How Sobriety Changed My Life as a Mom

We’ve all heard it before—being a mom is hard. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m not here to rehash that entire spiel. You already know. And we all definitely know that “mommy wine culture” is everywhere. It's cute, it’s on mugs, it’s on t-shirts, it’s plastered across social media like it's part of the job description. But here’s the thing—it nearly stole the kind of motherhood I always dreamed of giving my son.

Growing up, Saturday mornings smelled like sausage, cheesy eggs, and cinnamon-sugar pancakes. The coffee was brewing, the milk was ice-cold, and the soundtrack was the soft coo of morning doves and the hum of the vacuum while the weatherman attempted (and probably failed) to forecast the weekend. My sister and I were up early, our parents already awake, present, and ready to start the day with us.

It was simple. It was warm. It was perfect.

That’s the kind of childhood I wanted for my son. That safe, cozy, loving start to the day—the kind that sticks with you your whole life.

But the path I was on? It wasn’t going to get us there. It was leading somewhere darker. Somewhere disconnected, chaotic, and painful. And if I didn’t make a change, that magical childhood I remembered so fondly was going to skip a generation.

So... I got sober.

That’s a longer story for another post. But through the grace of God, the support of friends and family, an incredible 12-step program, and people I’ve met along the way, I’ve been sober for almost nine months now. And I cannot begin to tell you how amazing it feels.

Here are 10 ways sobriety has completely transformed my life as a mom:

1. I wake up ready for him.

I once read something that said, “There’s a big difference between waking up to your kids and waking up for your kids.” And wow… that hit me like a ton of bricks. Because for a long time, I was absolutely the mom who woke up to him.

And by that, I mean I was jolted awake by his cries, completely disoriented, head pounding, anxiety already buzzing in my chest before my feet even hit the floor.

Mornings felt like survival. I was dragging myself through the motions, running on fumes and guilt, just trying to keep up with what the day demanded from me. My son was awake, ready to play, explore, connect—and I was just… not. I was recovering. I was foggy. I was resentful of the morning, of the noise, of the responsibility. It makes my heart ache to say that, but it’s true.

Now? I wake up for him. I wake up with intention.

I roll out of bed before he does, usually with a cup of coffee already brewing and my favorite playlist softly playing in the background. I stretch. I journal. I take a few deep breaths before the beautiful chaos of toddlerhood begins. By the time he wakes up, I’ve already filled my own cup—literally and figuratively. I’m dressed, grounded, and ready.

I’m not rushing. I’m not faking it. I’m not hiding behind sunglasses or avoiding eye contact because I’m ashamed of the night before.

I’m present. Clear-eyed. Fully available.

Sobriety gave me my mornings back. But more than that, it gave me the gift of starting each day with purpose and presence. And that, to me, is one of the most sacred parts of motherhood.

2. I remember everything.

From keeping the diaper bag fully stocked to remembering theme-day outfits, show-and-tell items, and spirit week schedules at daycare—I’m finally on top of it all. And if you’re a mom, you know that’s no small feat. There are so many moving pieces to this job, and for the longest time, I was barely keeping up.

I used to need five reminders—no exaggeration—just to bring a pack of wipes. I'd forget the extra clothes, the sunscreen, the special snack for the allergy kid in the class. I felt like I was always two steps behind, scrambling, disorganized, and—honestly—ashamed.

I wanted to be the mom who had it together, the mom who remembered the themed dress-up day before getting to daycare in plain clothes. I wanted to be the mom who could contribute to classroom parties, who showed up prepared, who wasn’t always apologizing and explaining. But when I was drinking, I couldn’t hold onto even the simplest details. My brain was foggy, my energy was low, and my focus was scattered. I was in survival mode.

Now, I’m the mom who’s ahead of the game. I’m the first one on the party sign-up sheet, happily claiming cupcakes or fruit trays like it’s my job. I have Post-Its on the fridge, reminders on my phone, and a stocked diaper bag that would make my past self proud. I’m organized, I’m proactive, and I can’t even tell you how good it feels to finally show up for my son in this way.

Not just physically—but mentally, emotionally, and with a sense of confidence I never had before.

Sobriety gave me back my brain. It gave me back my memory, my motivation, and my desire to be involved. It gave me the ability to participate—not just in the big moments, but in all the little, important ones that make up childhood.

And it feels damn good to be the mom I always knew I could be.

3. I actually want to take him out.

When I was drinking, my anxiety ruled my life. And I don’t just mean the occasional worry or stress—I mean full-blown, paralyzing, heart-racing, breath-stealing anxiety that crept into everything. Even the simplest things, like buckling my son into his car seat for a quick drive to the park, would set off a spiral. I'd grip the steering wheel with sweaty palms, heart pounding, convinced something awful was going to happen. Sometimes I’d sit in the driveway for 20 minutes trying to calm myself down… only to give up and head back inside.

So I stopped going places. I stopped saying yes to things. I turned down birthday parties, skipped library story times, avoided parks, and made excuses when other moms invited us out. I hated that I couldn’t show up for my son the way I wanted to. I hated the isolation—but the fear always felt bigger than my guilt. And deep down, I knew a lot of it was connected to the drinking. The shame, the dehydration, the poor sleep, the nervous system in overdrive—it all fed the monster.

Sobriety gave me my freedom back.

Now, I’m the mom scoping out weekend events, packing snacks for a morning at the park, organizing playdates, and checking the calendar for the next toddler craft hour at the library. I love planning little adventures for us—whether it’s a big outing or just exploring a new walking trail nearby.

And yeah, I still get anxious sometimes—because I’m human—but the difference now?

My anxiety doesn’t drive the car anymore. I do.

4. Bath and bedtime are fun now.

Before sobriety, bedtime felt like a mountain I had to climb just to finally crash at the top. I was barely making it through the day, dragging myself toward the finish line with whatever scraps of energy I had left. By the time bath time rolled around, I was a shell of myself—exhausted, checked out, just going through the motions. I’d zombie my way through shampooing his hair, rinsing off the soap, rushing the pajamas, and skipping pages in the bedtime book because I just. couldn’t. anymore.

I wasn’t present. I wasn’t connected. I was just desperate for the day to be over.

But now? Bedtime has become one of my favorite parts of motherhood.

We’ve turned it into a whole experience—one filled with laughter, imagination, and love. Bath time is a blast: foam soap turns into mountains, bubble beards are a must, and bath crayons cover the walls with toddler masterpieces. We turn on calming music, and sometimes we even dim the lights for a little "spa" vibe.

After the bath, I wrap him up in a freshly warmed towel—yes, I got a towel warmer, and yes, it’s my proudest cozy mom purchase—and we snuggle up for story time. We’ve graduated from board books to longer reads, and right now we’re working our way through Eragon together. He doesn’t catch every word, but he loves the rhythm, the dragons, and the fact that I’m right there, fully present, letting our imaginations soar together.

These little moments? They feel magical now. Not because they’re perfect or Pinterest-worthy, but because I’m in them. I’m awake, I’m grounded, I’m there—really there.

Sobriety didn’t just change how I spend bedtime—it changed how I feel during it. I no longer dread the end of the day. I cherish it. Because these quiet, silly, warm moments are the ones that build connection. They’re the ones he’ll remember. And they’re the ones I used to miss.

5. My house is (mostly) clean.

Look, our house isn’t spotless. There are still toy explosions, rogue sippy cups under the couch, and a basket of laundry waiting to be folded at any given time. But let me tell you—we’ve come a long way.

Before sobriety, our home often felt like a war zone. Dishes piled up in the sink, laundry overflowed from baskets, and the floors were a minefield of Legos, crumbs, and sticky spots I was too drained to deal with. I didn’t have the energy—or honestly, the mental space—to stay on top of anything. I was in survival mode. Cleaning felt overwhelming, impossible, and utterly soul-crushing. I’d look around and feel like a failure. Like I couldn’t even manage the basics of motherhood.

Thanks to sobriety, I actually have the energy to tidy up as I go, to reset the kitchen before bed, to stay on top of the never-ending cycle of laundry (most of the time 😅). I pick up toys when I walk by, I wipe down counters without resentment, and I light my non-toxic wax melts that make the whole place smell like citrus and sea breeze—not to cover up the chaos, but to enjoy the peace I’ve created.

And it’s more than just being clean—it’s being intentional.

With sobriety came this beautiful mental clarity, this space in my brain and heart that wasn’t there before. And in that space, I started caring about things I never had the capacity to consider before. Like… what we’re actually bringing into our home.

Our home is no longer a battleground of exhaustion—it’s our sanctuary. A place where my son can grow, explore, and feel safe. A place where I can breathe. A place filled with laughter, warmth, and intention.

6. Reading is back in our lives.

And not just the quick board books anymore—though trust me, "Goodnight Baby Dragon" and "Goodnight Pirate Ship" still get their airtime. But lately? We’ve graduated to the longer stuff. Chapter books. Real stories with plots and characters and little cliffhangers.

This time together? It’s become something I genuinely look forward to. I never used to have the mental space or patience for this kind of consistency. I was too foggy, too tired, too checked out. But now, I find myself slowing down. 

There’s something sacred about that moment before bed—the quiet hush of the house, the smell of clean skin and lavender lotion, his little fingers flipping the page while his eyes light up with wonder. It’s not just about reading a book. It’s about being fully there to share that world with him. To witness his mind grow and his imagination take flight.

And that’s what sobriety gave me—not just the ability to stay awake through story time, but the ability to be present in it. To create memories instead of just surviving routines. To foster a love of stories, a bond, a nightly moment that I know we’ll both carry with us forever.

This is what showing up looks like now. Not rushed. Not distracted. Just me and him, lost in a story together—and loving every minute of it.

7. I have the energy to keep up with him.

Toddlers seem to have an endless supply of energy. Seriously, it’s like they’re constantly recharging while the rest of us are running on empty. And toddler boys? Whew, that’s a whole other level of energy I sometimes wish I could tap into. There was a time when I’d watch him zoom around the house, climbing everything in sight, and I’d be stuck on the couch, wishing I could keep up.

But now? That’s no longer my reality.

I’ve made a commitment to my health—and it’s made all the difference. I work out regularly now, not because I feel obligated, but because I want to. I’ve changed the way I eat, fueling my body with the nutrients it needs to keep up with the constant demands of motherhood. I sleep better, waking up refreshed and ready to take on the day instead of feeling like I’m dragging myself out of bed.

And for the first time in years, I feel truly strong—physically and mentally. I can run after him when he decides to race around the house. I can chase him in the park, push him on the swings, crawl under tables, and play games on the floor. These are the things that make up toddlerhood, and I’m right there in the thick of it with him, not sitting on the sidelines anymore.

No longer am I on the outside looking in, exhausted and overwhelmed. Now, I’m fully present, fully engaged. I’m in it with him—laughing, playing, running alongside him, and making memories that I know we’ll both cherish. It feels incredible to be able to move freely with him, to be able to give him the energy and attention he deserves, instead of holding back because I’m too tired or out of shape.

8. I have the brain space to create magic.

Last Easter, I had the best intentions. I was so excited to surprise my son with a ball pit—something I knew he would love. I imagined his little face lighting up when he saw it, envisioning us playing together, sharing that special moment. But the night before, I made a choice that I deeply regret: I drank. And as a result, I spent the entire day lying on the couch, hungover, too drained to truly enjoy the moment.

I gave him the ball pit, yes—but I gave it to him without any joy or presence. My mind was foggy, my body was sluggish, and I wasn’t the mom I wanted to be for him. I still carry that guilt, the memory of how I let my son down by not being fully there for him, even though I had the opportunity to make memories we could cherish forever.

But this year? This year is different.

Thanks to sobriety, I will have the energy, the clarity, and the mental space to truly enjoy the moments I’ll have with him. We’ll have an Easter celebration filled with intention and love. We’ll do egg hunts in the yard, dress him up in adorable matching shirts, and even wear bunny ears ourselves. I’ll decorate the house, carefully planning out each little detail to make it special for him.

I won’t just survive Easter—I’ll embrace it. I’ll be there, fully present, creating new traditions that I know will stay with him for years to come. I’ll watch him run around, laughing and collecting eggs, seeing his eyes light up when he sees the decorations—it will be pure joy.

Sobriety will give me back something I didn’t even realize I was missing: my creative spark. The ability to plan, to dream, and to create meaningful moments for my son. I won’t be held back by the fog of alcohol or the emotional weight of guilt. This year, I’ll show up. And I’ll show up with love, intention, and a heart full of joy.

Every holiday, every tradition we create together now feels like a gift—one I never want to take for granted again.

9. I’m showing up for everything.

Doctor’s appointments, daycare events, morning drop-offs—I’m there. And not just physically. I’m emotionally present. I’m not rushing out the door, scrambling to get everything in order at the last minute, or running late because I couldn’t find my keys or my own head. I’m not barely holding it together, hoping the day will just magically work itself out.

Instead, I’m calm. I’m clear-headed. I’m organized and ready to take on the day with intention. I can fully focus on my son when I drop him off at daycare, chatting with him about his day ahead and offering him a reassuring hug as he walks into the classroom. I can engage with the doctor or teacher without feeling distracted or overwhelmed by my own internal chaos. Every moment is intentional, and I’m able to show up as the mom I’ve always wanted to be—steady, prepared, and there in every sense of the word.

I’ve learned that being emotionally present isn’t just about physically showing up—it’s about being mentally and emotionally ready, too. Sobriety has given me the gift of clarity and focus. I’m no longer bogged down by the haze of anxiety or the overwhelming pressure that came with managing everything in an unhealthy way. Now, I can breathe through the busy moments, approach challenges with a calm mind, and be fully engaged in whatever I’m doing.

It’s such a huge shift—not just for me, but for my son too. I see him responding differently, thriving in an environment where I’m fully there, supporting him with my attention and love. And for the first time in a long time, I’m proud of the mom I am. I’m not just getting through the day; I’m living it fully.

10. I finally feel proud of the mom I am.

 There’s no greater feeling than looking in the mirror and knowing that you’re doing your best—and your real best, not the “functioning on fumes and regret” kind. Sobriety didn’t just give me back my mornings. It gave me back my motherhood. And it gave my son the mom he deserves.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt stuck, lost, ashamed, or afraid—please know that you’re not alone. And it’s never too late to change your story. Sobriety might feel scary, but I promise, what’s on the other side is so much better than you can imagine.

I’m not perfect. But I’m present. I’m healing. I’m whole. And I’m grateful—every single day.

xx

turner

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