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Illustration by Sarah Farquhar

I am approaching the holiday season with much trepidation in my new state of sobriety (again). As the parties approach, I am planning how I will navigate family gatherings, work events and so on. I’ve decided to give myself a self-deprecating and cringe worthy title: The Newly Crowned Alcoholic.

I’ve been thinking about when I decided to “officially” give myself the name.

At age 49, I sought out rehab at a private clinic about 450 kilometres from my home in Northern Ontario. This was after a 10-year period where my drinking went from social evening drinks to afternoon chardonnays with friends by the lake or swimming pool and then day drinking to keep my nerves settled for the family. I had a stressful career as a high school teacher and my husband was a professional workaholic. When my children were around ages 5 and 7, I was keenly aware of the allure of the mommy-drinking culture. In the summertime, when the kids had swimming lessons in my friend’s pool, we’d sit nearby drinking chardonnay or mojitos. Birthday parties for the neighborhood kids also meant more wine for the mommies. I even had some cocktail napkins that read: “Enough with the damn juice boxes, Mommy needs a cocktail.” Everyone thought they were a hoot. So did I. But by the time I was in my early 40s, drinking was a daily occurrence and my first drink started creeping earlier and earlier into the day.

In 2020, we arrived home from our March Break trip to Turks and Caicos the same week that the pandemic shutdowns began. I remember praying, “Please don’t close the LCBO stores!” and was relieved that I had been able to sneak home a bottle of wine wrapped carefully in my luggage.

I knew I had a problem and so did my family, but at that time it was still just a matter of them saying, “Don’t drink so much, Mom,” and asking, “Why is there a wine bottle in your pajama drawer?”

Even after going to rebab in 2022, I still didn’t admit to being an alcoholic. I told friends, “Well, I’m not drinking right now,” or “I’m taking a break from alcohol.”

Since then, I continue to struggle with the mental disorder of alcoholism. This ugly addiction is not a choice, it is an affliction that requires developing new neural pathways in the brain.

This season, I am finally ready to don the title “alcoholic.” I am actually getting used to the sound of the words falling off my tongue without wincing. I am learning to be humble and rebuild my life. I am also observant of all the friends who will be drinking to excess this season. I wonder where the threshold is to mark when alcoholism becomes “official”? I know that some of my friends will eventually share the title with me. Others will continue to embrace the bottle.

Even with announcement last year of new alcohol guidelines and recommendations in Canada (two standard drinks or less a week), booze seems to be easier and easier to obtain and the mommy-drinking culture still pervades.

Despite my shame and humility about my past actions, I’m learning to speak confidently about my addiction and not just say, “I have a bit of a drinking problem” but instead declare: “I am an alcoholic.” Real friends don’t care and drinking friends will find new drinking friends.

This Christmas I’m giving myself the gift of forgiveness and freedom and redefining my title. Sober Mommy has such a beautiful ring to it. And “Alcoholic” is okay with me, too.

Samara Paleczny lives in North Bay, Ont.

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