I didn’t set out to quit drinking forever.
But life felt upside down and emotionally overwhelming after my mom passed. I’d left my career and, after a lifetime in California, moved back to NYC to care for her.
Then came her death. The grief. The messy, complicated relationship I could never fully fix.
The slow, solitary process of packing up her place took months. I often poured wine as I sorted through her things, looking for clues about who she really was—my mom, the person.
I tried to find my footing again.
I was navigating other complicated family dynamics, too.
There were layers.
Being back in NYC seemed to trigger the panic attacks I’d left behind in my youth. I’d always been sensitive to the city’s heightened energy—a mix of comfort and chaos.
And I felt the loss of purpose that comes from not working or caretaking.
Somewhere in all of that, drinking became more frequent.
It was part of the evening routine—and some evenings started a tad earlier.
COVID, the intensity of a global corporate career, and the weight of caretaking had already set a precedent.
Wine softened the edge of what I didn’t want to feel.
It became a way to escape the hollow spaces.
But it wasn’t a dramatic rock bottom.
It was quieter than that.
A slow unraveling—and a decision to pause before I lost myself completely.
A Reset
Last October, I felt unwell—physically and emotionally.
I was out of shape. I’d put on weight.
We were ordering in or eating out a lot.
We often went out for drinks
And somewhere along the way, I had lost myself.
I felt completely disconnected—from my body, my energy, my spark.
And at this age, those shifts hit differently.
The weight gain. The fatigue. The brain fog. The poor sleep.
They sneak in and amplify everything else.
Alcohol doesn’t land the same way anymore.
My body was trying to tell me something.
I needed to change. I didn’t know how, but this wasn’t working.
I apprehensively joined an 8-week body transformation challenge—not to win, but as a focal point.
Something to pour my energy into.
Around week five, I started to come back to myself.
The movement felt familiar—like muscle memory of a former life.
How the hell did I get here?
I got into a groove. And I wasn’t going there with drinking.
I had begun tracking both the days I didn’t drink and the days I showed up for the challenge.
I intentionally bowed out of social events that might throw me off my game.
I needed to stay on point—to get back to myself.
The Birthday Trip
My husband and I left NYC on December 10 to visit his family in Ohio.
His dad had recently had surgery and was in rehab.
We stayed for three nights.
I didn’t drink.
I proactively planned ahead—asked for gym passes, stayed on track.
We cooked, made smoothies, brought some for his dad.
I kept up with my workouts and stayed connected to the rhythm I had started to build.
I was proud.
From Structure to Slipping
Then came the birthday trip.
We flew to Arizona for five nights.
The first two nights were at a more structured wellness retreat with workout classes and healthy snack options.
No alcohol. No issue.
I declined offers at dinner, stayed in the zone.
I felt solid.
Then we moved to the second resort for three nights, which had more of a social, party-vibe.
This is where we planned to spend my actual birthday.
There was a bottle of wine in the room.
Should I? Shouldn’t I?
I did.
I had already planned to drink on my birthday, but I caved two nights before.
And that quiet awareness crept in:
I cheated.
I was still mindful, but the edge was softer now.
I worked out, made mostly healthy choices, and drank champagne by the pool.
No hangovers. No regrets.
The next day we flew back.
I didn’t drink at the airport or on the flight home—a big shift from the work-travel habits I’d built over the years.
But I felt the pull of landing back in wine country.
We picked up a wine shipment at a nearby winery the next day, did a tasting—and it was fun, relaxing.
And then we went somewhere else for a drink. That was the start.
New Year’s Eve, we went to a local music bar, and I had champagne.
Mindful drinking was starting to get blurry.
Early January, I noticed myself reaching for Pepcid—something I hadn’t needed in a while.
That was my cue.
The next day was Day 1…again.
Continue reading: Cutting Back on Alcohol (Again): A Weekend Field Trip →
“I stopped drinking to feel better—and started feeling better.”
—Author Unknown
