The Text From My Teen I Didn’t Want To Get

I was three hours away from home when I received a message from my 16-year-old daughter. “I think I’m going to that party tonight,” she texted. “And if I do, I think I’m going to drink.”

I fought the urge to panic. I was with a group of friends at a rustic retreat in the mountains, just wrapping up dinner before heading back to our cabins. At home, my husband was out for the evening, so I couldn’t ask him to keep Claire locked in her room. A week earlier, we had discussed the party and the likelihood of alcohol being present, but I had conveniently pushed it out of my mind until that moment.

It’s no secret that experimenting with substances is part of growing up, and most teens navigate these waters without major issues. However, since learning I was pregnant with Claire, my only child, I had pledged to do everything possible to keep her away from alcohol. Ideally, I hoped she wouldn’t touch it at all—if that felt unrealistic, I settled on the goal of her being 21 before trying it. By then, her brain would be more developed, and she’d hopefully have better self-control.

You might see me as an overprotective mom, and I own that label. My concern stems from my husband and me being recovering alcoholics. While we’ve maintained sobriety for years, alcoholism is prevalent in both our families. The fear that my child might inherit this tendency led me to postpone motherhood until later in life. The joy of giving birth to Claire was overshadowed by anxiety that she might share our genetic predisposition to alcohol abuse.

I had my first drink at 13—more accurately, I got completely wasted for the first time. From the start, I was captivated by how alcohol eased my crippling anxiety. By the time I was Claire’s age, drinking to the point of blackout had become routine for me. I often woke up in strange places, confused and ashamed. After high school, while my peers went on to college and careers, I accumulated DUIs and a string of failed relationships.

For a long time, I thought that scaring Claire away from drinking was the right approach. My fear tactics seemed effective when she was younger, as she would nod along during my rants about the dangers of alcohol. But then high school arrived, and when her friends started experimenting with drinking, Claire repeated my “alcohol is evil” message, only to be ostracized for it. Eventually, she found new friends through the drama club. I felt proud when she turned down drinks at parties, but that pride quickly turned to concern when she told me she felt like an outcast.

One evening, as she prepared to go out, I launched into my usual speech about the perils of drinking. Claire snapped. “I’ve only said I don’t want to drink because you’ve brainwashed me!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to get drunk or have a drink every time I go out, but I might want to drink sometimes to fit in.” She reminded me of her trustworthiness—she could have been drinking behind my back like some of her friends, but she wasn’t.

We’ve always had an open line of communication, talking about everything from drinking and smoking to boys and future aspirations. I realized how fortunate I was to have such a relationship with her, especially at an age when kids often distance themselves from their parents.

Regardless of my wishes, teenage drinking is a reality. I didn’t want to alienate Claire further with my inflexible views. I needed to allow her the space to make her own choices, even if it terrified me.

Back at the retreat, I responded to her text: “I’d prefer if you didn’t drink, but I’m glad you told me. Call me.”

Despite the poor reception, we devised a plan. I insisted she be home by 11:30 and only accept rides from her friend’s dad, not party-goers. I reminded her to pace herself and avoid shots or drinks from strangers. I also promised to check in with her throughout the night, expecting prompt replies.

Eventually, Claire reached out first. “I think I’m tipsy,” she texted.
I took a deep breath, trying not to overthink it. “How does it feel?” I replied.
“Kind of good, I guess. Not that exciting, really.”
I felt a wave of relief.

A year has passed since that night. Claire doesn’t attend many parties, but when she does, she decides in advance whether to drink. I know this because we talk openly about it. She’s realized she’s sensitive to alcohol; just a few sips make her feel lightheaded, which is more than enough for her. She chooses to abstain from alcohol almost as often as she chooses to partake, and so far, she’s never been drunk or broken curfew.

We both understand that this could change in the future. College and new experiences loom ahead, and that thought terrifies me. However, if Claire ever finds herself struggling with alcohol, she knows she can reach out to me for support.

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Summary:

In this reflective essay, a mother navigates the challenges of her 16-year-old daughter’s potential experimentation with alcohol. Despite her own struggles with addiction, she realizes the importance of open communication and allowing her daughter the freedom to make choices. As they discuss drinking openly, the mother learns to balance her protective instincts with trust in her daughter’s judgment.

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