Dating : How much of one’s own past should one dredge up, and when, exactly, should it be so dredged?

Dating : How much of one’s own past should one dredge up, and when, exactly, should it be so dredged?

Hi, all!

Long-time lurker; first-time poster.

I am 38, a man, occasionally bearded. A couple of years ago, I stepped out of the dating pool and have remained on the sidelines ever since. There are, to my mind, plenty of good reasons for doing so. But I have reached a point where I am beginning to think that dating is, inevitably, going to be part of my future and, in any case, *ought* to be part of my future; it is something that I desire to do, both for myself and for the sake of the happiness of whoever it is that I wind up with. That said, it is difficult to know where to begin, for reasons that I will go into below.

I spent much of my twenties teaching English abroad in quite a few less-than-friendly locales. Along the way, I picked up a pretty gnarly anxiety disorder and — along with it — a tendency to self-medicate. (Such is the grisly fate of many a TEFL instructor.) For a long stretch of my thirties, this arrangement was manageable: I was, to all appearances, an alcoholic, but a highly functional one. I was friendly, hyper-social, productive, creative; given to drinking too much and talking too much while drunk, but never violent and seldom snarky or mean. But, needless to say, this arrangement didn’t hold. Hangovers turned into acute withdrawal, which demanded further drinking to stave off death. This all came to a head right around the time the pandemic hit. I required medical treatment to help wean me from the alcohol and the benzodiazepines that had once shielded me from panic, but were now threatening to take my life.

I am, by now, a year and three months sober. I am fortunate in that drinking did not take a noticeable toll on my physical health; I am fortunate in that sobriety is easy for me. A kind of mental switch was flipped at my lowest point, and the old habits of a decade appeared to evaporate all of an instant. From that point forward, I put in the work. I spent two months in intensive outpatient treatment; I attend weekly meetings, meditate, exercise obsessively, read the Stoic philosophers, and do all of the things that one is supposed to do when threatened by a deadly disease. I do not struggle with cravings and have not come close to a relapse, though I well know that I must also remain mindful of the risk — pride goeth before destruction and what have you.

I believe (as all of us do) that I have quite a lot to offer someone. I am en route to a Master’s program and, provided that the United States does not disintegrate within the next few years (admittedly a bold assumption), I anticipate being quite happy and successful in life. But all that said: I still harbor too many doubts to mention.

I do not any longer doubt my commitment to sobriety or my ability to remain sober, but I worry that my past will forever remain nipping at my heels. How to begin to explain my past to a future partner? How to provide her with the sort of assurances necessary to sustain a relationship, when addicts are *notorious* for backsliding, for falling back into destructive and antisocial patterns of behavior, for playing fast and loose with the truth? Even if I no longer fear these aspects of the booze-addled personality that I cobbled together over the years, how could I possibly demonstrate this to someone who, at first, will know me not at all?

In the past, I have been forthcoming with others about my struggles. For as appreciated as honesty is in some circles, it can also alienate people. Most of us have an addict in our lives, and it is natural to associate the addicts that we meet with the addict that we *know*. Needless to say, it is often a painful association, and not one that some people are willing to engage with. So I tread more cautiously these days; I tell those who wish to know, but refrain from bringing it up where I don’t have to. Obviously, in a relationship, this is exactly the sort of stuff I would want to — and need to — share with someone.

But how to go about it? This certainly isn’t first date fare. It might not even be second or third date material. But the past, no matter how grim and no matter how compromising, eventually must be shared with one’s partner, because it is the past that makes us who we are. I feel that my past has strengthened me; without having flirted with death for so long, I might not have such a strong appreciation for life; I might not be so dedicated to the principles that make me a good person or, at any rate, that make me a much better person than I was before. So all of this must be shared. But I also have to assume that my background will be disqualifying for a lot of people; it will also sow distrust into whatever trust exists; but I suppose that is my question. Is this the sort of thing that people are willing to work with, or is it best for me to remain sequestered in my house with my cat and my books until I’ve tucked more sobriety under my belt?

Thanks for any and all feedback! And cheers to all those who have struggled with addiction, or who have put up with partners who have. Addiction is truly one of the most fearsome predators on earth, and I am lucky to have escaped its clutches. Anything else that I get out of life from this point forward is a bonus.