I have a snapshot of my little one wearing a bright yellow shirt featuring a sparkly blue seahorse. It was our first family trip to Maui, and my child is beaming at me, clutching a straw cup filled with milk. His curls are damp from the heat, and his cheeks flush with color; moments before, he was teetering on the brink of a significant tantrum.
Traveling with a toddler under the age of two—especially while snagging a free plane ticket—is an exhausting adventure, even when everything goes smoothly.
As I tried to calm the impending meltdown, the cheerful waitress approached us. While rummaging through my bag for my child’s orange garbage truck, I barely lifted my gaze. “Could I get some milk in a cup with a straw for him?” I asked, gesturing towards my son.
He began to wail about the garbage truck—overtired and overstimulated. The waitress chuckled, “And you probably need a drink!”
Without hesitation, and slightly more composed than my child, I looked her in the eye and declared, “I don’t drink.”
I didn’t mention that I had contemplated quitting. I didn’t share that I was taking a break. I simply stated, “I don’t drink.” It was the first time I had uttered those words to someone outside of my family.
In that moment, I felt a wave of shame and resentment. I felt ashamed for being rude, for harboring anger about my sobriety, and for struggling to keep it together. I resented the waitress for forcing me to confront my truth.
Looking at my child in his seahorse shirt, clutching his orange garbage truck, I felt a shift. When the milk arrived alongside some fish tacos, he completely forgot about his earlier distress, leaving it behind like an old toy.
Watching him enjoy his meal, I realized I was not just abstaining from alcohol; I was breaking a cycle that had burdened my family for generations.
I hadn’t had a drink in 22 days, and I felt conflicted. For years, I had cleverly masked my drinking habits. A glass of wine with dinner or cocktails at social gatherings—on the outside, everything seemed fine. But inside, I was withering away slowly—a spiritual decline that made it challenging to face my reflection or connect with my son.
When I decided to quit drinking, there was no clear label for someone like me—someone who didn’t fit the typical mold of a problem drinker. I was simply a woman weary of self-sabotage, and that lack of recognition made others uncomfortable.
Wine mom culture had tricked me into thinking that parenting was something to endure until it was socially acceptable to drink heavily. However, I sought a different path that led to uncomfortable but essential questions.
What if I could genuinely enjoy my child without dulling my senses? What if I could embrace all of his emotions—even the challenging ones—without numbing my own? What if I viewed my life as something to be cherished rather than a problem to drown?
In that fragile moment of newfound sobriety, I began to feel more certain about my choice. As I gazed out at a sea of drinks adorned with tiny umbrellas, the unfairness of this inheritance weighed heavily on me. But as I pulled my child and his garbage truck into my lap, I knew I was performing a kind of magic—undoing generations of numbness and redefining what it meant to parent.
I was choosing to stop harming myself and to fully experience life’s rich tapestry.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares her journey of sobriety as a transformative gift to her child. Through a poignant moment in Maui, she confronts her decision to stop drinking, revealing the emotional struggles and realizations that come with redefining her parenting experience. The narrative highlights the importance of breaking generational curses and embracing sober living as a means to truly enjoy motherhood.
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