A Gift for Mom! 🤍

The first time I tried alcohol I was in eighth grade. I snuck out after my parents were asleep and walked around the pond to a neighbor’s house. For the next couple of hours, I proceeded to drink vodka mixed with something I can’t remember and then stumbled back home. 

I loved it so much, I went back the next night to do it again.

I should have known at that moment my relationship with alcohol would be a complicated, reckless, and potentially dangerous one.

RELATED: I Was a Really Good Liar, But I Finally Got Caught

Alcohol is something that has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I come from a long line of professional drinkers who are always up for a good time. Was my childhood like an episode of ABC Afterschool Special? Far from it. But let’s just say, when my family would get together with other family members, or friends, the mission was always fun with a capital F.

Everyone around me drank, and I assumed when you grow up, that’s what you do. You drink. And I guess at some point I decided grown-up meant eighth grade.

From the moment I had my first sip, there was something about it that drew me in.

Maybe it was losing my inhibitions? Or just the feeling that comes with drinking one too many?

I was the wild and crazy girl who used to hop on stage with the band at the bar. The complete life of the party. And in some waysI still am this way.

I was also the girl who was responsible and involved. Who signed up for things and tried to help others. And I’m still this way, too.

When I was in high school, I was the picture-perfect, All-American teenager. I took honors classes, was captain of the cross-country team, a class officer, student council member, in art club, honor society, cheerleader, track runner, and more. I ironically even started a chapter of SADD with some friends. And while I was doing all of these things that looked so good on the outside, I also found myself drinking and dancing with friends every Friday and Saturday night. I didn’t think anything of it. It was just what I did.

After I really started to live for Jesus, I took a long break from alcohol. I would drink on occasion but not often.

RELATED: I Used To Be a Party Girl, Then Christ Grabbed Hold of Me

Then after my children were a little older, I allowed alcohol to come back into my life a little more regularly. We would hang out with neighbors while the kids played, enjoy a meal and some drinks. 

And I began to realize this relationship that started off with a bang and fizzled into nearly nothing is still complicated, and one that needs to be kept in check.

Unlike most people who drink and don’t think much of it, my alcohol antennae always seems to be up. I allow myself to drink but realize because of my genetics and propensity for unbridled fun, I always need to be aware of how much I’m consuming. If I begin to have a drink nightly, then I’m probably not in a good place.

RELATED: I’m Tired of Defending My Choice Not To Drink

We live in a culture where alcohol is celebrated. We see the shirts and the mugs talking about “Mommy’s sippy cup,” “They whine, I wine,” “Rose all day,” and “Blame champagne,” to name a few. It is understood and accepted that moms are stressed and the solution to this has become to unwind, relax, and let your hair down with a glass of wine.

But is this healthy?

In this time when we find ourselves at home, I really believe we will need to keep our propensities for any addictions in check.

Alcohol, food, idleness, social mediaif we aren’t careful, we may find ourselves trying to escape our current situations with these things that provide temporary enjoyment but can ultimately lead down a rabbit hole of self-destruction.

Last week, I allowed myself to drink more than I usually would. It was spring break, and we were supposed to be in Florida but due to circumstances decided to stay home. After the kids were in bed, I poured myself a glass of wine and lay on the couch watching television and attempting to relax.

I realized one night as I was lying there, that I need to be careful that this doesn’t become my new norm.

Friends, this is a unique time. A time when we are at home with our loved ones with nowhere to go and nobody to see. It’s a time when anxieties can be heightened, and we can let things go that we otherwise wouldn’t.

It’s a time when, if we aren’t careful, addictions can rear their ugly heads in the form of comfort, self-medication, and self-help.

I am thankful that God brought this to my attention last week.

I pray for all of you who have addictive personalities. I pray God removes those chains and you find the strength to persevere during this time of social isolation and uncertainty.

RELATED: There is a Hope That Will Not Disappoint

Let’s be sure to check on each other. And encourage one another toward health and wellness.

Do you want to enjoy a glass of wine? Go ahead. But maybe not the entire bottle.

Feel like a cookie? Have at it. But maybe not the entire sleeve.

Want to watch Netflix? Enjoy. But maybe not for hours and hours and days and days on end.

Let’s give ourselves grace during this time.

I realize I may have one more glass of wine than normal, or a few more cookies, or a little more TVbut I need to be aware if it becomes a pattern. Or if it becomes something I feel like I have to do to relax, or cope, or get through the day.

We will get through this, friends. One day at a time. Together.

RELATED: Dear Neighbor, We’re in This Together

Let’s encourage one another. Let’s spur one another on. Let’s pray for each other. Let’s hold each other accountable. Let’s be sure to still connect with those we love through FaceTime, Skype, Voxer, Zoom, or one of the many other apps available to us.

And let’s be honest about our struggles and shortcomings.

Because we all have them.

Sometimes all someone needs to know is that other people are struggling, too. That someone is there for you. And that, regardless of what you are going through, you aren’t alone. 

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Jennifer Thompson

Jennifer Thompson is a freelance writer, preschool art teacher and mother of four with a heart for Jesus. Her work can be found on a number of blogs and parenting publications. Recently relocated from Indianapolis to Nashville, Tennessee. She is a passionate storyteller and believes every person has an important story to tell. We grow when we share. And even more when we listen.  

My Mom Was Just 13 When I Was Born. Now That I’m a Mother, I See Her Differently.

In: Living
Young girl and teenage mother

There are only 13 years and 11 months between us. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been—how lonely it must have felt at times. A childhood cut short, replaced with responsibilities that were night and day. Confusion and love, all wrapped into one. Growing up, it felt like I had a big sister beside me. A friend I loved with everything in me. But she wasn’t just a friend. She was my mother. I relied on her for guidance, for reassurance, for someone to look up to. And now I find myself wondering, how could she give me...

Keep Reading

Why Don’t We Talk About Jonah’s Mother?

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman standing over water

Praying for My Son Send a storm to stop him; Let his friends throw him out. May he drop to the deeps, But gently, please, Stubborn though he may be. If it could only take three days, How my mother’s heart would Rejoice in praise.  From the hell you allow him, Let him cry to you. Is not Nineveh and mercy Exactly what he knows He needs— A mercy on enemies He fears You will concede? Please let all the shade wither If his is an angry soul; Humble him and help him follow Where you would have his purpose...

Keep Reading

I Never Got to Meet My Grandmother on This Side of Heaven

In: Living
Old black and white family photo

Grandmother, I never met you this side of Heaven, but I feel as though I have. Your pictures, scattered throughout my mother’s home, tell your story. Born to a woman who came to this country alone when she was just 16, you would be the youngest of four, with two sisters and a brother. Your short, dark, straight hair clings to your little face, a line of bangs neatly combed high on your forehead. You couldn’t be more than three years old as you sit on a stool at your sister’s First Holy Communion. The black and white photo makes...

Keep Reading

The Hardest Part of Divorce Is Being Away from My Kids

In: Living, Marriage, Motherhood
Woman in driver's seat

I’ve written several times about how divorce has allowed me to find myself again, and how that version is even better than the one I was before I was married. All of that is still true. I am happier than I’ve ever been. More confident and sure of myself. I understand my emotions and how to handle myself when things get tough or scary. I am more grounded and calm than I’ve ever been. Truly, I have come out on top. I’ve received comments about how happy I look, how I’m “living my best life with kids only half the...

Keep Reading

My Dad Gave Us Something Money Never Could

In: Living
Family smiling in posed photo

I was talking with my dad the other day about an upcoming Disney trip with our kids. I told him all we planned to do while we were there and how excited the kids were. He sat and listened, taking it all in. And then he said something that put a lump in my throat. “I’m so glad you’re able to give your kids the life that I couldn’t.” He went on to say he still carries some guilt–that he wishes he could have done more, taken us on trips, given us experiences he couldn’t. Hearing that broke my heart....

Keep Reading

Dear Daddy, I Wish You Could See Yourself As We Do

In: Living, Marriage
father with two young children

The side of my husband who is hardest on himself usually shows up late at night. The house is quiet, the kids are finally asleep, and the day has done what it always does—taken everything it could from both of us. That’s usually when it comes out. The voice in his head that tells him he’s not doing enough as a father. Not present enough. Not patient enough. Not good enough. He doesn’t say it lightly. He says it like someone confessing a truth he wishes wasn’t true. Like he’s already measured himself against some invisible standard of fatherhood and...

Keep Reading

Mothers and Stepmothers: Who’s on First?

In: Living
Little girl looking through fingers

The roles. The expectations. The unspoken, undefined rules. The hurt feelings no one wants to talk about. It could be a scene from an old Abbott and Costello routine: “Who’s on first?” Motherhood is rarely clear-cut. And if you’ve ever tried to navigate life alongside a stepmother—or as one—you know how quickly things can become complicated. Add a stepmother to the mix, and suddenly it’s a relay race where no one’s quite sure who’s holding the baton, or if anyone wants it. This isn’t a story about winners and losers or choosing sides. It isn’t about who is right or...

Keep Reading

Do We Really Want a ’90s Summer?

In: Living
Girl holding popsicle

The year is 2026: we’re inviting thousands of strangers to get ready with us, threatening our own deaths on a lot of different hills and, if you’re a millennial mom, determined to have a ’90s summer. Some top to-dos on the ’90s mom summer checklist? Lots of outside play, limited screens, less hustle, more simplicity. Overall, evoking the “carefree” summers of the 1990s. But did anyone ever ask the real ‘90s moms if summers back then were all we’re cracking them up to be? If my own memory serves me right, my parents talked a whole lot about summers in...

Keep Reading

To the Woman Who Was Betrayed

In: Living, Marriage
Woman looking off to the fog

He promised you a lifetime, a family, safety, and security. You carried life and brought it into this world for him. Even still, in the trenches of postpartum, he betrayed you. It was never your fault. This is something I’ve fought to tell myself every single day since the day I discovered my marriage was never meant to last. Because the truth is, betrayal is never about you; it’s about them, and the character flaws deep within they’d rather bury than face. He watched as you fought for your life after delivery while your tiny, premature newborn spent the first...

Keep Reading

5 Things I’m Learning about 50

In: Living
birthday balloons

When my dad turned 80, he—and we, by default—celebrated all year. My sister made a fantastic, larger-than-life sign of him posing in front of his friend’s antique car, with beautiful calligraphy that trumpeted, “Cheers to you, celebrating 80 years of life!” The sign welcomed his closest friends and family into a private room at a steakhouse, where we toasted his 80 years—and the grandkids toasted his steady presence in their lives. The sign moved from the swanky steakhouse to the second-floor banister in my parents’ house. When you walked in, it greeted you—a feel-good conversation starter and a reminder to...

Keep Reading