I love taking care of my husband when he gets too drunk.

That probably seems weird to some (most?) people, but it’s true. It doesn’t bother me at all. I’m happy to leave wherever we are as soon as he says he’s had too much, drive him home, get him undressed, and safely into bed. Give him three Thive+ tablets, two Advil, and a big glass of water. Tell him I love him and soothe him to sleep.

I remember when I was with G (my ex-husband) and how he would shame me every time I got too drunk. He was so brutal that he had me thinking I had a legitimate drinking problem; when really I was just blowing off steam. I remember the night I found out I passed the bar exam: we went out with a few friends and I really cut loose, which I like to think was completely understandable under the circumstances. But apparently not, because he shit talked me for days. I sucked. I was an alcoholic. And a bad wife. And selfish. And it went on and on. All because I had too many drinks in celebration of a huge fucking achievement: you know…passing the fucking bar exam, and got spinny and nauseated as a result. I never ever forgot the way he made me feel, and I promised myself I’d never make anyone else feel shitty for getting too drunk. Getting yelled at while you’re throwing up is the fucking worst. Who does that to someone they supposedly love??

I remember the first time I got too drunk around D. It was during our first summer together. I got super defensive because I just assumed he would be shitty to me because of it, and as a result, I was unintentionally shitty to him. That was a huge relationship milestone for us. That night was my first significant indication that maybe I could relax around him. It feels good to know you’re safe and taken care of no matter what. I want D, my kids, and my friends to always know I’ve got them. No matter what.