I Had to Reclaim My Strength While Pregnant and Married to an Alcoholic

The sun was shining in a crisp, deep-blue fall sky. My body and mind ached to get outside, roam, enjoy the fresh air, and exert myself. But I was pregnant with my first child, and long gone were the days I could attempt a mentally therapeutic run. I’d have to settle for a leisurely stroll.

As I laced my shoes, I longed for someone to share this moment in time. Someone to appreciate the ending of this chapter of life and dote on my third-trimester woes. Acknowledging my personal strength and wanting a partner to be emotionally available did not have to be mutually exclusive.

While getting ready, I could tell something was off with him, but I asked anyway. He didn’t want to go and I was slightly relieved, hearing the slur of his voice. So, I went alone, again.

I stepped out the front door of the row home and as I began to move my feet, the blood pumped through my body and provided the kind of relief only exercise can induce. Making my way to the forest trail and being outside gave me the freedom and time to think. Each breath not only filled my lungs, but also cleared my head. My thoughts wandered from what I wanted to eat when I got home, to the creation of the universe. It was my time without filter where anything and everything was allowed.

My baby was often lulled to sleep through the repetitive movements, which was especially endearing. 'Mother' no longer rang through my mind as simply a word, but a paradigm shift in the core of my soul. This tiny stranger had already taught me the true depths of loved. As I touched my belly, I began to think about bringing this little human into the world.

My partner’s drinking was bad, and getting worse, even with all the time and money we spent on a psychiatrist, therapist, and medications. It wasn’t within my control to help him get healthy and he didn’t seem to be able to do it himself. How could I depend on him to care for us? Soon, this baby would be welcomed into the world. What if he had been drinking the day or night I went into labor?

I wanted to be angry, but couldn’t find it in me to yell. I wanted to be sad but had no tears left to cry. I wished I could rely on the one person who was supposed to be my partner. We had made vows to be there for each other and this was when I needed him most. I wanted to scream from the rooftops about how lonely I felt.

Instead of spiraling into the emotional abyss, I proceeded with the practicality I was accustomed to. I planned. I figured out how to get by if and when he was drinking. I decided, then and there, if I went into labor, I would call a taxi. It would not be impossible for me to lie at the birth center about the reasons why he wasn’t with me. If he missed it, he missed it. Part of me hoped that he wouldn’t make it.

In that moment, I felt deeply alone and had a decision to make. I could surrender to the weight of it all or choose to open my heart and decide I was enough. I knew, to be the mom my little one deserved I needed to believe in myself. I reached inside and drew the strength within to fill my heart and move my legs. Each step was my own. All I had to do was take the next one.