When my life made a radical change, I definitely curbed the alcohol. Shortly after I left my first marriage, I walked away from the country music business, and slowly slid into the Christian music scene. I just naturally thought that drinking was not something the 'church' approved of, and I was on my journey of becoming a squeaky clean new person.
Let’s not even get into my immediate family gatherings. Pretty much all full-fledged—although not self-admitted—alcohol dependents. I often wondered how my sister justified Baileys in her morning coffee, tomato juice in her beer with lunch, and a homemade paralyzer before hopping in the car to head out for the evening. That was just what I saw during the times when I was home for summer visits. I was left puzzled—was this her regular routine, or was it somehow connected to my being there? An excuse to loosen up? To keep the buzz going? Either way, it left me uneasy.
Part of me questioned whether I was being judgmental—too sensitive, maybe even too self-righteous. But another part of me, the part that had started noticing how much I monitored other people’s drinks—and my own—was quietly alarmed. It was like I’d walked into a play where everyone knew their lines except me. And instead of feeling at home, I felt like a visitor on the edge of something I couldn’t quite name, but I felt it in my gut. Something was off. Something had always been off.
After several years of cutting back—I mean waaaay back—my husband and I rarely brought booze in the house. (Although we did smoke weed… until that came to an end as well. Get the book, and you’ll learn the details!)
But then I started noticing something. Some of our good Christian friends were indulging quite a bit in the grape and the hops. Not like my previous rock-'n-roll life, however some even making it a daily practice. It was... let’s just say, more contained. But it was there.
With each new church we attended or I sang at, I noticed that what was once taboo had become a whole lot more normalized. Not quite Oktoberfest-at-the-Catholic-church-window-painting level (yes, I saw it with my own eyes—that stunned me), but enough to raise an eyebrow. Apparently, the Catholics took Jesus turning water into wine a lot more literally than we ever did. For them, it felt less like a miracle and more like a ministry. I half expected to see a stained-glass Jesus raising a stein with the words “To your health!” in Latin underneath. Meanwhile, in some of my circles, we were still trying to decide if serving decaf in the fellowship hall was slipping down a dangerous slope. I couldn’t help but wonder—was I uptight? Or was everyone else just buzzed enough not to care?
Eventually, my new husband and I joined the ranks of the Christian partakers. We enjoyed fun cocktails, always wine with dinners, and the occasional craft beer—okay, several. I do love a good IPA!
But where I really noticed something shifting was during the years I was caregiving for my elderly mother-in-law with dementia. After long days that tested every ounce of my patience—and in between, flying across the USA to do speaking and music events—I was burning out. I was emotionally tapped, spiritually depleted, and physically running on fumes. That’s when red wine became my close friend. Not in a wild, party-girl way—just a steady, reliable ritual to take the edge off. It helped me unwind, helped me push through, helped me feel like I could keep the motor running. I told myself I could take it or leave it, but if I’m being honest… even I didn’t believe that line anymore.
I wasn’t downing shots at the bar anymore, but I also wasn’t completely free. Alcohol had become more sophisticated, more socially acceptable, more “grown-up”—but at the end of the day, it was still playing the same role it always had: a numbing agent, a social mask, a quiet escape.
If you’ve ever tried to make sense of your values while juggling contradictions all around you, you’re not alone.
My memoir shares how I learned to stop performing for love—and start living in truth.
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