I recall vividly the moment I discovered my fondness for drinking. It was my 21st birthday, and I was joyfully dancing in the street with my best friend as we made our way to the next bar. At that moment, something within me sparked, and I felt truly alive. Everything around me seemed more vivid, and I relished the sensation.

I moved freely, without a single worry. I was enjoying myself, unrestrained. I felt a sense of freedom that I craved to experience every night thereafter. So, I made it my mission to replicate that feeling repeatedly.

I went out frequently, alongside my older colleagues, who seemed more reserved. They sat back with their drinks instead of dancing to the indie rock bands. "I've got so much energy!" I'd exclaim. "Why aren't you joining in?" They would chuckle and reply, "Because we’re not 21 anymore." They weren’t new to the bar scene; they had simply matured.

I labeled them as boring, while they found my enthusiasm amusing. Fast forward to years later, still frequenting bars, I found myself in a similar position, seated with a pitcher of beer, watching two young women dance energetically. Suddenly, I realized: I had transformed into my previous ‘boring’ colleagues. At 23, I wasn't '21' anymore, and I had joined the ranks of those who merely sat and drank.

The exhilaration had faded, yet I refused to acknowledge it. As time passed, house parties gained popularity—affordable, safer, and easier for getting home. Did I enjoy those moments? Absolutely. Did I experience nights I couldn't recall? Many. Did I grapple with feelings of sadness and shame regarding my drinking? Certainly. But did I admit it to myself? No, I didn’t.

Instead, I internalized a belief that something was inherently wrong with me. What had once been a liberating experience evolved into a confining cycle. I found myself ensnared, desperately searching for that same sense of freedom, convincing myself it was still attainable.

Thus, I pursued it relentlessly, hoping to recapture that joyous feeling every time I drank.

This may sound like the narrative of an alcoholic, but I don’t classify myself as one. I never needed alcohol to manage my life—I maintained my jobs, paid my bills, and owned a car. I’d scale back or stop drinking when I sensed I was losing control, yet perhaps I was still deceiving myself.

Reflecting on my decade of drinking, I often refer to it as the ‘alcohol years.’ Those years were filled with parties, excessive drinking, and a hidden self-loathing stemming from the cyclical nature of my habits. While there were moments of joy, darkness loomed over them.

Then I became a mother. My thirties have largely revolved around parenting. I'm still navigating this journey, striving to do my best.

In contemporary America, a culture has emerged surrounding moms and wine. Countless women rely on their wine as a coping mechanism for the challenges of parenthood. Toys, bottles, and food often get thrown around, leading to tears and chaos, which can heighten anxiety levels.

During the early years of parenting, cortisol levels can soar, leaving parents in a constant state of alertness. The phrase, "Mommy is drinking her wine," has become a cue for children to give their mothers some space.

I found myself drawn into this culture, even opting for home wine delivery. It became normal to enjoy a glass upon arriving home from work, while cooking, and during meals—after all, if the bottle was open, why not finish it? Yet, I was still yearning for that exhilarating freedom I felt at 21. However, my responsibilities as a parent no longer allowed for wild street dancing.

What I truly sought was a sense of relaxation and peace—something that, surprisingly, I now associated with fun. The 21-year-old me would have never believed that calm could be equated to enjoyment. Yet, as a parent, I craved autonomy and tranquility, which became my new version of fun.

Consequently, my wine time morphed into “mommy time,” my supposed moments of peace. I unapologetically kept a glass of wine nearby from 5 to 8 PM while helping my kids settle down for the night.

I consciously made this choice, but did it bring me freedom? No. I didn't want to deceive myself about that, yet I did. I was aware that I was trapped by alcohol, but I was unsure of how to escape.

Have you ever encountered a pitcher plant?

A pitcher plant is a carnivorous species that lures insects with sweet, sticky substances, leading them to their demise. Once trapped, the insect is unable to escape. That’s how drinking felt for me—a repetitive cycle I couldn't break free from.

Despite my disdain for how I felt—frequently hungover and irritable—I struggled with my parenting and overall presence in life. I was at my heaviest, aside from during my first pregnancy, and I began contemplating how to reduce my alcohol intake. "I’ll just drink on Fridays," I thought, which gradually expanded to Saturdays, and soon enough, weekdays felt permissible too.

I attempted to limit my intake rather than the frequency of my drinking. "Just one" more often became "What’s the harm in having another?" and then "Why not finish the open bottle?" These self-imposed restrictions failed miserably.

Why? For various reasons, but primarily because I didn’t know what to do instead. I had been drinking regularly since turning 21, marking roughly 15 years of established habits. Breaking such long-standing patterns is no easy feat.

I was ensnared in the pitcher plant, uncertain how to escape.

The day I fully acknowledged my drinking issue was significant. Late at night, with my wine and favorite shows, I found myself still awake after the kids had gone to bed. I pulled out my phone, once again searching for answers: "Am I an alcoholic? Is rehab right for me? How do I stop drinking?"

I would skim through various articles, but none provided the clarity I sought. Scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon an ad for a 21-day reset challenge. Initially dismissive, I had seen it months before but hesitated due to the cost.

"I can’t afford that!" Yet, I continued to watch the creator’s videos. Jen Kautsch resonated with me; she made me feel understood.

> "To me, it’s not about being perfect…"

For years, I had been caught in what I termed the “detox just to retox” loop, waking up with good intentions only to revert to my drinking habits by evening.

> "After a hard day (work, kids, and marriage), I felt entitled to a few drinks to unwind… but it only added to my anxiety and guilt."

She introduced concepts I vaguely remembered—terms like "tribe," "sober," "mocktail," and "grey area drinking." I was intrigued.

That night, I considered my finances and recognized the money I had been spending on alcohol. I realized I could afford the program after all; I just had to redirect my spending from wine to a more beneficial choice.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I filled out my information and submitted it. I was in.

Emails flooded in, filled with insights and activities that compelled me to confront my reality. One of the first tasks involved listing what I liked and disliked about drinking, which I continued to expand for two months.

I began to understand what alcohol truly is—ethanol, a drug, and how it impacts my body beyond just the liver.

The challenge also encouraged participation in an online group through the Marco Polo app. Engaging with about 15 other women in this supportive environment allowed me to grow.

As an educator, I understood the importance of discussing information to facilitate learning. This group became a judgment-free zone for exploration, and the women I connected with became dear friends, despite never meeting in person.

More crucially, I learned to be honest about my thoughts and feelings. I began to see the broader picture instead of fixating on individual issues.

As I distanced myself from my last drink, a familiar vitality returned—the same exuberance I once felt while dancing in the street at 21. I had chased that feeling and arrived at a point where I felt I was reclaiming my life.

I hadn’t realized just how significant an impact alcohol had on my existence. Constantly preoccupied with my next drink or regretting the last one consumed took up so much mental space, which I only recognized once I took a break.

Upon deciding to quit drinking altogether, those thoughts dissipated, and a new world unfolded before me. This newfound freedom was exhilarating.

If you are questioning your relationship with alcohol, I encourage you to explore available resources. If you suspect you might have a drinking problem, please seek professional help. Remember, you are not alone.

Keep striving for your best life. You are remarkable and have dreams worth pursuing. Alcohol only stands in your way.

So, why not celebrate with a dance party? Check out my Spotify Jams.