Excerpt from my book “And Then You Went Missing”

His drinking had been a sore spot in our relationship for a few years. In earlier times we had both enjoyed an occasional drink when the situation called for it: a toast to a special event, a cool refresher after a long day of work, a fashionable cocktail when out with friends. But one day that changed. In the middle of the week, after a stressful day at work, my husband walked in the door, dropped his bag on the ground, took a glass out of the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. A real drink. I believe it was whiskey, but I can’t be sure. He didn’t offer me any. He just emptied the glass and sighed. And then it happened again and again. There were more drinks on more occasions, there was more sighing, and everywhere we went alcohol was now a part of our entourage. I pointed this out to him on many occasions, but these conversations got us nowhere. He accused me of being a critical, ungrateful wife, and I let him know how selfish and thoughtless he was behaving.

But I was convinced that he would not push back when I presented him with hard evidence, in the form of empty beer bottles, of just how much he was drinking. With my bare hands, I pushed the lighter recycling items to the side and I began counting: one, two, three…… eight, nine, ten. I could sense the cortisol coursing through my body as I looked down in shock and disbelief. Who could drink ten bottles of beer in one night and not admit they had a problem? Just last week he had promised (again) to cut back! I felt mocked, defeated and disregarded. A wave of panic settled in as I considered what else he might have been hiding from me. Despite all the things I wanted to accomplish that day, I knew from experience that I would spend the greater part of my day obsessing about my findings and thinking of ways to confront him.

After taking a few pictures, I righted myself in the stiflingly humid garage and it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. What was I doing? Did I just search for my sanity in a recycling bin? How had my life become so out of control? Did I need photographic evidence to prove that something was wrong? I didn’t know what to do next, but I was sure that another confrontation was not the answer. I knew something had to change, and I was finally ready to do something different.