I never thought my love for a drink could turn into something that threatened my very life, but here I am, living with alcoholic cardiomyopathy. I suppose it crept up on me slowly, like the way winter snow piles up, inch by inch, until you’re suddenly snowed in. It wasn’t until my heart started protesting that I realized the full weight of my choices. The first signs were subtle, almost easy to ignore. I’d get winded climbing the stairs, or feel my heart pounding a little too hard after what should’ve been a light jog. I chalked it up to getting older, maybe not exercising as much as I should. But then the symptoms started stacking up—shortness of breath that wouldn’t go away, that relentless fatigue, and swelling in my legs that I couldn’t quite explain. It felt like someone had strapped a heavy weight to my chest, and no matter how much I rested, it wouldn’t lift. I didn’t want to admit it, but deep down, I knew my years of heavy drinking were catching up with me. I turned to Reddit and other forums, desperate to find out if anyone else had gone through what I was feeling. That’s where I stumbled upon the term alcoholic cardiomyopathy. The more I read, the more I saw myself in those stories—people describing the exact same symptoms, the same slow realization that what they thought was just a bit of fun had turned into something far more sinister. It wasn’t long before I found myself in a doctor’s office, trying to explain everything I’d been experiencing. The diagnosis didn’t come as a shock—I think I already knew. But hearing the words out loud still felt like a punch to the gut. Alcoholic cardiomyopathy. I had to ask, “How is alcoholic cardiomyopathy diagnosed?” My doctor talked me through the whole process—the ECG, the echocardiogram, the blood tests that showed just how much damage had been done. The numbers didn’t lie. My heart was struggling, and it was because of the years I’d spent pouring drinks into it. I remember asking, almost as if to confirm what I already knew, “Does alcohol cause cardiomyopathy?” My doctor didn’t sugarcoat it. Yes, it does. And in my case, it had. The condition is especially dangerous because it can progress silently, without obvious symptoms, until it’s almost too late. By the time I felt the full effects, my heart was already significantly weakened. That’s the thing about alcoholic cardiomyopathy—it’s a sneaky, relentless disease. It doesn’t just hit you all at once. It takes its time, embedding itself in your life until it’s too deep to just walk away from. The hardest part wasn’t hearing the diagnosis. It was knowing that I’d done this to myself, that every drink I’d had over the years had been building toward this moment. But here’s the thing—I’m not letting this disease define the rest of my life. I’ve made changes, big ones. I quit drinking, for starters. It wasn’t easy, and some days, it still isn’t. But every day I stay sober is a day I’m giving my heart a chance to heal. I’m working closely with my doctors, going to my appointments, getting the lab work done, keeping track of how my heart’s doing. I’m sharing my story because I know there are others out there, maybe even you, who are on the same path I was. Maybe you’re feeling those early symptoms and trying to ignore them, hoping they’ll go away. Maybe you’re just now realizing that your drinking isn’t just a habit, but something much more dangerous. If that’s you, I hope my story gives you the nudge you need to take action. Alcoholic cardiomyopathy is serious, and it’s not something you can wish away. But you can take steps to manage it, to give yourself the best chance at a longer, healthier life. And for those who’ve just started noticing those first symptoms, who are wondering, “What does alcoholic cardiomyopathy feel like?” or “How common is this?”—it’s more common than you might think. And it’s every bit as serious as it sounds. Don’t wait until it’s too late to do something about it. Listen to your body, get the help you need, and don’t be afraid to make the changes that might just save your life.