Breaking Generational Curses: The Warning Signs That Led Me to Quit Drinking

When I made the decision to quit drinking, it wasn’t just about my health or my immediate circumstances—it was about breaking a generational curse. I grew up witnessing the destructive patterns of addiction, and for a long time, I thought I could outrun it. But addiction doesn’t care about your intentions; it creeps in slowly, often disguised as fun, relief, or celebration.

The Warning Signs I Couldn’t Ignore

For years, I ignored the red flags. Drinking started out as social fun, but the warning signs became harder to overlook:

1. Blackouts and Memory Loss: I wasn’t just having a few drinks; I was drinking until I blacked out. Waking up with no memory of the night before became a terrifyingly normal experience.
2. Emotional Numbing: Alcohol became my emotional crutch. Instead of facing my feelings, I numbed them. Hurt, shame, sadness—all temporarily erased by a drink in my hand.
3. Shifting Reasons to Drink: It wasn’t just parties or celebrations. I started drinking for any reason: a hard day, a clean house, making it through the kids’ bedtime routine. Any excuse to pour a drink.
4. Relationship Strains: My relationships began to suffer. I wasn’t fully present for my children, my spouse, or myself. I was physically there but emotionally checked out.
5. Health Scares: My body started giving me warning signs too. Lupus flare-ups worsened, and I could feel my body struggling to keep up with the damage I was causing.

The Generational Curse I Refused to Pass On

Addiction ran deep in my family. I grew up seeing how alcohol and recreational drugs could tear apart relationships, dreams, and lives. It was a shadow that followed me into adulthood, and I realized that if I didn’t break the cycle, my children might inherit it.

I didn’t want my kids to normalize coming home to a mom with a drink in her hand. I didn’t want them to think alcohol was the answer to stress, sadness, or even celebration. The curse had to stop with me.

The Moment I Knew I Was Done

We were at Rodeo and walking around, I had purchased one of the $30 beers they sell and as I took my first few sips my mind was telling me stop.. stop drinking.. enmjoy this time with your kids and husband without the alcohol. It wasn’t just a beverage; it was a thief stealing my joy, my time, and my potential. In that moment, I knew: I was done.

So I tossed an almost full $30 beer in the trash with zero regret and never looked back.

A few months earlier, I received news that I could possibly have lupus nephritis. The thought of my kidneys being impacted terrified me. I had been sober-curious for months, but this was the wake-up call I couldn’t ignore. I knew I needed to get my health in check, and the first step was ending my toxic relationship with alcohol.

The Road Ahead

Quitting wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. Every day I wake up sober is a day I rewrite my family’s story. I’ve learned that breaking generational curses requires courage, consistency, and faith.

To anyone feeling trapped in a similar cycle: You can break free. The generational curse can end with you. And the life on the other side of alcohol is more fulfilling than you can imagine.

When I think back to when I started drinking, it all seemed so innocent. It was social, fun, and something that made me feel like I fit in. At 16, I didn’t realize the slippery slope I was stepping onto. Like many, I thought I was just enjoying myself, letting loose, and being carefree. But what I didn’t know then was that alcohol wasn’t just a weekend indulgence; it was becoming a crutch.

In those early days, once I hit that buzzed stage, I couldn’t turn it off. I didn’t have an off switch. The feeling of freedom, of numbness, was so intoxicating that I kept going until I blacked out. Blackouts became my norm. And with those blackouts came consequences I never expected.

Blacking out led me into situations that left scars I didn’t know how to heal. I was sexually assaulted during one of those blackouts. I woke up confused, ashamed, and shattered, unable to piece together the events of the night. There were times I found myself in dangerous places with no recollection of how I got there. I couldn’t explain it to anyone because I didn’t even understand it myself. And the shame of not remembering, of being out of control, was suffocating.

What started as social drinking quickly became something more. It became my band-aid. I drank to numb the trauma, to hide from the hurt, disappointment, shame, and sadness. Alcohol became my refuge. When life was overwhelming, I turned to it because it was the one thing I thought I could rely on to feel mentally stable. What I didn’t realize was that it was making me more unstable, creating more trauma, and adding layers of pain and problems that I couldn’t escape.

Eventually, drinking was no longer about socializing or even numbing pain; it became a habit. I drank to feel good. I drank because it was what I did. The excuses were endless: I made it through the day, so let’s drink. I didn’t lose my temper with the kids today, let’s drink. I cleaned the house, so let’s drink. Any accomplishment, big or small, became a justification to open a bottle. I convinced myself I was celebrating, but deep down, I was just surviving.

The cycle was relentless. It felt impossible to break. Drinking wasn’t fun anymore; it was just what I did. It was who I was becoming, and I hated it. I could feel it destroying my happiness, my relationships, and the sober joy that I barely remembered existed.

Then came the moment. The realization that my drinking wasn’t helping me cope—it was the very thing keeping me broken. I was exhausted, mentally, emotionally, and physically. I didn’t want my children to grow up seeing me like that. I didn’t want to keep waking up with regret, fear, and shame.

So, I made the decision. Cold turkey. In a moment of just being done I took the beer in my hand walked to the trash can, and threw it away. I remember the sound of the can hitting the bottom of the bin. It wasn’t just beer I was discarding; it was the habit, the pain, the false belief that alcohol could ever bring me peace.

I never looked back.

Sobriety hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it. Every day I wake up with clarity is a gift. Every moment I spend fully present with my family reminds me why I made that choice. My story isn’t unique. I know there are others out there who drank to escape, to numb, to feel good, and eventually just out of habit.

To you, I want to say: You are not alone. The cycle can be broken. Peace is possible. Healing is real. And the life waiting on the other side of that bottle is more beautiful than you can imagine.

I’m here, sharing my story, because I know how lonely it feels. And if my journey can shine a light for someone else, then every word is worth it.