I was three hours away from home when my 16-year-old daughter sent me a message. “I think I’m going to that party tonight,” she wrote. “And if I do, I think I’m going to drink.”
Panic surged through me. I was at a tranquil retreat in the Santa Cruz mountains with friends, just wrapping up dinner and preparing to head to our cabins for the night. Meanwhile, at home, my husband was out, so I couldn’t ask him to keep her confined to her room. Just a week earlier, we had discussed this party and the likelihood of alcohol being present, but I had successfully pushed that conversation out of my mind until her text arrived.
It’s a well-known fact that experimentation with alcohol and drugs is part of the teenage experience. Most kids come through it without major consequences. However, ever since I discovered I was pregnant with my only child, Emma, I promised myself I would do everything I could to keep her away from alcohol. I hoped to delay her exposure to it for as long as possible—ideally, until she turned 21. At least by then, her brain would be better developed, and she might have improved impulse control.
You may see me as a classic overprotective mom—and you’d be right. My concern over Emma drinking stems from my and my husband’s struggles with alcoholism. We have both been sober for years, but addiction runs deep in our families. The fear that my child might be predisposed to the same fate made me hesitant to become a mom until later in life. While I was overjoyed when Emma was born, the nagging worry that she might inherit our genetic tendency for alcohol abuse lingered.
I had my first drink at 13, which quickly escalated into a chaotic relationship with alcohol. By the time I was Emma’s age, binge drinking had become a weekend ritual. I often woke up confused and embarrassed in places I didn’t recognize, while my friends moved on to college and careers. I found myself tangled in legal issues, failed relationships, and dead-end jobs.
For a long time, I thought the best way to protect Emma was to scare her away from drinking. My fear-inducing tactics seemed to work when she was younger. She listened, nodded, and promised never to drink. However, high school brought new challenges. As her friends began experimenting with alcohol, Emma parroted my warnings, only to find herself ostracized. Eventually, she made new friends through drama club and started attending parties.
I was proud when she turned down drinks at gatherings where she was the only one sober. But then, I began to sense her frustration. One day, as she was getting ready to hang out with friends, I launched into my usual lecture about the dangers of drinking. Emma snapped back, saying, “I’ve only been saying I never want to drink because I’ve been brainwashed by you! I might want to drink socially.”
She reminded me of her trustworthiness, pointing out that she could have easily hidden her own drinking, like some of her peers. I had to admit she was right. While she has her faults, dishonesty isn’t one of them. We have a solid relationship built on open communication, discussing everything from alcohol to boys to her ambitions.
As much as I wish teenage drinking didn’t exist, it does. I didn’t want to alienate my daughter with my rigid beliefs. I needed to accept that she wasn’t me and allow her the space to make her own choices.
Back at the retreat, I replied to her text, “I’d prefer if you didn’t drink at all, but I’m glad you told me. Call me.”
Despite the poor reception, we devised a plan: she would come home by 11:30 PM and only accept a ride from her friend’s dad. I told her to pace herself and avoid shots or drinks from strangers. I promised to check in on her throughout the night, expecting timely responses.
Eventually, she reached out first. “I think I’m tipsy,” she texted. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that Emma is not me.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
“Kind of good, I guess. Not that exciting, really.”
That relieved some of the tension I was holding.
A year has gone by since that night. While Emma doesn’t attend many parties, when she does, she decides beforehand if she’ll drink. Our conversations keep me informed. She has realized she’s sensitive to alcohol; just a few sips leave her lightheaded. Unlike me at her age, that’s enough for her. She often chooses to abstain, never having been drunk or missing curfew.
We both recognize that could change as she approaches college and adulthood, where binge drinking is common. That thought terrifies me, but if it happens, Emma knows she can reach out for help.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the challenges of parenting a teenager and the complexities of discussing alcohol use. The author shares personal experiences as a recovering alcoholic and how they shaped their approach to parenting. The story highlights the importance of open communication and understanding, allowing the child to make their own choices while still providing guidance and support.