my partner is an alcoholic who tries to quit, but then starts again, I need to show empathy, but I'm also very fed up with him. Also because has recently started to secretly drink. And he doesn't want help. I am safe, I am good, just really fed up. Even though I know my anger only will make him feel more guilty and maybe that might even make him drink more/again.

I can feel the weight of what you're carrying right now. You're caught between two impossible-feeling places at once: the part of you that understands his struggle and wants to meet him with compassion, and the part that is exhausted, angry, and running on empty from watching this cycle repeat again and again. And now, the secret drinking—that adds a layer of betrayal on top of everything else, doesn't it? It's not just about the addiction anymore; it's about trust. What strikes me most is that you're already aware of something very wise: that your anger, even when it's completely justified, might push him further away. That's a heavy awareness to carry while also being genuinely fed up. It speaks to how much you care, but I wonder if you're also carrying something that isn't actually yours to carry. Here's something that might feel counterintuitive: your empathy doesn't require you to absorb his shame or manage his emotions. You can understand that addiction is a struggle—a real, painful one—without taking responsibility for whether your anger "causes" him to drink more. That's a kind of power you don't actually have, and more importantly, it's not your job. His choices about drinking belong to him. Your feelings about those choices belong entirely to you. The exhaustion you're feeling? That's real information. It's telling you something important: that you're giving from a well that's running dry. Empathy that comes from depletion isn't sustainable, and it often becomes resentment. The kindest thing you can do—for both of you—might be to step back from trying to manage his recovery at all. If it feels right, today you might try naming to yourself, just once and without judgment: "I love him, and I cannot fix this. This is his to face." Not as a rejection, but as a boundary that actually protects both of you. Sometimes the most honest thing we can offer someone is the clarity that comes from stepping back—it can be more loving than staying tangled in the attempt to save them. How does that land for you?