There was no intervention. No one ever sat me down and said, “Audrey, we think you have a drinking problem.” My relationship with alcohol was quiet, subtle, almost invisible—a private companion that mirrored the tired, struggling moms scattered across social media feeds. There was no dramatic rock bottom. No blackout after a binge. No DUI. No Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. My path into sobriety wasn’t sudden or explosive—it was a slow burn, unfolding quietly over time.
In April of 2014, after a two-year separation, my divorce was finalized. That month felt like a high point in my life. I was in love, free from a toxic marriage, and had just completed my first half marathon. I was living in a dream loft in my city, my body stronger and healthier than ever, and my future felt bright. Two months later, I discovered I was pregnant. Looking back, I can’t help but laugh at how calm I felt in that moment. Panic would have seemed natural, but from the very first moment, my daughter brought calm to my chaos.
She was born in February of 2015, and a few short months later, I found myself navigating the unexpected, often overwhelming journey of single motherhood. Alcohol quietly became my companion. It cheered me on during impossible days, collected my tears, celebrated my wins, and comforted me in loneliness. On days when my daughter was with her dad, I would drive up to a bar, leave my isolation behind, and take pride in my ability to hold my drinks, linger late into the night, then go home and sleep it off—never really facing the sadness that had become my constant shadow.
Between 2017 and 2018, life shifted. At the start of 2017, I lost two of my uncles, just a month apart. Alcohol had played a major role in their early deaths, and I felt the silent toll it took on our family, especially my dad. Alcohol had become more of a crutch than a connector. Though we were close as a family, our connections were fractured; we had proximity, but not presence.
In May of 2018, my dad embarked on his own journey to sobriety, and I watched him soften, unfold, and heal. I have always mirrored him in so many ways, so seeing him confront alcohol was like watching my own journey unfold in real time. There wasn’t a single “aha” moment, but one morning, I woke with my three-year-old daughter asleep in my arms and was suddenly gripped by fear. I imagined her someday looking back on my relationship with alcohol, thinking she was the cause, that my struggles were too much for me. I couldn’t bear that thought. That fear, that love, became my turning point. I chose sobriety.
August 3, 2018, was my first day without alcohol—and I wanted it to stay that way. People often ask me how I did it. The answer is simple: community. I surrounded myself with an online network of sober women, witnessing lives full of joy, fulfillment, and presence without the bottle at day’s end. Mommy wine culture had told me I needed Pinot Grigio; what I actually needed was connection, vulnerability, authenticity, and the ability to truly feel.
One year later, the impact of that decision became crystal clear. My daughter, now four, was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Lying beside her in the hospital, I realized that sobriety had given me clarity and presence I could never have had otherwise. While diabetes is autoimmune and unavoidable, my attention and care prevented what could have been a life-threatening crisis. Daily life turned into carb counting, insulin calculations, and monitoring every cue from her small body. The burden alcohol might have added during those moments would have been unmanageable. Sobriety allowed me to be fully present, attentive, and strong for her.
In the three years since that first sober day, life has tested me in ways I could never have imagined. My daughter’s diagnosis came in August 2019. A week later, I lost my job, facing unemployment as a single mother with a chronically ill child. After three months, I found the perfect job, only to have it taken from me by the pandemic. My daughter spent her kindergarten year learning over an iPad. Any of these alone could drive someone to drink—but I didn’t.
Sobriety has given me gifts I could never have imagined:
- A deep, present connection with my daughter, attuned to her emotional and physical needs in a chaotic world.
- A renewed, honest, and vulnerable relationship with my parents, something I had longed for for years.
- A rebirth. I have rediscovered myself through clarity and presence, including a solo road trip in 2019 to Virginia, NYC, and Philadelphia. Staying fully present allowed me to create lifelong memories and reconnect with who I truly am.
- A community of brave, healing sober humans whose stories remind me of the beauty that emerges from brokenness.
- The courage to love authentically. Sobriety replaced my liquid courage, teaching me bravery in relationships and self-love in ways alcohol never could.
Initially, I hesitated to share my sobriety milestones, fearing it felt like bragging. But after three years of navigating profound challenges, I wake every morning choosing life, presence, and authenticity without alcohol as a mask. Sharing my story, no matter how raw or imperfect, offers connection and hope. If it helps one person feel less alone, encourages someone out of darkness, or inspires self-love, it’s the greatest gift I can give.
I marked my commitment with a tattoo: a rising sun and the words “we can do hard things,” inspired by Glennon Doyle, written in my own handwriting. It’s a daily reminder that every sunrise offers a chance for growth, healing, and redemption. Sobriety has taught me that we truly can do hard things—and that life, even at its most chaotic, can be fully lived and deeply loved.
