Cassie’s story

My story begins when I was growing up in a household where my mother had complete control over my sister and me. She dictated every part of our lives, and as a result, I never really developed a sense of who I was. My dad was always at work, so I didn’t see much of him, but when my mum would say, “Just wait till your dad gets home,” it was like a threat. I was terrified of him. There was so much dysfunction in our home—constant arguments, shouting, especially at night when my dad got home from work. I remember lying in bed, hearing them fight, and feeling scared.

My dad was always negative toward me. No matter what I did, it was never good enough. He’d tell me things like, “You can’t do that,” “It’s not possible,” or “It won’t work.” I believed him. Those feelings of inadequacy followed me throughout my childhood and right into my adult life. I found it hard to make friends because I didn’t know how to talk to people. The isolation was overwhelming, and I carried that sense of loneliness with me for years.

It wasn’t a surprise that when I got older, I ended up marrying an alcoholic. I was 31 when I met my future husband, we were both from the UK. It happened in a rather unconventional way—over a CB radio. Back then, CB radios were technically illegal, but they were so much fun. You could connect with people from all over the world, and it felt like a secret little community. Through that, I ended up meeting him, and what started as casual radio conversations eventually turned into something much more. Before we were married, we visited his sister in Texas, and it was clear he wanted to stay. One day, we saw an ad in the newspaper for a couple to live and work on a ranch. He persuaded me to apply, and we got the job. I wanted to go home to settle things and quit my job, so we returned, got married, and immediately left for the ranch in Texas.

On our wedding day, after we arrived at the hotel room, he immediately demanded that we were intimate. I didn’t want to, especially since he had been drinking. Meanwhile, our guests were arriving downstairs for the reception. But he told me, “You’re my wife now, and I can do this whenever I want.” I was shocked. Yet, we were married, about to move to Texas, and start a new life, so I didn’t know how to respond.

Due to my upbringing I was used to letting others control me, and he did just that. Our marriage was turbulent from the start. He would threaten me with divorce whenever he didn’t get his way, and that was terrifying, especially since we lived on a ranch in Texas with no neighbors. It was just him and me. The thought of being alone in a foreign place with no friends or support was incredibly scary.

Looking back, there were early signs of a problem with my husband’s drinking, like him searching the house for spare change to buy a pint or always rushing back for last orders at the bar. These patterns were hard to ignore, yet I didn’t fully grasp their significance. Even when I asked his mother if he was an alcoholic, she denied it, and I chose to believe her, despite feeling uneasy. At the time, I didn’t understand the full impact of alcoholism or how it would eventually affect our lives.

We moved to a hunting ranch, and I remember even having to time our pregnancy around hunting season to avoid any interruptions. Despite the difficulties, we were both happy to be expecting our first child. But his drinking continued, and it got worse. He would drive around the ranch, come home drunk, and still make demands of intimacy, even when I was experiencing complications with the pregnancy, which could impact me and the baby. It was a traumatic experience that left me feeling deeply unsettled.

He was extremely coercive, often using gifts to manipulate me into giving him his way. He had a Jekyll and Hyde personality—everyone thought he was charming and fun in public, but behind closed doors, he became cold and distant, focused only on his own desires. Even during my pregnancy, there was no connection or conversation. I felt trapped and overwhelmed, unsure how I would ever be able to leave him.

With two children, I became their primary caregiver because my husband was always “busy” doing his own things, which mostly involved driving around the ranch drunk. I essentially raised our kids on my own while he checked out. It got to the point where I felt my mind was spinning with all these thoughts and emotions that I couldn’t make sense of. I prayed to find something or someone to help me understand what was going on in my head.

I was desperate to escape my marriage. I would drive around for hours, crying, feeling completely lost. Often, I ended up at the church we attended. I confided in the pastor, who tried to help by bringing us together. When asked what I wanted, I simply said, “I just want him to be sober when we are intimate.” It seemed like such a small request, but nothing changed. After 12 years of living in that chaos, I finally hit rock bottom. I broke down at work and told someone what was happening. She recommended Al-Anon, and I made the call, attending my first meeting soon after. The moment I walked into that room, I knew I had found my place. It felt like I was home. I had spent so long searching for something to help me, and this was it.

Al-Anon helped me realise, for the first time in my life, that I was a person in my own right. I had needs, feelings, and desires that were separate from trying to “fix” my alcoholic husband or find happiness outside of myself.

I changed a lot after I started going to Al-Anon. He knew I was going, but he didn’t like it because deep down, he realised our marriage was over. Each week, I grew stronger. Then, one day, he tried to use his usual scare tactics to get his way again, but this time, it backfired on him. I replied, “What a great idea—let’s get divorced!” I told him to go find someone else, and eventually, he packed up and left. The kids were actually happy and said, “Now you can be happy, Mum.” And you know what? I really was.

Before Al-Anon, I didn’t know I could look within myself to find everything I needed. I was always looking outward, thinking that fixing someone else would bring me peace. But Al-Anon gave me the tools to look inward and start figuring out who I really was.

Over time, I started to rebuild my life. I eventually divorced my husband. He went to one AA meeting but decided it wasn’t for him. After my children and I returned to England, we got a phone call from his wife saying he was very ill in the hospital. I believe he stopped drinking during that time due to all the medications he had to take. He never worked again and lived until September 2021, when he passed away in Texas.

My journey didn’t end there. I still had so much work to do on myself. Al-Anon became more than just a support group; it became a way of life for me. It taught me how to find serenity and hope in the midst of chaos. The programme helped me navigate every aspect of my life, including one of the most difficult experiences I ever faced—losing my daughter to cancer.

If it hadn’t been for the support of my Al-Anon group, I don’t know how I would’ve survived that loss. The group became my safe place, a space where I could speak freely without fear of being judged or interrupted. No one ever told me what I “should” do; they just listened. Through listening to others and sharing my own experiences, I’ve been able to find my own answers.

I am eternally grateful for what Al-Anon has given me. It’s more than just a place to deal with living with an alcoholic—it’s a lifeline. It has helped me rebuild my self-esteem, find peace within myself, and live a life that I never thought was possible. Today, I still go to Al-Anon meetings, not just for my own healing but also to help others who are just starting their journey. Al-Anon has been the single most important thing in my life, and I am so thankful for the peace and serenity it continues to bring me.

Listen to Cassie’s story below: