I’ve been sober for 3 years. I’ve realized how much alcohol fuels parent get-togethers, and I feel isolated.

I was walking down the streets of my neighborhood wearing my witch costume on Halloween. Strolling next to me was my daughter, also a little witch, and her friends. We came to a house decked out with skeletons hanging from the trees and tombstones shooting out of the ground.

The girls ran up to the door while I noticed the homeowners were serving adult beverages in the driveway. “Would you like a mommy treat?” they asked. “Uh, no, thank you,” I said, shifting my pointy hat.

“I don’t drink. I mean, I used to drink, but now I don’t. It gave me awful anxiety.

But let me tell you, I used to be a real good time and would never judge you for drinking. But no, I don’t drink anymore. ” “Oh, OK!” said the nice and now bewildered lady.

Since I stopped drinking about three years ago, I’ve found myself explaining a lot. I word-vomit to everyone why I don’t drink, and then I sugarcoat it to make others feel like I’m not judging them. I’m now an awkward, sober muddle.

Since I’ve ditched booze, I’ve found myself more empowered than ever. I’ve learned to trust myself. I no longer listen to the loud echoes of society telling me what I should and should not do for myself and my family.

My choices are mine, and I have no doubt in the decisions I make. For example, our family recently made a big move to northern Michigan to live closer to nature. We wanted to escape the overscheduled and too-busy lifestyle of Metro Detroit, and I knew this was the move for us.

I have my sobriety to thank for this bravery — because without the serenity in my mind, I wouldn’t know how to listen to my newfound voice. When you’re sober, you realize just how much alcohol fuels parent get-togethers — barbecues, birthday parties, playdates, date nights, vacations, and more include alcohol. Sure, I know there are parents who also choose not to drink, but finding them can be difficult.

The other night, my husband — also newly sober — and I went out to dinner with a group of people. Drinks were loosening everyone up. Jokes were told, and laughter bounced off the walls.

It was a fine night. But now that I’m sober, I want my time away from the kids to have depth. Obviously comedy is great medicine, but I also crave deep conversations.

At that dinner, while everyone else was enjoying drinks, it dawned on me just how different I feel. My idea of a good time no longer involves late nights, bars, or shots. I’d rather have some of my truest friends with me at home, sitting on the couch, hashing out some of the heavy stuff.

I don’t need alcohol to serve as a tool to unleash my parenting woes, hurt, or anxieties. Those who love me understand this and embrace me sober, too. They get that I’ll be drinking coffee to keep me awake past 10 o’clock and that I won’t get rowdy like I used to.

But there are some friends who just don’t seem to get the new me — the me who was actually there all along. There’s a distance there now that may take a while to shrink. My circle may be shrinking.

I may feel weird and awkward. But I’d much rather have this new, emboldened me to help me navigate this one shot I get at life. .