It's Not Actually 2016 Again

2016 is trending right now, apparently.

During an Instagram scroll today, I saw several posts with throwback photos from 2016 and modern-day sentiments accompanying them in the captions. I couldn’t resist going back a decade into my Google Photos archive and scrolling through to see what I posted to Instagram in 2016. What I saw brought back so many memories and made me realize how formative that year was for me (as is evidenced by the fact that some of the most searing anecdotes I share in my memoir about my descent into gray area drinking are from 2016). I couldn’t resist adding my two cents (and photo carousel) to the mix. Here’s what I shared on Instagram, expanded here thanks to no character limit ☺️

It’s 2016 and I am lost. Lost in the identity-consuming throes of early motherhood. Lost in a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol. Lost inside my own body and relentlessly beating myself up for not returning to the same size I was before I grew and birthed two humans.

I am fully subscribed to wine mom culture and diet culture because that’s the way society tells me to be.

I am told wine is a tool to survive motherhood, and I believe it.

I am told my body needs to be smaller, and if I can’t make it smaller then I am weak and have no willpower, and I believe it.

I hide hangovers from my kids. I exercise as penance, not pleasure. I try to eat less, then end up eating more.

I fail every day, somehow. And it crushes me.

My beloved Chicago Cubs win the World Series in a now-legendary Game 7 that I do not remember because I chug a bottle of wine between the seventh and ninth innings and black out.

One of my best friends from college has a play open on Broadway that goes on to win the Tony. I am there on opening night, but I don’t remember much of it because I drink prosecco like it’s water in order to quell my raging insecurity.

Almost every morning I tell myself, “I will not drink tonight.” Almost every night I drink.

Almost every day I set food rules: no carbs, only unrefined sugar, no dessert. Almost every day I break them.

I am not nostalgic for much of what happened, or how my life was, in 2016.

But if I had not had a 2016, I would not have had a 2017 where I finally grew tired of the bullshit. And if I had not had a 2017, I would not have had a 2018 where I completed my first Dry January and decided to take on one year alcohol-free. If I had not had a 2018, I would not have had a 2019 where I decided to embrace life as a non-drinker. And on it goes until:

It’s 2026 and I am found. Found in my multi-faceted identity as a mom, author, coach, and fitness instructor. Found as a proud alcohol-free diet culture dropout. Found inside my own body and proud of its strength and resilience.

I still fail every day, somehow. But it no longer crushes me. It buoys me. I lift weights that get too heavy. I ask for things that I don’t get. I take risks that make me proud. Failure is practice. Failure is growth. Failure is fuel.

It’s safe to say 2016 was one big, long ride on the struggle bus for my my mid-30s self. But I wouldn’t trade a moment of it.

Without 2016, there would be no book. Because if I hadn’t fallen to the depths of my drinking, I might never have stopped. And if I hadn’t stopped drinking, I definitely would not have had the courage to start writing.

Without 2016, I would not have my story to tell.

Without 2016, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

So thank you, 2016, for being just the way you were so that I could learn to show up just the way I am.