For at least four months after I made the decision to quit drinking, I found myself in a strange purgatory. I didn’t want to be drinking. I didn’t want to not be drinking. I wanted all the “mores” of being booze-free—more money, more time, more energy, more self-respect—but those “mores”
I sat there, a little over two years sober, wondering if my daughter was doomed to end up like me—an alcoholic. My father is an alcoholic. So was his mother. My husband is also an alcoholic.