Can a Night Out With the Girls Really Kill My Marriage?

The new alcoholic is more apt to have a job, make great money, and possibly even carry a diaper bag. With all the stress it takes to maintain a career, and now a family—well sometimes it seems to be too much. A night out on the town is the first think that comes to many a young mom’s mind: The tinkling glasses, soft lighting, lilting voices, and women glammed up in their dresses, heels and of course a glass of red or white wine dangles from their bejeweled wrists. It all looks so lovely that it makes even the teetotalers want to dress-up and step-out to the bar and join the fun. But what many don’t care to see is what happens behind the scenes. The children and spouses fed-up that mom had to have another night out with her girlfriends, when this is the third time this week she claimed she needed to unwind, to see her friends, to have some “me” time.

What you don’t see are the children left behind who internalize mom’s frequent absences and claims of how much she deserves a break as “Mom doesn’t like me.  I’m not good enough or mom would stay home. If I was better mom would pay attention to me.” This starts a cycle where many children begin to act out or start some light drinking of their own. They think there must be something to wine if mom likes it so much. This must be what being a gown-up looks like or what moms are supposed to do, and I want to be like mom. She’s so glamorous … .

What you don’t see are the marriages that implode all because of alcohol. That constant boozing it up in the clubs and bars, plus decreased inhibitions from drinking can lead to extramarital flings and affairs. It will happen eventually. Maybe not tonight or next week, but eventually, that dazzling stranger will appear at your weakest moment—the butterflies in the belly will wake-up that feeling that you hadn’t felt in a while after a decade of marriage, and sooner than later another marriage bites the dust.

I’ve worked with hundreds of women over the past twenty-seven years and the above scenario happens with such rote predictability that it’s become as tired and true a script as, “Have a nice day.” I have no doubt I could be writing about me as well, but I quit drinking two weeks before I found out I was pregnant with twins. I thank God every day that I got to make better choices, that my sons didn’t have to grow up with an alcoholic mother like I did, and that I didn’t emulate to my sons what my mother role-modeled to me.

The chaos that ensued in our home because of my mother’s alcoholism was devastating on many levels. My mom didn’t sober up until all four of her children were grown. As a result, we’ve all had certain struggles, and much can be traced back to the fact that my mother, when drinking and using Valium, was incapable of parenting. The coping skills she taught were to shop for a new outfit, change hairstyles, and, “My God, get in the car I need to get out of here.” Never mind that she was more than tipsy or high on pills when she loaded us four kids in the car. Never mind that we had numerous mishaps and accidents while she drove intoxicated.

Or what about the behind the scenes reality when a mother fills her water bottle with Vodka, and has to refuse her son or daughter a sip of water after they rush to her side at the soccer game and just want to quench their thirst, only to be told, no, and the child stands there in disbelief that she could be so mean. Or what about the mom who is physically present but mentally and emotionally she is focused on the next drink, the next party, the next time she gets to rush to the box in the fridge, or run into her room and take a drink from that bottle stashed under the bed.

The reality of moms who love and need wine is so much different than that brief moment when the tinkling glasses, lilting voices, and flattering lights makes drinking look sumptuous. The ambiance alone is enough to make a girl feel special. The truth is that frequent drinking and nights out with the girls cause far more problems than it ever solves. It’s never too late to pay attention. This script doesn’t ever have to be you.

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