The pain became my normal

Our first full day of living together was perfect. Despite all the doubts and worries I'd had before moving, I was happy. Life seemed so perfect.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

On the second day of our life together, it was a warm, sunny evening. I was setting the table so we could have dinner in the garden. I called his name, but there was no reply.

Then I found him in the summer house. He was drunk and could barely walk.

A few words were exchanged before he stumbled upstairs to bed. that was the first of what would become countless evenings spent alone, drowning in my own thoughts. I felt foolish for not seeing the signs before making such a huge decision—to leave my home and give up so much of my life to be with him.

The next morning came the apologies.

"It was just to release a bit of pressure," he said. "It won't happen again," he said.

But it did.

It happened again and again over the next four years.

Every day I came home wondering what I would find. More often than not, I spent another evening alone, so many years of emotions. I felt lonely, angry, helpless and ashamed. I kept asking myself, "How has this become my life?"

There was the mental abuse, the insults and the isolation. I couldn't invite anyone to our home because I could never trust that he wouldn't be drunk. Our home had become a hiding place for his empty vodka bottles whilst I became distant from my family. Eventually, it all became normal.

The pain became my normal.

I went to work every day pretending I was the happiest person in the world. Nobody knew what I was living through because I was too ashamed to tell anyone.

There were countless mattresses ruined after he wet the bed. I spent nights sleeping on the sofa while waiting for another mattress to arrive. Waking to find he had wet himself while lying next to me left me feeling humiliated and dirty. I would stand in the shower, scrubbing my skin over and over, desperately trying to wash away the nightmare.

I reached out for help.

I contacted charity after charity, only to have doors closed in my face because my situation didn't fit their criteria. Even my local council was prepared to let me become homeless because they saw it simply as a relationship breakdown—not as someone living with the effects of another person's addiction.

I had completely lost hope.

I didn't think I had the strength to carry on.

Then someone from another charity gave me the number for Families Out Loud.

From my very first conversations, I felt something I hadn't felt for years—HOPE!

Everything changed.

Within a week I was attending one-to-one counselling with the most incredible counsellor. A trained counsellor whom themselves had lived through someone's addiction.

For the first time in a very long time, someone listened without judgement. They made me feel seen. They made me feel that my life mattered.

Families Out Loud gave me emotional support, practical advice and, most importantly, a safe place where I could finally talk about what I was going through. They helped me understand addiction and the impact it was having on my own wellebing. They reminded me that I wasn't alone.

I was given the time, patience and understanding to explore my thoughts and feelings in my safe environment. Through this, I was able to process my experiences, gain a better understanding of myself, and begin to see a future beyond the trauma I had been living with.

Together, we worked on setting boundaries, and for the first time I found the strength to stick to them.

My own experience made me realise just how little support exists for families living with someone affected by addiction. So much of the focus is on the person with the addiction, but the families living alongside it are often forgotten.

That is why I chose to join the Families Out Loud committee.

I want other families to know they are not alone. I want to help provide the support, understanding and hope that I so desperately needed.

My experiences have shown me just how lonely and isolating addiction can be—not only for the person suffering, but for everyone who lives through it with them.

Families Out Loud didn't just support me.

They saved my life!

Trowbridge Partner