Imbiber

I don’t know if this happens in your family but in mine, there is a narrative created around certain family members. There’s the gun toting Uncle with the fanny pack, the Uncle who tells the same stories and jokes all the dang on time, the Martha Stewart like cousin who doesn’t let you help except for when it’s time to cleanup, and the bad and bougie Aunt.

In my family apparently, I’m the alcoholic. I used to laugh along with everyone else but it’s just not funny to me and I’m starting to resent it. I don’t get drunk at family functions, or most functions for that matter. I do love a good cocktail and obviously bubbles are my favorite, but my enthusiasm for a good cocktail in a social setting doesn’t necessarily equate to being an alcoholic, except around my family.

I started to feel some type of way around Christmas when we were playing a voting game. Every time the question mentioned drinking the vote was automatically given to me. Since then, I’ve certainly been more sensitive to mentions of alcohol and my name.

The fact is, I enjoy drinking, it’s part of my professional and personal life. I know what works for me and what doesn’t work. Referring to my love of alcohol in relation to me being an alcoholic feels like a stretch. One I don’t appreciate. No one writes the narrative of me but me.

Author: Cherrón