Why I am not Laughing about “Mommy Juice” Anymore

The first time I tasted alcohol was when I was 13, at a friend’s house. It was, as you might imagine, a complete gong show. We each drank one Vodka and OJ, dyed our hair purple and threw up. One of us, while walking home, was stopped by the police and chauffeured to her parents (but I am not telling you who that was). Thus began my love/hate affair with alcohol.

While I wish I could say that after that night I learned the hard lessons of life and vowed to never hear, “I’m so disappointed in you” from my mom again, I cannot. Instead, I can say that I spent my high school years dipping in and out of clubs with a fake ID and partying with my friends. This carried on through my university years as well.

Once I was in grad school, a new drinking culture appeared to me: the sophistication of drinking wine, alone. I’ll never forget showing up at a friend’s apartment in Sydney, where I was living at the time. There she sat, with her sculpted eyebrows and Mac book, elegantly perusing her business textbook with a glass of red wine on the table beside her. I was mesmerized. A glass of wine- alone? This had to be the most grown-up thing I’d ever seen a non-grown up do.

I (mercifully) couldn’t get behind the wine-alone thing. I guess I was probably too immature or not sophisticated enough, but probably both. I kept my drinking to parties, festivals, and special occasions. Once I woke up with a hangover on a Tuesday and gave myself a booze timeout, which lasted for over a year. Alcohol from that point lost its allure- the feeling of waking up each morning with a clear head was too good to deny.

And then, I had a baby. Now, I don’t know about you, but I had never before experienced anything like the sheer terror of looking at a small human that I made in my body and knowing that I would be 100% responsible for taking care of said human and keeping it alive (and hopefully happy). I was woefully unprepared for the part of motherhood when your spouse goes back to work and everyone stops dropping by casseroles and your baby wakes up and realizes life is weird and chaotic and cries about it. Each day, my one and only shining point was that glass of wine I would have when I got my baby down to sleep for between 45 and 95 minutes. The other thing I noticed? ALL of my “mommy friends” were doing it too. All of us. We were stranded in our homes, trying to meal plan through anxiety and isolation, and all just wanting a goddamn glass of chardonnay at night.

I am not going to go into the stats and figures, because word count and Google, but I will tell you this: the rate of alcohol addiction and dependence in women is increasing, and the negative health outcomes for women who over consume alcohol are grim. What is going on that for many of us, relaxation and stress relief is best located in crushed up and fermented grapes? Quite some time ago, I decided that my body deserved to spend most of its time not soaked in an oaky cabernet. The result? I was forced to manage my stress in other ways by doing boring but wonderful things like sleeping enough and eating vegetables. I also began to force myself to get out and have tea dates and dinners with loved ones.

I still enjoy a glass or two of wine, but only with other people and not very often. This is my life, and I want to see it with sober eyes, not a numbed-out version of it. If things aren’t working, a clear head forces me to change it, not run away from it. So, what about you? Where do you fall on the spectrum? Where do you need more help, more connection? Where can you replace your booze with acts of self-love? As we roll into March (AKA the month of St. Patrick, our old pal from Ireland), it’s worth asking.

May you be happy, Jordan