This is an anonymized experience record that has undergone risk screening and language refinement; it does not retain the original author's identity, location, or identifiable details.
After Diagnosis, His First Reaction Was Still to Drink
I remember that day when we left the hospital, he held the diagnostic report with slightly trembling hands. He stayed silent the whole way home. Once there, he went straight to the kitchen, took out a half-empty bottle of baijiu from the cabinet, and poured himself a glass. I was stunned and asked, "But the doctor said..." He cut me off: "I know. Just this one glass to calm my nerves."
That one glass didn't stop there. In the following days, he drank even more than before. It was as if the diagnosis gave him a reason to "smash the cracked pot"—to abandon all restraint. When I tried to reason with him, he countered, "What difference does it make now? Things are already like this."
I knew he didn't truly believe that. He was just scared—scared of treatment, scared of unknown outcomes, scared of facing all those "what ifs." And drinking was the only familiar way he knew to temporarily escape.
The Hardest Part Is Not Knowing When It Will Happen Next
After treatment began, the doctor made it clear that drinking would interfere with efficacy and increase relapse risk. He nodded and promised to quit. For the first few days, he didn't drink. But over the weekend, he excused himself to go for a walk and came back smelling of alcohol. When I asked, he denied it. Later, I found mini bottles of baijiu in his coat pockets.
During that time, the atmosphere at home was tense. I never knew when he might drink again. Every time he went out, I couldn't help wondering: Would he buy alcohol again? I even started secretly checking his bags and pockets. When he noticed, he got angry, saying I was treating him like a criminal. I felt hurt, but I was even more afraid something would happen to him.
Once, he sneaked out in the middle of the night to drink in the kitchen. Hearing noises, I went to check and found him gulping water from the tap with an empty liquor bottle beside him. When he saw me, he froze, then burst into tears. "I know I shouldn't drink," he said, "but I can't help it." My heart ached at that moment. It wasn't that he didn't want to quit—he just couldn't.
Quitting Alcohol Isn't a Solo Journey—Family Learns to Adapt Too
Later, we sat down for a serious talk. He said that whenever the urge to drink hit, his mind would flood with thoughts like "Just one sip won't hurt," but one sip always led to more. He feared withdrawal symptoms and doubted he could endure them. I said we'd figure it out together.
Our first step was removing all alcohol from the house—not just baijiu and beer, but even cooking wine and rice wine for recipes. He proactively told close friends and relatives about his decision to quit, asking them not to invite him for drinks or drink in front of him. Some didn't understand, saying "A little is fine," but he insisted: "Not even a sip."
The hardest part was coping with cravings. He started finding ways to occupy his mouth—snacking on sunflower seeds, eating apples, drinking water, even chewing on a toothpick. I made him a list of alternative activities: organizing phone photos, calling a friend, taking a walk, doing deep breathing. When cravings struck, he'd pick something from the list. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't. But on bad days, he didn't berate himself, just said, "I'll try again tomorrow."
I was learning too. I stopped monitoring him or checking his belongings. Instead, I'd ask, "How are you feeling today? Any cravings?" If he admitted to urges, we'd brainstorm distractions together. If not, I'd say, "Good job today—keep it up." Gradually, he started opening up instead of avoiding me.
Relapses Happen, but Every Step Counts
Quitting isn't linear. He had relapses—several times. Each time left him dejected, feeling like a failure. I told him it wasn't failure; it was trying. Most people need many attempts before quitting for good. What mattered was that after each slip, he kept trying.
Once, he stayed sober for over 20 days before breaking at a gathering. That night, he was visibly down. Instead of scolding him, I asked, "What triggered it this time?" He said seeing others drink made him cave. We agreed he'd avoid alcohol-heavy events for a while. For unavoidable ones, he'd inform hosts beforehand or bring his own drinks.
He also joined an online sobriety support group. Members shared similar struggles, offering encouragement and strategies. He told me seeing others fight the same battle made him feel less alone. Some there had been sober for over a year; others, just days. No one judged—they just celebrated each "today without drinking" as a victory.
We set up a reward system: For every sober week, we'd do something he enjoyed—watch a movie, eat out, or buy a book he wanted. Not as a reward for drinking, but to celebrate his efforts. He laughed, saying this was far more meaningful than drinking.
Professional Help Isn't Shameful—Sometimes It's Necessary
His withdrawal symptoms weren't severe, but he went through a phase of tension, irritability, and insomnia. Deep breathing and walks helped only slightly. Eventually, he saw a doctor voluntarily. After evaluation, the doctor prescribed medication to ease withdrawal and recommended regular follow-ups.
He admitted that he'd once thought seeking help showed weakness, but the visit changed his mind. Doctors see this often—they don't look down on you; they offer practical advice. For example, the doctor suggested "delayed gratification" for intense cravings: Tell yourself, "Wait 10 minutes." Often, the urge would pass. He tried it and said it sometimes worked.
I also learned that alcohol dependence is a medical condition, not a willpower issue. Just as you'd take medicine for a cold, seeking professional help for quitting is normal. This realization lifted a weight off both of us.
We're Still on This Journey
Now, he's been sober for a while. Not every day is easy, but most days he holds on. He says alcohol smells unappealing now—even repulsive. I don't know if that's true, but I choose to believe it.
Our relationship has changed too. Alcohol used to be a minefield we tiptoed around. Now, we discuss it openly. He tells me if he's had cravings; I share my worries. We're no longer on guard—we're allies.
I know the road ahead is long. Relapse could happen anytime; no guarantees exist. But at least now, we face it together. That's far better than bearing it alone.
If you're in a similar situation, don't give up—and don't blame yourself or loved ones. Quitting is hard, but every attempt matters. If it feels overwhelming, seek professional help or lean on family and friends. You're not alone.
Quitting alcohol takes multiple attempts—family understanding and support are crucial.