I can recall a rare instance where I poured myself a drink solo (it was a cooking night, and Italian cuisine was on the menu). Primarily, I consider myself a social drinker. The irony? I’m incredibly social, often going out at least two nights a week. When I’m not out, I’m usually hosting or attending dinner playdates at home. As soon as the clock strikes 5 PM, the wine starts flowing. Moms begin sipping, and our kids transform the living room into a massive blanket fort. Everyone’s enjoying themselves. I sometimes ponder if the kids notice our drinking. If they do, do they grasp why? Do they realize how the atmosphere shifts, allowing for more relaxed rules?
I genuinely appreciate drinking to celebrate: whether it’s my birthday, yours, or a friend’s five-year-old’s special day, an engagement, a wedding, or welcoming a friend from afar. Whenever I’m surrounded by my favorite people, my motto is, “Let the wine flow!”
That said, while I enjoy drinking, I absolutely despise the feeling of being drunk. My ideal state is relaxed and tipsy. The thought of slurring my words or being unable to express myself is terrifying. The idea of being a “drunken fool” horrifies me. Yet, I adore the taste and the ritual of savoring wine from a proper stem glass. I adamantly refuse to drink wine from anything else; I’ve even abstained at restaurants that serve it in those flimsy lowball glasses that they think are trendy.
I’m a sucker for restaurant wine pairings. I love engaging with the sommelier, hoping to uncover a hint of humor behind their profession of sniffing, sipping, and spitting wine. Wine carries a rich history and speaks volumes about those who offer it. There’s little more flattering than a friend sharing an exceptional, expensive bottle of red simply because they’re happy to share the experience with you.
However, during a particularly social week this past August, I confessed to a friend that I couldn’t recall a single day in the previous week without at least one glass of wine. She joked, “Maybe you’re a summer alcoholic?” It made me chuckle—and ponder.
Summer is filled with reasons to celebrate: the beautiful weather, numerous parties, the beach, lazy mornings, and holidays like the 4th of July, Labor Day, and Memorial Day. Day drinking becomes acceptable, almost expected, while soaking up the sun by the pool or grilling in the backyard. By 5 PM, I often find myself wishing for a nap instead of a drink.
As Labor Day approaches, I often feel overindulged and long for a detox. I don’t follow the “sober September” trend that some friends commit to, as I dislike absolutes (such as never eating carbs again). Still, I make a conscious effort in the fall to limit myself to one or two cocktails or glasses of wine when I’m out with adults. I look forward to these outings, not just for the company but also for the drink menu ahead. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if that’s an issue.
I’ve never had to critically assess my drinking habits before. Recently, I’ve noticed many women, particularly moms, becoming more aware of their alcohol consumption or choosing to abstain altogether. It’s not necessarily due to addiction, but rather a desire for better health, mindfulness, or resentment toward their reliance on alcohol.
My friend Sara has eloquently shared her own journey to break free from alcohol on her blog, and I’ve been inspired by Laura Wilson, who challenges society’s simplistic views on alcoholism. She urges us to reconsider how we label our relationships with alcohol, neither fully claiming to be alcoholic nor dismissing our concerns as trivial.
I used to think that second-guessing our drinking was just another source of guilt for women, something we excel at. Now that it’s somewhat acceptable to embrace body positivity and moderation, it seems we’ve shifted our guilt to another pleasure we once enjoyed. Until recently, I couldn’t fathom why women without genuine addiction would choose to abstain from a joy that comes with parenting—except when that joy turns painful, for themselves or others.
But I’m beginning to understand the choices some women are making—decisions that come from a place of empowerment, not compulsion. Lately, my body has been rebelling whenever I don’t balance wine, food, rest, and activity perfectly. Nights often leave me hot and restless. The next morning, I wake up grumpy, with a headache, and feeling generally dissatisfied (partly because more drinking often leads to more eating, and therefore more unnecessary calories). When I’m groggy, the last thing I want to do is hit the gym, regardless of how much I’ve already paid for that class.
I find that drinking drains my energy and contributes to weight gain—not exactly ideal for a woman in her 40s with kids. I’ve concluded that the cost is simply too high. But two months later, I often find myself losing track of my wine intake again and facing the same old consequences. Isn’t it said that the ability to learn from mistakes is what sets us apart from animals?
On those restless mornings, I notice my husband, who is five years older than I am, is already up and out for an early run, despite having had more to drink than I did the night before. I want to celebrate his energy, but I can’t help feeling resentment as my five-year-old tugs at me for breakfast—one he won’t approve of for at least an hour. I wonder why my husband, who drinks several nights a week, has never felt the need to slow down or reflect on his spirited lifestyle.
As I contemplate this, I’m trying to be “mindful” about something I really resent thinking about. I feel this resentment because drinking used to be about freedom—about letting go. I’m left without a clear solution, hoping I don’t need one, wishing it’s not a problem that demands a resolution.
Too much of a good thing can be detrimental, yet I’m reluctant to completely eliminate enjoyable things from my life. I love ice cream; just because I sometimes overindulge and suffer stomach issues doesn’t mean I banish it entirely. In fact, during particularly challenging moments with my kids, I often joke that “I need a drink,” but I’m much more likely to reach for ice cream as my emotional comfort.
Fortunately, I’m not worried about being dull at a party without alcohol. In fact, I’m more concerned about being boring while discussing my choice not to drink than I am about actually not drinking. It’s crucial that we stop viewing our drinking habits in absolutes, no matter what course we choose for ourselves.
For those contemplating their own drinking habits, there are resources available, like this informative piece on infertility and pregnancy from Women’s Health. If you’re considering options for family planning, check out our post on at-home insemination kits. To further explore insights on mindful drinking, visit Modern Family Blog for authoritative perspectives.
Summary:
This article explores the author’s reflections on her drinking habits, emphasizing the balance between enjoying social drinking and the consequences it brings. Through personal anecdotes and observations of societal trends, the piece highlights the importance of mindfulness in our relationship with alcohol while recognizing the cultural nuances that shape our choices.