Labor Day Without Booze and Overcoming FOMO

Labor Day Weekend 2024 something got me, but let’s back up and start at the beginning. I am 6 ½ years sober and a sober coach. Alcohol has nothing to do with holiday weekends anymore.

The days of last chances to soak up summer and get wasted in pools and boats are long gone. In part because I am sober and also because my youngest daughter typically has a soccer tournament that keeps us at home and away from bodies of water on this holiday weekend.

Obviously everyone else in the world has travel plans so we are left alone. A part of me wants to have a big blowout party because, even though I am sober, I love to have a good time. I am a little nostalgic for days past when the kids were young and I had a place to go and people to hang out with, a bottomless glass of wine in my hand.

Those relationships changed when I got sober. Even though it is good and right, it is still painful at times. It’s been a continual process to unravel myself from friendships and people that used to mean so much to me. It’s not one act of letting go but a constant act of letting go over and over again. The pain isn’t as fresh as it used to be but it comes up sometimes. Holiday weekends seem to bring the tenderness to the surface, no matter how long it’s been.

The best news is that my oldest daughter was coming home from college for the weekend. I am thrilled to have my oldest girl back. We love to do the same things so I am glad to have a steady companion all weekend long. She wants to get family pictures while she is home and I want to please her so I found some time to squeeze this in and a photographer to take our pictures early in the morning before a soccer game on Sunday. I want family pictures too, but this has come up fast. Finding outfits becomes the quest.

My college girl arrives with a bang Friday afternoon enthusiastically hooting up the stairs while I am on a client call. She is so excited to see me and be home after her first weeks of her sophomore year away. The energy in the house is immediately different upon her arrival. Better. Louder. Her luggage dropped right in front of the door; a few steps later, shoes left astray in the hallway; snack cupboards left open. The dog is barking and doing backflips with excitement. Music starts playing out of nowhere. Little sister comes home from school. Screams and squeals and giggles. I am hearing this from behind closed doors as I work to coach my clients on their step-by-step plan to thrive this Labor Day weekend sober.

When my workday ends, I am greeted with the biggest hug from my girl. I can’t tell you the emotion of having her back in my arms again. It does something to my insides. My equilibrium has been off while she is gone. 

I’ve been holding my breath for weeks. I don’t know this until I am in her familiar embrace again and take my first exhale. Release. I can no longer deny and stuff everything that I’ve been holding. A lump forms in my throat and tears slip out. No one notices. Is it perimenopause? I am sensitive and emotional. I feel a fall to my knees type of grateful that my #1 girl is back. It feels monumental. I am so dramatic and I know it, but I can’t help it. I let myself be myself.

We go to an early dinner as a family. We choose a favorite Mexican place. It feels like vacation to all be together again. We are laughing together. The energy is happy with a Friday night excitement. It’s the first high school football game of the season on our home turf. My youngest daughter is 16 years old and she is going to the game and driving her friends. She is acting like a baby at the table, and she is our baby so we are all laughing with her. I watch my oldest beam at her little sister with pure joy. My heart is about to burst. I make eyes and smile at my husband across the table. He winks at me. I am the luckiest mom in the world.

We are talking over each other, spilling memories, sharing future vacation ideas, ordering more chips and salsa, and then more again. Refilling our diet cokes with lime. Our oldest shares about college life, her anatomy class and a cadaver. I have so much respect. She shares the scoop on sorority sisterhood. We confirm our agenda for our long weekend ahead. It’s dreamy. I am so happy. I am so fulfilled. I feel whole. My whole heart at one table. I am Diane Keaton in the movie. The mom at the table with my growing up kids. This is everything I have ever wanted. I have arrived in my own dream life of my own making. I am so darn grateful.

My oldest and I head to the outdoor mall immediately after dinner. It’s one of the best malls in the county and it’s ½ mile from our house. A destination for some, a regular spot for us. We see the most beautiful sunset and begin our hunt for picture-day attire. At closing time, we head home to cuddle up to watch The Bachelorette together. We love it. Complete nonsense for hours. We gut laugh at our interpretations of the show. It’s been so lonely to watch without her. It’s so good to have her home. We send my husband to her room and she sleeps with me all weekend. An extended mommy daughter sleeps over. I love it. Full heart, deep sleep.

Saturday morning starts with coffee alone. My husband is golfing and the girls are sleeping. I write. The windows are open for the first time all season. My favorite season approaching and a slight new September chill breezing in. I am posting on my Instagram business account about perfect days. Coffee, shopping, walks, manicure. People are responding in agreement. Yes, yes, yes. Little do I know at the time, I am about to have this perfect day myself. I feel so lucky. So happy to be sober.

When my girls wake up, I make the healthiest tropical smoothie for us all; we call it Mambo Juice. Madonna’s kids call her Mambo. I’ve asked mine to do the same. They don’t. We laugh. When they were little, we would get Jamba Juice in their pajamas. They called it PaJamba Juice. We love our memories. We are so happy to be together; the sun is shining, the fresh start of a long weekend. Morning conversation and catch up around the table. Who won the game last night? Did you have fun? What’s our plan for today? When does Dad get home? Did anyone feed the dog? My sleepy head girls with their bedhead curls. Oh, how lucky I am.

My oldest and I shop and shop and shop. It is mostly good and somewhat frustrating to find outfits for our pictures. We go round and round about color palettes and ideas. We love to do this. Give us a project and we are on it. Room makeovers, events, parties, you name it. We love a theme and we’ll get to shopping. My friend is shopping and meets us too. We hit JCrew, then Nordstrom Rack, then make returns and buy more at JCrew. All of us laughing at our mutual back and forth between stores. We find great deals; buy matching Gameday shirts. Her son goes to school with my daughter. We are so lucky, blessed, and privileged; I recognize this. I feel grateful.

There was a time when I couldn’t do this. When I was young, my clothes were often out of season. I only had one nice dress and wore it for any occasion from Christmas through Easter. When my kids were young, I borrowed clothes for pictures and used what was already in our closet. I am proud of how far I’ve come in so many ways. Knowing my credit card will work isn’t lost on me. Being able to pay my bills isn’t something I could always do. We finish the afternoon with manicures and pedicures, a total luxury. This was my perfect day come true, just as posted on my Instagram story. Like I manifested it. I am so lucky.

When we’ve had enough of shopping and errands, we head home. My husband gets home too. We nap. All of us. We call it Family Nap. It is our favorite thing. I finish my book in the quiet house and then update my Goodreads. That’s the best feeling! The dog is in his favorite spot, my feet tucked under him. My house is a peaceful house. Who could ask for more?

After our rest, we get ready for soccer. We arrive at the soccer fields. A perfect night. The first of what will be 3 more games this weekend. I settle in. I love to watch my daughter play soccer but if I am being honest, I don’t love it taking up the whole weekend. It’s at least a half hour away.

Tomorrow we have two games and it doesn’t make sense to stay so we go back and forth. This slight resentment is tempered with a deeper knowing. I recently talked to a guest that will be on my podcast soon. She has kids with special needs and she wishes she could be a soccer mom. She literally said that to me. I take that to heart. I have what she wants. In addition, I also just recorded a masterclass with someone who lost her daughter to fentanyl. It’s heartbreaking. How lucky I am to be in this spot right now. I recognize that. Still, I am a little resentful and I know I “shouldn’t be.”

It’s a big holiday weekend, but I’ll be traveling out of state for 3 out of 4 weekends this month. I need some downtime. It’s ok to be home. The laundry has to get done somehow. I love my family the most so I am with my favorite people. I like it when it’s just us.

Yet something seems to be missing. No plans for a BBQ. No card game with friends. No concert or sporting event. No big splash about the holiday weekend. Just early mornings, lots of soccer and family pictures, which is always more stressful than fun for an un-photogenic perfectionist like me. My husband and I sit quietly on the sidelines. We are friendly but not friends with the other parents. I am feeling a little lasidasiacal.

The team behind me rolls in with different energy and I am drawn like a moth to a flame. They are very loud, declaring it “soccer time, in their soccer era,” and they are thrilled to be here. “Who wants a High Noon?” Who wants a Daisy Cutter?” The coolers and cans litter the ground by their feet. They are experiencing a happy reunion of friends with younger kids. Hugs and hellos’ and kisses on the cheek all around.

Something hits me. It is Saturday night of a holiday weekend and while I am sitting with slight resentment, they are “making the best of it.” There are jokes, rowdiness and good timey energy. I remember a previous client of mine couldn’t stand this part of happy hour when the alcohol hits and the people get a general giddiness about them. Now, years later, I see what she means. It’s happening now. I am both intrigued and annoyed. They are already a few drinks in; you can hear it in their voices. They are laughing about how they parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. One woman will repeat this story over and over. Another is still recovering from going to Pearl Jam at Wrigley three days earlier. I can’t help but eavesdrop. They are shouting right behind me. My husband went to Pearl Jam on Wednesday too and seems to be “recovering” fine. In fact, we had an opportunity to go together again and we turned in down in favor of more family time. I suddenly feel so lame.

The loud team starts yelling at their kids on the field. They are friends, maybe neighbors. They yell at their own kids and they are comfortable yelling at each other’s kids too. They are yelling for Ceci; that’s my daughter’s nickname. I feel lonely. My daughter is the only one from her school on her club team. Our family is her small cheering section. I hear the other parents behind me talking about their neighborhood parties and get-togethers. I sit in silence with a soft golf clap when a goal is made.

I moved to the Chicago suburbs from a small town in Wisconsin. I used to spend every Labor Day weekend with old friends in my hometown, where I felt like I belonged. Here I sit on the sidelines, both literally and figuratively, feeling left out. I am not a part of any of this. I don’t have that Saturday night fever feeling. We have an early bedtime and an early wake-up for pictures. Saturday night of a holiday weekend is not different for me. It doesn’t change things. My priorities are still the same. I don’t throw caution to the wind. I don’t become someone else. I am not punch drunk, slap silly or anything like that. A part of me wishes I was. Why?

It feels like alcohol brings the party and I like to party. This High Noon/Daisy Cutter team is younger, funny and fun. I want that. They are also loud, rowdy and rude. So was I back in the day. They are screaming at their kids to make each other laugh. They are disruptive to everyone around them. They are making it about them when it’s the kids tournament, not their block party.

I now see how selfish this is. I see what they are modeling for the kids. Who needs a drink to watch their children play a game? I didn’t even do that as a drinker, but for whatever reason this scene gets to me. I feel FOMO. I feel like a prude, uptight, and sober. It kinda stinks that I don’t join in on that debauchery anymore. A part of me misses it. I’ll go to bed sober and get up early. I’ll be responsible and have my priorities in place and in this moment I am sick of that too. I am sick of doing the right thing. The good for me thing. I do it anyway.

We wake up and do our pictures. I am in love and obsessed with my kids. I could watch them all day. They are still the cute little curly girls they’ve always been. I remember being hungover for pictures when they were younger. I was feeling nauseous through my smile and going through the motions. One enlarged family picture hangs in our hallway and I think of a hangover every time I pass it. My darling daughters are so young and adorable. My husband is puffy from drinking too, although it was always me that had the “problem.” I am forcing a smile out of my overtired eyes.

Today, I feel stiff and unnatural in my outfit as the photographer clicks away. I am trying to remember the rules: chin out, foot forward, stomach in. I look insane and I know it. I try not to care that much. I am not that vain. Still, I feel so uptight and I am wearing my shoulders as earrings. Family pictures are not an effortless endeavor for me. I am sweating in my jacket. I would never wear this in real life but it matches everyone else and pulls the look together and somehow it is always my outfit that has to do this. And I have to hold the dog because he is obsessed with me. God love him but this is not helping with my posing. It’s a short, long, 45-minute mini-session coming to you on a holiday card soon enough.

We go to breakfast. My other favorite meal, in addition to Mexican. We are fresh as daisies with full faces of make-up early on this Sunday morning and it does feel good. We all go to soccer. My girls’ team wins again. We come home and have our second family nap of the weekend. It is glorious. This time I fall asleep with a smile, not quite into my new book yet.

We get up and go to soccer. I never see that rowdy team again. Our team wins. Again. This means they play in the championship tomorrow. My daughter cancels her plans to go out. She doesn’t even question it. Her friends are begging her to come. She seemingly easily turns them down. She has to get up early. We wash her uniform and tuck in early. I am so proud of her.

Even in high school, I was blowing off sports to drink. I was dragging myself to early morning tournaments still drunk or hungover and giving it 10% instead of 100%. I acted like I didn’t care. My daughter cares about something more than a late-night party and it makes me so happy. We all need something bigger to care about than drinking! I send a note to my Insider Community Members Insider Group cheering them on. Letting them know they are not alone if the triggers and cravings are hitting. They are cheering me on too. I have created the best job in the world for myself.

We wake up early on Monday and my daughter’s team goes on to win the whole tournament. This team also won a tournament last Labor Day weekend. How many people can say that? Back-to-back winners at two separate tournaments. Being the champion feels good. Hard work paid off. Trophies, medals, and celebration.

Everyone watches girls sports. I love this. It is meaningful work being a soccer mom and watching the girls confidence grow. I am happy to be here. No resentment today; nowhere else I’d rather be.

After the tournament, I feel pressure to do something fun to top off the weekend for us all. What I really want to do is prepare for the week. So boring, I know. Not Instagramy at all. No lake. No drinks. I want to return those dumb clothes we bought but didn’t wear for pictures. I want to go to Trader Joes. Make a fresh floral arrangement. Do laundry. Make a healthy meal. Get ready for my week. I will be traveling for work, speaking at an event that I am thrilled about called Sober in the City, which doesn’t feel like work at all. It feels like a reunion of friends. It feels like belonging, laughter, and connection without the High Noons, the illegal parking, and the screaming at kids. I ask my daughter’s what they want to do. They respond with Trader Joes, a home-cooked meal, and laundry. Apples don’t fall far. Pinch me. I am so lucky.

For a minute, I felt left out and sorry for myself last weekend. I felt a hole that alcohol once filled. I felt nostalgic for the younger families and days past for me. That was very real and it is not always easy to be sober. I also have trained myself for so long to look towards alcohol to provide the good time. Even with a perfect weekend of books, shopping, family togetherness, dinners out, sunshine, manicures, The Bachelorette and more — it felt like something was missing because I didn’t get wasted. I have such a long history of alcohol symbolizing the good times.

I had better than a good time, though. By Monday night, I restocked my alcohol-free wine collection, pumped up my music and cooked a delicious meal for my family. We had our own little celebration and it was perfect. By the end of the weekend, I didn’t wish for one second to be those parents screaming at their kids. I was that person and it didn’t make me happy for long. I do miss out on the quick excitement of grabbing a drink at times. I do not miss out on being alive for my life. Good photos or not, I have the clarity to see the beauty in front of me, which is my family around the kitchen table enjoying our last supper before our oldest heads back to school. This was a moment I was trying to sneak away from as a drinker, to not be seen. To hide, unengaged, tuned out from my life and from my people. I was absorbed in my own problem with alcohol and I am not anymore.

I feel like I won the weekend. Sober champion.

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