I had big ideas about what I would and wouldn’t do once I became a mother. I planned to religiously update the baby book, limit screen time, and raise a human who genuinely cares about other people.
On the “don’t” list, I vowed not to let my new role as a mother consume my identity. I had heard about empty-nesters who found themselves at a loss, unsure of who they were when their children no longer needed them in the same way—adrift when not solely defined by their role as mothers. I knew I didn’t want that to be me.
But in all my dreams for how my life would develop as a mom, alcohol never entered the mix.
From the start, I was a binge drinker with no off-switch. Drinking alcohol was simply a regular part of my routine. Going out with friends for a good time was my hobby. But as soon as I discovered I was pregnant, I stopped drinking without a second thought. Throughout my pregnancy, alcohol rarely crossed my mind.
Reflecting now, I realize that pregnancy was the first real reason I had to stop drinking. It was like my get-out-of-jail-free card, only my version of jail was the idea that I needed alcohol to have a good time and be myself. In reality, I had absolutely no clue who that person was. I didn’t realize it then, but I had been living my life exactly like those empty-nesters, only what dominated my identity for most of my adult life was alcohol.
Becoming a mother changed me, and the adjustment was tough. Yet, this new role also brought a newfound confidence. I brought a human into this world, and now it was my chance to prove I could care for someone other than myself. From the start, I was checking all the “new mom” boxes. I tracked his feedings, made sure he got tummy time, and successfully soothed him when he was upset. Being a mother felt easy back then, and I thought I could excel in this new role while still holding onto the party-girl side of myself who was always down for a good time.
They say postpartum can be lonely, but I don’t think it’s because we feel like we’re doing it alone or we’re isolated from everyone else. Only mothers genuinely understand the complex emotions and physical experiences that come with giving birth and everything that follows.
A few weeks after my son was born, I went out for drinks with a friend. Surprisingly, I could stop after “just a few,” something I’d never been able to do before. But when I arrived home, I felt a familiar pull deep in my body—I wanted more.
That feeling persisted. The first few times I drank after having my baby, I felt uneasy. My body felt different, almost unfamiliar. I wasn’t sure what would happen now that alcohol was back in my life.
Then, just two short months into motherhood, my world was turned upside down when my father passed away unexpectedly. Because I didn’t know what else to do, alcohol became a way of coping, and it felt like it was helping me get through it all.
My priorities started to shift—I went out less and began drinking more at home. Typically, I reserved most of my drinking for weekends, which often meant overdoing it on Fridays, followed by two- or three-day emotional hangovers that kept me away from alcohol until the next week’s end. My drinking routine had become more of an unconscious habit, still, it felt like something I had earned for being a busy working parent.
I wasn’t exactly hiding my drinking back then—it was almost impossible not to notice. Still, there were a few late nights of drinking alone when I’d toss my empty containers into the outdoor garbage bin so my husband, who doesn’t drink, wouldn’t see just how much I had consumed. He rarely voiced his concerns about my drinking habits as a new mom, though he occasionally set small rules that I only sometimes followed.
Over the next year and half, this pattern got progressively worse. My mental health also began to suffer, which was a new experience for me. I remember the end of another Sunday Funday of drinking. I was at home, intoxicated, and I could feel the disappointment lingering in my husband’s eyes. As a wave of self-loathing surged through me, I questioned myself, “What are you doing?” I didn’t want to continue the destructive cycle wreaking havoc on my life, but I didn’t know there was another way.
During my son’s first year of life, I felt like I was stuck with this new version of myself. I wanted to keep my fun, carefree personality and be a good mother at the same time. Looking back now, I don’t think I knew how to make both things true. I also didn’t want to change simply because I had a child, and accepting that reality seemed easier than changing. And like many, I believed my drinking wasn’t “bad enough” to warrant quitting altogether—until it was.
I often wonder if I would have quit if it hadn’t been for my son. I think about what author Glennon Doyle says about finding out she was pregnant with her son Chase while she was struggling with addiction: “He is the boy who brought me into the world.” Deep down, I knew I couldn't be the best mom for my son if I kept drinking.
The last night I drank wasn’t particularly unusual, except for the fact that it marked the end of my chaotic 16-year relationship with alcohol. I was drinking at home, alone, while my precious 18-month-old slept soundly in the room nearby. My husband was at a basketball game with friends.
I recall drunkenly stumbling over the baby gate. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the house as my red wine splattered across the hardwood floor. When my husband arrived, I shrugged it off as insignificant. Because to me, it was just another Friday night.
The following day, as I examined the tiny cuts on my palms from cleaning up my mess the night before, my husband’s words pierced through me like a freshly sharpened knife. “You can’t drink alone with him,” his tone carried a weight I couldn’t ignore. There was something different about his words this time. This time, my son was involved, and that utterly devastated me.
The following Monday, with another lingering emotional hangover, I found an article about a mom who doesn’t drink. As I read it, tears welled in my eyes. She was telling my story. Without hesitation, I reached out to that author, a stranger, and asked for help. That was the day I decided to quit drinking for good.
I’m not perfect. I still lose my cool and say things I regret. But without alcohol, I recognize my flaws more clearly, and I continue to work on myself.
I’m grateful for all the blurry memories and have only a few regrets about my years of drinking. Embracing my alcohol-free life has been transformative, my relationships are healthier and stronger, and I’m more motivated and creative in my work.
Being a mom who doesn’t drink is just one part of who I am—not my entire identity. Today, I’m present and can recognize the minor yet meaningful moments happening around me. I now realize that alcohol had trapped me for so long. By acknowledging and accepting the reality of my relationship with drinking, I was finally set free.
If you're struggling with your relationship with alcohol or anything else, you're not alone. Reach out to someone you trust or a stranger on the internet, like me.
