Over the years, drinking has become my… aesthetic.

In many of my recent photos there’s a cocktail or a glass of wine in my hand. I’m the friend who’s always mixing drinks at gatherings, and somewhere along the way, I became the woman who instinctively orders an espresso martini at dinner.

For the past two years, I’ve participated in Dry January, telling myself I need a break from alcohol after the holiday season. Once November hits, drinking becomes an almost daily ritual—celebrating my birthday, toasting with gifted bottles of wine, dining out, and indulging in festive cocktails. Add in holiday parties, Christmas festivities, and New Year’s Eve, and by January 1st, I’m left feeling drained, dehydrated, and in desperate need of a reset.

But every Dry January, I’ve ended up sick. The first year, I had food poisoning so severe that it triggered IBS. That experience led me to hire a nutritionist, who helped me heal my gut and lose 30 pounds. For six months, I barely drank. But after the unexpected passing of my uncle, the emotional rollercoaster of dating, and adjusting to a new city, alcohol once again became a coping mechanism—a way to be social, to take the edge off, to escape.

The second year, I got the flu and found myself frequently traveling between Dallas and Houston to support family members with health issues. It was an emotionally exhausting time, and I ended Dry January on the very last day when a happy hour invite felt like the relief I needed. Venting with friends over drinks seemed like self-care—until I got home, buzzed, with an important work assignment incomplete and a deadline missed.

I know I’m not at a level of consumption that would classify me as an alcoholic, but I’ve reached a point where I don’t like how I act when I push myself past my limit just to keep the “good times” going. I’m a chill drunk—most people wouldn’t even know I’ve been drinking—but my decision-making suffers. I’ve let men into my life who didn’t deserve access to me. I’ve deprioritized creative projects and missed out on opportunities because my mind wasn’t in the right place. I’ve struggled to hear God clearly when I needed guidance most.

The line between enjoying a glass of wine with dinner and overindulging at happy hour has become increasingly thin. And while alcohol itself isn’t the problem, my relationship with it has changed in ways I can’t ignore. I still love crafting and savoring a well-made cocktail, visiting wine bars, and experiencing restaurants that thoughtfully incorporate drinks into their aesthetic. But I also want to reconnect with the version of me who had a healthier balance.

This year, I’m committed to exploring my relationship with alcohol and understanding where things shifted. Over time, I’ve found success with these habits:

Limiting myself to one drinking weekend per month
Avoiding drinking at home as a way to unwind
Setting a firm glass limit when I’m out
Sticking to drinks I already know I enjoy—if the menu doesn’t have them, I don’t order

I don’t yet know what a truly healthy relationship with alcohol looks like for me, but I’m ready to find out. And I’m learning to accept that this is a journey—one that requires patience, self-awareness, and most importantly, grace.

a bougie alcoholic