When I finally recognized that my relationship with alcohol was problematic, I was forced to confront some tough choices about my future. For a couple of years, I chose to keep drinking, finding it easier to ignore the issue while buried in bottles. It wasn’t until I faced the reality of being an alcoholic that I had to decide: Do I continue drinking and pretend I have control, or do I make a change?
I chose to stop drinking, but not for myself. My motivation was my children. At my lowest points, I disliked myself so much that I avoided anything that put me in the spotlight. If it were just me, I might have drank myself into oblivion, but I had enough clarity to realize I didn’t want my kids to witness that struggle.
I quit drinking in hopes of becoming a sober parent. However, the reality is that sobriety hasn’t automatically made me a better parent—not yet, anyway. I was a high-functioning alcoholic, able to maintain a façade of perfect parenting while under the influence. Guilt and shame drove my need for perfection, and while my writing career, health, and emotional growth suffered, I appeared to be an engaged parent. Alcohol became my companion during long hours on the floor with my little ones. “Time for storytime? Let me grab a drink first.”
I fell into the trap of thinking, “If I’m playing with my kids, I get to drink,” which is a core issue in the mommy wine culture. Alcohol created a false sense of engagement, allowing me to mask my struggles while keeping up the appearance of a doting parent. Having a concealed drink during playdates or park outings became my norm, giving me an excuse to socialize while maintaining my buzz.
The truth was, even though I was physically with my kids, I was mentally miles away. Alcohol served as a barrier between me and my emotions, shielding me from the impact of my children’s presence and my own feelings about parenthood. When I decided to embrace sobriety, I was faced with the reality of my past. I had to confront the PTSD stemming from childhood trauma that was triggered by my young children. The mundane tasks of parenting—like changing diapers or bathing them—brought back memories I wasn’t prepared to face.
In my quest to feel comfortable in my own skin, I was avoiding truths about my identity. Accepting that I am transgender meant acknowledging feelings I had long suppressed. When I stopped drinking for my kids, I was compelled to start living authentically, which occasionally felt selfish.
While I strive to be a sober parent, this journey has come with its own challenges. I often miss bedtimes to attend AA meetings, and I tell my kids I can’t play until I’ve completed a workout. My patience has waned, and I find myself snapping more often. I know I may seem less nurturing than before, but I reassure my children of my love, even as I navigate these difficult transitions.
The love I have for them is now rooted in a clearer, more mindful space, even if it feels jagged at times. I am no longer numbing myself; I am confronting my feelings head-on and healing from past traumas while parenting three small children. It’s a raw experience, but I’m committed to becoming the parent I know I can be.
I remind myself that I am still a good parent. I recognize the advantages of sober parenting, but I also understand that the true benefits will take time to manifest as I continue to practice recovery. I’m discovering newfound strength and learning to be uncomfortable without relying on substances. I want my children to remember a sober parent who loved them enough to learn self-love.
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In summary, my path to sobriety has been a journey of self-discovery and healing, and while it hasn’t yet made me a better parent, I am committed to growing and learning alongside my children.
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