I haven’t touched an alcoholic drink since Christmas. Before that, it was Halloween. And prior to that, the last summer. The longer I refrain from wine, the more I perceive alcohol as a toxin to my body. I’ve completely given it up.
My wine-loving friends might be shocked. (Let’s not be too harsh here; they’re not all heavy drinkers.) Back in high school, I was the observer while my peers indulged in drinking at parties. For a few hours, everyone seemed to be having a blast until the inevitable meltdowns began—the tears, the fights, and even a few unfortunate accidents in the laundry room of unsuspecting parents who thought they were leaving their home in safe hands for the weekend.
Witnessing these events didn’t entice me to drink. I faced some teasing from my classmates for my sobriety. Why did I even bother attending the party? Did I think I was better than everyone else?
By the end of my senior year, however, peer pressure and curiosity led me to join the party scene. I dove into my twenties, drinking excessively and experiencing my share of regrettable moments—like vomiting and blacking out. I have some wild stories, from flashing bartenders for free drinks to swimming in alligator-infested waters after dark or finding a front-row seat at a strip club on Bourbon Street.
I also faced the darker side of drinking through relationships with alcoholic partners. I tasted the bitterness of codependency and recognized its potential to consume me. With a family history of alcoholism, I consider myself fortunate to have walked away from my reckless phase without severe consequences. Once I was ready to move on, I easily distanced myself from that lifestyle.
As I transitioned into adulthood, I naturally reduced my alcohol consumption to a socially acceptable level. The demands of pregnancy and nursing further limited my intake. For many years, a couple of glasses of wine per week sufficed—often enjoyed during quiet evenings or casual gatherings with neighbors.
About two years ago, I began writing. My writing sessions typically took place at night while my kids slept. I discovered quickly that I couldn’t produce quality work with a foggy head, nor could I stay awake after a long day if I added alcohol into the mix. Therefore, I swapped my evening glass of wine for pouring my words onto the screen. Over time, I lost my taste for wine and the effects it had on me.
I’ve realized that intentionally impairing myself isn’t enjoyable. I often feel clumsy navigating through life sober and prefer to stay sharp and aware. As someone who sometimes speaks without thinking, I find it challenging to avoid verbal slip-ups if I’ve had a few drinks. My goal is to ensure I don’t come across as rude, which is counterproductive when I’m drinking.
I’m sure you’re eager to party with me now. Just the thought of a wine list gives me a phantom hangover. I’m not a pleasant person to be around when I’m hungover—much like during a common cold. I have no desire to waste any more days feeling miserable due to my own choices.
Eliminating alcohol has had a remarkably positive impact on my mood stability. (Now, I only have to manage the joys of PMS.) When it comes to unwinding after a rough day, I’ve found that putting my feet up sans wine is just as soothing and doesn’t come with a headache.
It’s been liberating to embrace my awkwardness in social situations and navigate through it without reaching for a drink to ease my discomfort. (Hey, who left this soapbox here for me to trip over?) Peer pressure still exists at thirty-five, although it manifests differently. At gatherings, having a drink in hand is an expected accessory, and declining one often leads to surprise. When I say, “No, thank you,” friends sometimes think I’m joking. They hesitate to indulge as much when I’m not partaking. It’s tough to express my disinterest without feeling like I’m back in high school, where my sobriety might be misconstrued as judgment toward those who choose to drink.
However, the key difference between the peer pressure I experienced as a teen and what I encounter now is how it affects me. Back then, I craved acceptance. Now, I really don’t care if someone thinks I’m uncool for choosing not to drink. In fact, my current relationships are not impacted by these social dynamics.
The culture of “mommy needs her sippy cup” is prevalent and often amusing (though likely exaggerated for comedic effect). On the other end are those who abstain for religious reasons or due to alcoholism, which is widely respected. But what about individuals like me, who simply prefer a life without alcohol?
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In conclusion, stepping away from alcohol can provide clarity and connection without the haze of intoxication.