I can recall a singular occasion where I poured myself a drink while cooking—an Italian-inspired meal, no less. Typically, I am what you’d call a social drinker. The reality is, I thrive in social settings, often going out at least twice a week. When I’m not out, I frequently host gatherings or attend playdates that evolve into dinner parties. As the clock strikes 5 PM, the Sancerre emerges, with moms enjoying a glass while the kids transform the living room into an elaborate fort, using blankets and pillows from every corner of the house. It’s an unspoken agreement that this is acceptable, and everyone is content. I sometimes ponder whether the kids notice our drinking and if they understand the shift in atmosphere that accompanies it.
I love to indulge in celebratory drinks: birthdays (both mine and yours), engagements, weddings, or simply welcoming a friend from far away. My mantra is “Let the wine flow” when I’m surrounded by my favorite people.
While I enjoy drinking, I despise the feeling of being drunk. My optimal state is somewhere between relaxed and pleasantly tipsy. The thought of slurring my words or struggling to articulate my thoughts terrifies me. I relish the taste and the ritual of sipping from a stem glass—no other vessel will do. I’ve even refrained from drinking wine in restaurants that serve it in those flimsy lowball glasses that they think are trendy.
I am particularly fond of wine pairings at restaurants. I love engaging with the sommelier, hoping to catch a glimpse of their humor as they navigate the world of wine tasting. Wine is steeped in history, and it carries meaning—much like the people who share it with you. There’s perhaps no greater compliment than a friend uncorking a remarkable bottle of wine simply to share a moment with you.
However, during a particularly social week last August, I confided in a friend that I couldn’t recall a day in the last week where I hadn’t had at least one glass of wine. My friend jokingly remarked, “Maybe you’re a summer alcoholic?” The comment made me chuckle but also sparked some reflection.
Summer offers countless occasions to celebrate: beautiful weather, parties, beach days, and holidays like the 4th of July and Labor Day. Day drinking becomes a norm, whether by the pool or in the backyard with a grill fired up. By 5 PM, I often feel exhausted or wish I could escape the reality of my responsibilities.
By the time Labor Day rolls around, I often feel overindulged and ready for a detox. I don’t participate in “sober September” like some friends do, as I dislike absolutes. However, I consciously aim to limit myself to 1-2 drinks when socializing later in the year. Yet, I eagerly anticipate those outings, not just for the company but for the enticing drink menu. I can’t help but wonder if this anticipation hints at a deeper issue.
Until recently, I hadn’t given much thought to my drinking habits. I’ve noticed a growing trend among many mothers who are becoming more mindful of their alcohol consumption, not necessarily due to addiction but from a desire to feel healthier, more present, and less dependent on alcohol.
My friend Sophie writes eloquently about her decision to break free from her cycle with alcohol on her blog, Modern Motherhood. Similarly, Claire Johnson has been vocal about society’s limited views on alcoholism, urging us to reconsider the binary labels of either being an alcoholic or dismissing the issue entirely.
For a while, I questioned whether second-guessing our drinking was just another way for women to experience guilt—our specialty. As societal norms shift, we find new areas to feel guilty about, like enjoying something we once loved. I couldn’t grasp why women, who didn’t fit the traditional definition of addiction, would choose to abstain from a pleasure that brings joy (unless, of course, that pleasure leads to pain for oneself or loved ones).
Recently, however, I’ve started to understand why some women opt for abstinence—not out of necessity, but as a conscious choice. My body seems to react negatively if I don’t balance wine, food, sleep, and time correctly. I find myself waking up at night, overheated, and in the mornings, I feel irritable and groggy. The consequence of drinking often leads to overeating, resulting in unwanted weight gain—not ideal for a woman in her 40s with children.
Two months later, I often still lose track of my wine intake at dinner, facing the same consequences. They say the ability to learn from mistakes distinguishes us from animals, yet here I am.
On those restless mornings, I’ll see my husband, who is five years older, already up and out for a morning run despite having drunk more than I did the night before. I want to feel proud of his ability to function, but instead, I feel resentment while my five-year-old insists I get out of bed to prepare breakfast he won’t even like. I question why my husband, who drinks regularly, has never felt the need to reassess his habits.
So here I am, attempting to practice mindfulness regarding my drinking—something I resent having to contemplate. I miss the days when drinking was about letting go and not overthinking. I’m left without a clear solution, hoping I don’t need one, and wishing this isn’t a problem that requires fixing.
While too much of a good thing can be detrimental, I’m not one to easily remove good things from my life. I adore ice cream, and though I tend to overindulge and suffer the consequences, I haven’t eliminated it from my life. After a particularly challenging day with my kids, I might jokingly say, “I need a drink,” but in truth, I often lean more toward ice cream in moments of emotional turmoil.
I don’t worry about being dull at a party without alcohol. In fact, I’m more concerned about being boring while discussing sobriety rather than actually being sober. It’s become evident that we, including myself, need to stop viewing our choices around drinking in absolutes, regardless of what path we ultimately choose.
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Summary
In reflecting on my drinking habits, I explore the social context in which I consume alcohol and the impact it has on my well-being. As I navigate the balance between enjoyment and overindulgence, I recognize the growing trend among women to reassess their relationship with alcohol. This introspection reveals a desire for mindfulness in our choices, challenging the societal norms surrounding drinking while acknowledging the complexities of our experiences.