My Messy Discovery in His Recovery

September 2025

Perspectives: SOP

The Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting was held on the 11th floor. I never made it past the first. 

He was waiting downstairs for me, and it was clear that he was high. His words poured out in a slow, confused slur. 

“Why are you angry at me?” Jat, my then-boyfriend, asked. 

It was supposed to be my first AA meeting – not as a participant, but as someone who loves him. Who wanted to observe and hope*. I had convinced myself that this time was real. This could be the moment my boyfriend finally stopped compulsive gambling and abusing drugs for good. 

Instead, I turned around and left. I didn’t want to cry in public. Hours later, I frantically called a cab to pick him up anyway. I was worried sick that he wouldn’t make it home on his own. 

That was about three years ago. I still get a funny feeling whenever I pass by a Gastronomia outlet – the place I’d sent the cab driver to fetch him. 

Today, my husband has been sober for three years. I’ve never been happier for Jat, or prouder of him. 

But this is not his story. This is what recovery looks like from the other side: The hesitation, exhaustion, confusion over whether I should feel hope, anger, or disappointment.  

What I held on to 

It started with what I kept finding: Pills squirrelled away in the back pocket of his pants hung on the wall. 

Then he had a seizure while we were watching Everything Everywhere All at Once in the cinema.  

In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, I thought: This must be it. Surely this is rock bottom.  

He didn’t stop. I still found pills. 

I was always suspicious, and always angry when I was proven right. I doubted everything he said. It was exhausting. I don’t know how I stayed. 

Then I discovered that was only part of the story. 

Recovery Jat was – and still is – extremely open. Our conversations were never that honest when he was still using. He shared everything: What he did behind my back, but more importantly, why. 

I thought I knew him inside out. We had been living together for about two years. Yet I never knew the scale of his struggle and pain. Right beside me. 

In Jat’s first year of recovery, I felt a confusing mix. I was proud of how far he’d come – but also uneasy.  

Hearing him speak so openly about his struggles made me realise how much I had missed, living right beside him. How had I not noticed? What kind of partner doesn’t? 

What he gave back 

It wasn’t just guilt I carried in the first year. There was still a lot of distrust, especially in the early months. I wished that I could flip a switch and turn that off, but I couldn’t. 

Day by day, he started proving me wrong. He went to a meeting every night and spent his days at WE CARE. It slowly became our new normal. 

Before writing this, I asked Jat how he lives with the guilt and shame of what he had done. 

His answer was simple: “Stop. That’s the only way. You have to keep trying to do better – and slowly, the good will begin to outweigh the bad.” 

He likened it to gambling debt: “If you don’t stop, it will only keep increasing.” 

I hadn’t realised that I was carrying my own kind of debt. Shame over not knowing his struggles. Guilt over wanting to leave him at times. 

But I don’t really blame myself anymore. 

Learning to let go and live in the present is one of many lessons I’ve learnt from Jat. He’s not the only one who has benefited from recovery. 

The present is good. We have our own home now and are adopting a dog – things that once felt out of reach to both of us. 

Jat says he never thought he could have this life; He assumed he would end up like his father. I never imagined it could be this good either. 

Now he works at WE CARE, helping others find the footing he once searched for. He has shared his recovery journey many times: Standing at a traffic light in Geylang gambling online for money to buy drugs, running away to Johor Bahru with just 100 ringgit in his pocket. 

We laugh at these stories; the same ones that once broke us.  

Three years ago, I made my way to an AA meeting wondering if I was naive to even hope. Today, Jat walks through similar rooms – as much a person offering help as someone still recovering. 

There are still days when I hold my breath if he’s away from his phone longer than usual. But most days, I don’t. 

 

By G, the other half of Jat.  

 

*Those who attend Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings sometimes go to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings due to accessibility – AA meets every day of the week, compared to the 1 to 2 meetings run by NA.