"The deeper my husband got into boozing, the deeper I got into my own self-imposed bubble of silence. A loyal, loving wife doesn't talk about her husband peeing in an alley or passing out in the middle of sex while still inside her. She doesn't tell stories of turning away in bed, tears streaming because the sour stench of his drunken body is revolting. Or was that just part of my loyalty pledge?"
"I don't remember a specific moment in my childhood that taught me to follow a code of silence. As the oldest of five, my responsibilities started young, and I thoroughly understood the expectation that I was to be the kid that gave no one any trouble. We Midwesterners are not thought of as hotheaded, heart-on-our-sleeve types. Silence is simply understood as standard operating procedure. We aren't brought up to expose ourselves or make ourselves vulnerable."
My husband's alcoholism escalated while I retreated into a self-imposed silence, convinced that loyalty required not exposing his drunken behavior. Childhood responsibilities as the oldest of five taught submission to a code of quiet and to avoid creating trouble. Midwestern cultural norms reinforced emotional restraint and an aversion to vulnerability. Women receive additional pressure to be pretty, compliant, and especially quiet. The husband functioned as a high-functioning drunk, compartmentalizing drinking to preserve outward appearances, maintaining work performance while concealing destructive private behavior. Silence protected appearances but eroded intimacy and prevented acknowledgment or help for the problem.
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