholic is far higher than with fraternal twins. Scientists have also done experiments on mice: after modifying a certain gene, the mice would actively choose alcohol over water, even drinking themselves drunk.
One statistic stuck with me: a study suggested that roughly 70 percent of alcohol dependence is due to genetic factors and 30 percent to environmental influences. This made me realize his problem might not be simply about "thinking too narrowly" or "weak willpower." His father also drank, and he grew up in that kind of environment. His body and brain had probably been changed long ago.
After learning this, I felt less angry at him, but a new question arose: if this is genetic, is there still hope? What can I do to help him?
I learned to set my own boundaries
For a long time, I treated myself as his "sobriety supervisor." I hid his alcohol, controlled his spending money, and even took leave from work to keep an eye on him. As a result, he became more irritable, and we fought more. I realized that the harder I tried, the more he resisted, and the more exhausted I became.
Eventually I came to understand that I can't quit drinking for him. What I can do is protect myself and my children. I started setting bottom lines: if he came home drunk, I'd take the kids to sleep in another room; if he lost control emotionally because of drinking, I'd leave the situation temporarily; if he had to work the next day but was still drinking, I stopped calling in sick for him or making excuses.
I also started paying attention to my own emotions. I used to feel it was my responsibility to make him better, but now I know his problem is his own issue. I can support him, but I can't bear the consequences for him. I even joined a support group for family members, where hearing other partners share their experiences made me realize I'm not alone.
Now, he is still fighting alcohol—sometimes doing better, sometimes relapsing. I no longer expect him to "change all at once"; instead, I'm learning to live well in each peaceful moment. I know this road is long, but at least I'm no longer carrying it all alone.
Understand that alcoholism is a complex problem, and learn to protect yourself while supporting your loved one.