What if...?
And all the ways I can continue to torture myself... but refuse
My ten-year-old, with her innocent curiosity, recently asked if I missed drinking alcohol. The question, so simple yet so profound, made me pause. I considered my answer carefully, as I wanted to be honest with her.
This is Parker at the age of four, about a year before I quit drinking, celebrating the 4th of July.
I thought about how I didn’t miss the actual act of drinking itself or the taste, not in the slightest. I didn’t miss the headaches, the daily regret or the regular disappointment that settled deep within my bones every morning. In fact, I despised the person I was when I was drinking, a mother consumed by crushing sadness and relentless self-disappointment.
I now feel a significant detachment from that version of myself - that entire life even. On the whole, I have zero desire to return to any of it. Sobriety has drastically transformed our weekends, and the mood around our home is now pretty mellow when Friday night rolls around.
Our free time no longer involves the frenzied chaos of spontaneous gatherings at 3pm on Sunday afternoons with other families or the rowdy sound of dozens of children running through the backyard with music blasting on the outdoor speakers. I sometimes think about the impromptu get-togethers at people’s houses, the many shared bottles of wine and the late-night conversations that stretched far too late into the night. These are now distant memories, because our world has shrunk immensely.
I like that things are quieter now. There’s a stillness that feels both peaceful and safe inside our home. The highly intense energy, unpredictable recklessness and overly emotional camaraderie of those days are long gone, leaving behind a space that is calmer but undeniably smaller.
When my daughter asked me if I missed drinking, I couldn’t help but squirm a bit. As I reflect back on those days, I’ll admit that I sometimes experience a microscopic feeling of nostalgia for what once was.
Then, the guilt begins to settle in. That’s because there’s a shadow that still lingers, reminding me about the possible impact my drinking has had on my children's lives. I know my struggles have hurt them at times, and it's a weight I’m forced to carry.
I’ve stumbled along the path of recovery, but I’ve always picked myself back up and moved forward, with my head held high. I’m proud of the progress I continue to make, each and every day. But whether I like it or not, these things have impacted and uniquely shaped my children’s lives.
There are moments when the "what ifs" surface… What if my children’s childhoods had not been touched by the presence of addiction? What if they hadn't witnessed my struggles during these formative years? What if they never experienced such drastic lifestyle shifts and endured the painful changes to our family’s routine?
But even with all that soul-searching and the occasional guilt trip, I usually land on one major truth.
My children are better off now.
And that's not me trying to convince myself that it’s been worth the pain. Instead, it's something I’m reminded of every single day.
A sense of calm and stability fills our home today, a welcome change from the unpredictable atmosphere that once existed. The anxious energy the kids might have picked up on, even without knowing it, has faded away, leaving my children free to just be themselves as they learn to figure out how to just be kids.
I can tell that they are better off, because I’m finally here. I’m present. I’m no longer hiding from them inside a bottle. I’m patiently listening. I’m quietly watching.
I see the effects of this life by how much more confident these kids are as they grow and mature. I recognize it in their ability to handle and express their feelings. I notice it in the way they show respect to us and learn to empathize with one another. I pick up on it when I see how comfortable they are in talking so openly and honestly to me as well as to my husband.
Getting sober didn't just fix me, but it’s made me more capable, more understanding, and ultimately, a more loving mother. It gave my kids a complete mother, not a broken one. And as I see all that undeniable improvement, the quiet guilt starts to fade away, and it’s replaced by a deep gratitude for where I am now.
So, my dear child, to answer your question… No way, I don’t miss alcohol at all. Not one bit.
What a great response to the question. Also funny timing, but my 10 year old asked me just this week, “why did you stop drinking?” My answer was: it wasn’t lifegiving. I hear you on the momentary nostalgia piece, and what a gift we’re giving our kids (and ourselves).
“a space that is calmer but undeniably smaller. “
I really relate to this - particularly the ting of nostalgia that can find us when we reminisce on the “bigger” days. But the big loud moments typically ended with a big fall of regret when alcohol was front and center.
A calm small quiet weekend is so much better 💕💕
With you, Kim.