Where to begin? Sobriety feels like the hardest thing to talk about right now, so I’ll start there.

Giving up alcohol has been both a blessing and, at times, what feels like a curse. These first few months have been somewhat manageable—after those first few difficult weeks, that is. In the beginning, each day felt like I was losing a piece of myself. The upbeat, fun-loving mom, the promiscuous wife, the funny sister, and the wild daughter all seemed to disappear on March 31.

My children are six, eight, and ten years old—good ages for spotting hypocrisy. Especially when, three years earlier, I had sat them down and explained how “bad” alcohol is. I talked about poison and the importance of being careful about what we put into our bodies. “It’s like drinking gasoline, kids,” I told them.

Then came the point where I felt I had to hide my drinking from them because the questions started coming.

“Why are you drinking wine, Mommy?”

Now, let me be clear: I’ve been “hiding” my alcohol use since I was a college student. That’s when my captivating relationship with alcohol really took off. If I’m being completely honest with myself, though, late high school is probably a more accurate starting point.

We all had that one friend whose parents would go away for the weekend. She’d invite seven or eight of us girls over for what was supposed to be a quaint sleepover. Someone’s older sibling would buy a handle of cheap vodka and a case of Coors Light, and off we went.

I still remember that warm, burning sensation sliding down my throat as we took shots of room-temperature vodka and chased them with beer. The alcohol swirled into our stomachs, filling us with what felt like zest for life. After a little liquid courage, we’d take turns logging into AOL—yes, I’m that old—and messaging whichever boy happened to be the flavor of the week.

We’d sit in her basement talking about the popular girls, clothes, crushes, and everything else that felt important at sixteen. Then the real fun began: Truth or Dare.

The truths exposed our dirty little secrets. The dares started innocently enough—take a shot, chug a beer, run around the house. Then someone dared a friend to kiss me.

By that point in the night, I was pretty buzzed. I hadn’t kissed a boy or a girl before, and normally I would have been far too shy. Thanks to alcohol, the part of my brain that would have said “no” was conveniently muted.

So I went for it.

We locked lips for a minute or so. It was a first for both of us. As we kissed, I felt a warmth in my body that I hadn’t expected. Everyone laughed when the sixty seconds were up, but I was left with a different feeling entirely: confusion.

Did I enjoy that?

Was I supposed to?

It wasn’t a boy. It was an attractive friend.

That was the first time I experienced anything romantic or physical with another woman, and alcohol had played a role in getting me there. It wouldn’t be the last time substances tangled themselves into my relationships and experiences with women.