Opening My Door Again

On hosting without alcohol

I sit on my bed, phone in hand, trying to decide if I’m going to hit send. I wipe my sweating palms on my sheets. The cursor blinks at me and I wonder if I should write more. Do I need to explain? Should I put a quick apology at the end or is that weird? 

“I’m being stupid,” I think to myself. This is ridiculous. I decided I wanted to do this in October and today is December 10th. I’m running out of time and it’s really not that big of a deal anyway. Maybe if I keep telling myself it’s not that big of a deal, I’ll believe it.

I breathe out and hit send on the texts inviting friends to a New Year’s Eve party at my house, with the caveat that there won’t be any alcohol. I chew on my fingernails and wait for replies.

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The day after I got sober, the anxiety spirals about my daughter’s 2nd birthday party started. Her birthday wasn’t for another 8 months but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My mind felt like an etch-a-sketch, frantically drawing picture after picture of what sober hosting could look like and shaking them away every time because nothing worked, nothing felt good. Would I serve alcohol and just not drink it? Would I ask people to bring their own and give strict instructions that they take leftovers home with them? Would I have the first alcohol-free family party in living memory? And most importantly for my tender, newly sober heart: What would everyone think of me?

In

Laura McKowen

’s beautiful memoir We Are the Luckiest, she describes how she didn’t invite anyone over to her home for the first 10 months of her sobriety. She couldn’t handle the exact same questions I had been asking myself over and over. The whole idea of hosting “jacked her up and spun her out” so she removed it from her life all together for 10 full months. She felt freed by that.

I read these words a few months into my birthday party spiraling and the tension in my chest unspooled. The ropes I didn't know had been wrapped around my body fell to the ground. I don’t have to have people over. I don’t have to answer the question of if I can ever have alcohol in my home again, not right now. In this time where my skin feels so brittle, my heart so fragile, my home can be mine and my family’s alone. The idea of bringing alcohol inside can be put away in a drawer, pulled out and examined another time. 

When the questions about my daughter’s birthday started from family, my husband ripped up our living room floors and our first big DIY project doubled as an excuse to skip the party. I love and follow a God who calls us to open our homes but when I took this to Him in prayer, I felt Him gently take my hand and lead me to close my doors. So I did, for a while.

After nearly a year of sobriety, God began presenting opportunities for hosting. It started with just inviting another couple and their kids over for dinner here and there. I was given a party practice run when my husband and I volunteered to host a dinner for our church small group. I got to see what it felt like to have 20+ people in my home without the pressure of the alcohol question-  as a church function, it wouldn’t be expected. It felt good to have people laugh and eat and share in my home. I felt warm and light sitting at my kitchen table surrounded by friends, listening to our children smash block castles in the room over. I wanted to do this more.

The question of alcohol for guests needed to be pulled out of the corner of the junk drawer and held up to the light. After over a year of sobriety, the decision was obvious- alcohol couldn’t have a place in our home and that included when guests were over. The grief that ruled in my heart during early sobriety rained down on me again, flooding me with images of would’ve/could’ve/should’ve been parties. Pictures of friends in my home with flowing wine and pretty coupe glasses clinking and me at the center of it all poured into my mind. The hang up was that I couldn’t see who I was in that fantasy of mine. Was I four drinks in and figuring out how I could refill my glass without my husband noticing? Or was I holding sparkling water, trying not to breathe too deeply near the glasses of red wine? The lack of clarity about who I would be at these imaginary parties, and that none of the versions of myself with alcohol present felt good, made the path forward clear.

When the decision was made, I assumed this meant that we would not be hosting many parties, sticking to official church functions and our children’s birthday parties. I grieved this. I thought about our serving ware collecting dust in the basement and assumed it would rarely see the light of day, unless I was taking it to someone else’s house. God called me to close my door for a season but I was planning to press my hands against it, making sure it was closed tight, too embarrassed and afraid of judgment to open them again. Unsurprisingly, my Father did not leave me there.

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Months pass by, the air gets crisp and the sweaters come out, and holiday plans start being made. It’s October and I’m thinking about New Year’s Eve with a twinge of loneliness. It had been years since my husband and I had spent New Year’s Eve with anyone but each other. There were a variety of reasons for this- COVID, moving to a new town where we had no friends, and just not getting asked to go anywhere. I had a bit of a silent pity party while ringing in 2023 from my couch. I finally had friends locally and I figured someone else would do the work of organizing a party and invite me. I was wrong and it resulted in a lonely holiday. It was my first sober New Year’s and a small part of me ached for the bitter fizz of champagne.

That day in October I realized that I didn’t want to spend another New Year’s at home with just my husband and daughter. I wanted to spend it with others. I wanted to invite people into my home, a big group of them, on one of the biggest drinking nights of the year.

Even though I knew my friends were not big drinkers I still couldn’t bring myself to finalize the idea. My husband and I tossed it around, mulling it over between us, but neither of us would commit to saying out loud that we were doing it. Asking people into our home for New Year’s without providing champagne felt wrong, like we were being inhospitable, denying their ability to partake in tradition. More than that, I was scared no one would come. Even more than that, I was scared that they would come and that they would leave thinking they would have rather been at home with a drink in hand. After all, if I went to a booze-free New Year’s Eve party during my drinking days, I would have been bitter, counting down until midnight only because that meant I could leave and have a drink. 

Finally, December 10th rolled around. No New Year’s discussions were happening amongst my friends. I was going to spend another year on the couch if I didn’t make something happen. I went to my husband and we decided to do it. I sat on my bed, texted my friends, and waited for replies while I sweat through my shirt.

Not one of them cared that we wouldn’t serve alcohol. Of course they didn’t. A couple of friends couldn’t make it, the rest were enthusiastic about sparkling cider. The months of agonizing over this party felt silly and self-involved. I am the one who cares about alcohol, not my friends. Only my fellow addicts care about alcohol as much as I do.

The day of the party came and I felt joyful, the kind of joy that made my chest feel warm and fingertips buzz. I was at peace in my home, surrounded by friends, drinking a delicious mocktail that was a hit amongst the adults and kids. The parents liked the party hats more than the children and the fake midnight countdown thrilled all 8 of the toddlers in attendance. I blew noisemakers and tossed balloons in the air with my daughter. I saw a version of myself as a host that was not drunk and not wishing I was drinking.  

In all of His mercy, God saw fit to tell me to close my doors for a season and then gave me the courage to fling them back open. In my kitchen, listening to my friends chatter and our children laugh, I felt free.

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Thanks so much for reading, friends! If you’ve experienced any anxieties around hosting in sobriety, or just hosting in general, I’d love to chat about it in the comments!

What I’m reading: Jane Austen’s Emma. I’ve never read this Austen novel before and it’s reminded me just how funny she is. I’m only at the beginning but seeing 19th century England through the eyes of a pretty girl put on a pedestal is a treat.

What I’m drinking: Sparkling apple-cranberry juice. Specifically in a mocktail with pineapple juice, ginger ale, ginger beer, and orange slices. This is the drink mentioned in the essay and I served it again last night for a church small group party! It’s a seasonal item and I managed to snag the last bottles at my grocery store a couple days ago. It’s delicious so grab some if you can!

What I’m eating: Cookies. So many cookies. Last night’s party was a cookie exchange so we have eaten far too many, especially given Christmas was more than 2 weeks ago.

Photo by Anto Meneghini on Unsplash