ABBA is on the stereo downstairs. When Mamma Mia starts playing, I groan and roll my eyes along to the tune, ‘Here I go again’.
It’s Friday night and with Dad away, Mom has friends over. As usual, the gin and tonics started flowing at 7pm before the party of six switched to rosé. I sit in my room trying to relax, because I have to work the next day.
Fifteen minutes later I hear a bang. I run downstairs and see Mom lying on the floor. It’s not the first time I’ve found her like this: she likes to dance on the coffee table after a few drinks and usually falls off.
But this time she has a big gash on her arm and she’s bleeding all over the carpet. I’m the youngest person in the room at 25, but I’m the only one who’s sober.
Mom’s friends are fluttering around, cackling and being useless. One is looking in the first aid drawer for a plaster, but it’s clearly not enough. I help Mom up, grab a tea towel and make a makeshift bandage around her arm.
My experience indelibly shaped my own relationship with alcohol and has caused me to drink so little that at age 23, I no longer drink at all.
I decide to take her to the ER myself instead of waiting for an ambulance. There I hear the triage nurse classify Mom’s injury as an “alcohol-related accident.” I blush with embarrassment. Mom is too drunk to care. After a five-hour wait, she is patched up and sent home.
The next day, there are no pleas of remorse, no regrets, no repercussions. Mom was not ashamed of what had happened at all. Through her rose-colored glasses, it was written down as a funny story to tell. There was not even a thank you.
But when it comes to Mom’s drinking habits, I’ve been her wingwoman for years. When I wasn’t driving a taxi as a teenager when my parents were too drunk to drive, there were Saturday mornings spent “being quiet for Mom” after a heavy night.
My experiences have had an indelible effect on my relationship with alcohol, reducing my drinking to such an extent that at 23 I no longer drink at all.
I only got really drunk once, when I was 15, after some (old) school friends convinced me to drink vodka with them. I hated it, the loss of control and the aftermath the next day were horrible. I never spoke to them again.
Before you jump to conclusions about my childhood being ruined by a drunken, out-of-control mother, let me say that I do not consider my mother an alcoholic. In fact, I am sure that many people would find her drinking – a few drinks with my father at dinner, regular drinks with friends, a group outing to the pub a few times a week – perfectly normal.
Sure, most of my friends’ mothers are like her. They all drink more than the recommended 14 units of alcohol per week, but they don’t think it’s anything to worry about.
I think it’s because they’re Gen X women, now between the ages of 44 and 60, who embraced wine hour and grew up thinking that Bridget Jones drinking Chardonnay and Carrie and the rest of the Cosmopolitans conforming was legitimate – and, yes, cool.
Research has shown that 21 percent of women between the ages of 45 and 54 drink excessively, with inevitable consequences.
But perhaps even more surprising is the impact it has on their children.
I’m far from the only one my age who has been put off by the idea of drinking after witnessing the sloppy behavior of our Gen X parents. It’s no wonder that another study recently found that 37 percent of under-25s like me avoid alcohol entirely. I’m 23, single, and the eldest of three children. I have a degree in English literature but currently work as a nanny while I figure out what to do with my life. My mother is a marketing manager for a housing association and my father works in sales in the automotive industry.
On the surface I had a fantastic childhood and a fantastic life, but things can – and do – go wrong when Mom has one (or two) too many.
It’s a good thing I have experience working with children, because sometimes it feels like I’m a babysitter for my mother and her friends. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to be the adult who cleans up after alcohol-related incidents in the home.
I had to drive one of her friends home when she was so drunk she couldn’t get her keys in the front door by herself. I put another one in my room – this one was so drunk I put a salad bowl next to her in case she got sick, while I slept on the couch.
Recently I was even put on my mother’s used car insurance because I was supposed to be her unpaid taxi driver.
I was 12 when I first realized the connection between alcohol and my parents’ behavior. I saw it at countless social events and evenings at home, sometimes through their repeating the same stories, sometimes through bursts of childish laughter.
Yes, they can be fun and impulsive when drunk, but they can also be erratic. For starters, they are a lot less tolerant of each other once the second bottle of wine has been opened. The running joke is that mom picks a fight with the wall when she has had too many proseccos.
There has never been any alcohol in the house, it is part of our family composition. In our household it is quite normal that two shelves of the refrigerator are reserved for expensive drinks, including gin, vodka, rosé and beer.
But it wasn’t just for holidays and birthdays. At home, it was always opened when someone came in. I even had to play waitress for my mother and her friends!
Is it any wonder drinking has never appealed to me? Seeing how people change when they drink alcohol is what did it for me, but on a personal level I am very conscious of my mental health and I just don’t feel good when I drink.
I never went to the kind of parties where alcohol is mandatory and as I got older I started to hang out with more sober friends. It’s not like we’re all teetotalers but my best friend can go months without alcohol.
There are so many bars serving up luscious mocktails and craft sodas. We don’t get the highs that other friends do, but we don’t get the tear-jerking reproaches either.
Once, in my late teens, I managed to get by on an entire 8-ounce glass of wine at home. My mother gently coaxed me to join her—her dream at the time was for us to be wine buddies—and as I predicted, I hated it. I can’t stand the idea of feeling out of control.
It may come as a surprise, but my mother wholeheartedly approves of my decision and often jokes to me, “Don’t ever do this!” although I’m sure she would secretly be glad if I did.
Now I make sure to be there on the nights when I know she’s going all out (like celebrating a friend’s birthday or a friend’s divorce), just to be on the safe side.
My social life is pretty quiet anyway. I’m saving up to travel, so if I go out once a week, it’s a big deal – and when I do go out, it’s usually for a yoga class.
I do mention on dating apps that I am sober. That probably limits my choices, but I don’t want to be stuck with a man who drinks and also feel responsible for my partner.
My brothers, 21 and 18, are both sports-mad and although they do drink occasionally, it’s very rare. They’d rather spend their Friday nights at the gym taking the perfect ‘flex’ selfie than going to the pub.
I never told my mother that her behavior caused my feelings about drinking.
If you told her or her friends that they might have a drinking problem, they would be horrified. They see no harm in their Instagram pages being dominated by pictures of them holding huge wine glasses. It gives me goosebumps, I would never pose with a drink, it’s far too contrived and embarrassing.
Sometimes I feel a bit like Saffy from Absolutely Fabulous because I have to be the sensible one. I don’t like being like that, especially because I’m a completely different person around my friends, much more relaxed.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother dearly, but I will never be her partner in wine.
- As told to Samantha Brick.