Staying Sober Poolside

Tips to navigate summertime madness, resist drink offers, and hold gratitude for your sobriety every day

Jul 20, 2026

Every year I kind of forget the labyrinth of drinking that is our community pool.

The pool is lined with tremendous Willow Oaks, so in mid-May when the pool opens, the trees are leafing out, the flowers are blooming, goslings are teetering behind their goose mothers—the excitement of new life and warm weather is all around.

At my house, getting ready for the pool, there is shouting. “Where are the goggles? Do we have enough towels? Do the kids have their floaties?” The search for the rash guards (the swim shirts, the word “rash guard” that I only just learned last year).

My husband and I are a blended family, and together we have a total of eight children.

The smell of sunscreen. Sunglasses on my head. The prior search for said sunglasses. Packing a cooler with Capri Sun, baggies of Goldfish, Coke Zero—searching for the ice packs for the cooler.

What does getting ready for the pool have to do with my sobriety?

The frantic, chaotic pool preparation frazzles me. And being frazzled draws against my sober reserve. That’s not to say I will drink because of having to get my kids ready for the pool—but it’s a thing that draws against my reserve.

I love seeing my kids jump in the pool and have fun and splash and play. But once we get up there, not that long ago, I would have sighed and said, Jesus Christ, I deserve a drink.

I know I am not alone in this because when we walk in, other people at the pool say, “You deserve a drink.”

There’s White Claws, Stanleys filled with God knows what, and there’s the general heavy vibe of buzzed people hanging in the air, laughing too loud, yelling “STOP!” at their kids. “No splashing, no running,” we call out.

“Do you want one?” a woman asks. “You have to want one, with all those kids.”

Every year I forget that I’m about to be around drunk or buzzed people, and I’m going to see myself so vividly in their faces, and I’m going to feel feelings. They’re loud, laughing, looking to be having a good time.

“Oh, you deserve one,” the woman goes on. “You need this.”

At three and a half years sober, I am confident in the practice of my sobriety. But my God—how easy it would be to reach out and take whatever that other mom is offering, and say, “Thank you, thank God, you’re so right. Cheers to mommy juice.”

There are two parts to surviving the pool (or any occasion) sober: the practical, where-the-rubber-meets-the-road tips, and the ongoing, emotionally grounded ways to hold your sobriety in high esteem—to remember why you’re doing this thing. For me: to remember why choosing sobriety is the most loving thing I can do for myself every day.

Practical Tips

BYOB. This is a very common sobriety tip, but a very useful one: have something in your hand that you like to drink. You know the jokes about La Croix for the sober community.

There are two parts to this: 1) simply having a thing in your hand, and 2) making it something you actually enjoy. If you hate water, don’t have water. Have a Cranberry Splash Canada Dry, have an Athletic Brewing Company IPA if you like NA drinks, have something that you actually enjoy, so you don’t feel like you’re missing out. Water with cucumber and lemon slices. Whatever does it for you. Make it a treat.

Mentally prepare a no. Have a canned response if someone offers you a White Claw. While “no” is most definitely a complete sentence, drunk or drinking people can be pushy. I know this because I was a drunk person who was very pushy. “How can you not want a drink?” I used to say, genuinely stumped as to how a person could say no.

Have a plan if you get overwhelmed. If the urge to drink becomes strong, what’s your plan? Will you go to the bathroom and take deep breaths? Call a friend? How will you settle your central nervous system to understand that you are not, in fact, being chased by a saber-tooth tiger, but have simply been offered a White Claw and it’s your loving responsibility to yourself to find a way to say, “No, thank you”?

Be prepared to leave. This is another very simple tip: bring your own car. Or your own scooter. Whatever it is. Have the wherewithal to say to yourself: I will not drink today, even if that means removing myself completely from the situation. (This one is easier said than done when it comes to getting kids out of the pool—which is why you need to be prepared.)

Emotional Tips

Remember the bigger picture. “Not this life. Better luck next life,” I sometimes say to my boys—about how they have a mom who doesn’t know how to match their clothes (I mean, how bad do checkered pants and a striped shirt really look together?). I also say this to myself at the pool. I cannot drink in this lifetime, not with the body and brain I have. Maybe in the next life, I say to myself. But not this one. In this life, I have been called to heal from this thing.

Remember what it was like. I remember what Monday morning looked like for me when I had been on a weekend bender. It’s not even that I called out of work or did anything irresponsible. But I remember my hands shaking while I drank my coffee. The heavy, sinking feeling in my chest, the pounding head, the frantic brushing of my teeth, the are-my-eyes-bloodshot and does-my-sweat-smell-like-booze, the desperate if I just sit down and start pounding on the keyboard, if I just get to work, maybe this feeling will go away. And the way that the day did go by, and the sun moved across the sky, and by the time it got to early afternoon I began thinking, Oh my God I could use a beer, and how I would go home and drink a beer and feel like coming home and think, My God I survived again, thank God.

And I remember that I hold gratitude that I am no longer caught on this vicious carousel I couldn’t seem to get off, and that the distance between my intellectual understanding and my heart finally shortened, and that I finally absorbed into my bones that I never had to feel that way again.

Be prepared for the thing after the thing. As I mentioned earlier, so much of this drew against what I call my sober reserve—the amount of tolerance I had.

There were times when I was getting sober that I could make it through the thing. A performance, a dinner, a holiday, a job interview. Something that I knew would really take it out of me emotionally. And I would be fine. But then I would get home, and I would be sitting there, and that little voice would creep in—that voice that said, Hey, you deserve this. You’ve earned this. And I would think, Aw, hell, what’s one? And the next thing I knew, I would be driving back to the store to get another six-pack or another bottle of wine, or amping up to a box of wine because I wouldn’t want to run out—not again—and the next day I would be devastated, face in hands, wondering, How did this happen again?

Be prepared for that voice to creep in. And when it does, just say, Hi, I see you. What are you trying to tell me? What do you need? What can I do to take care of you? Drinking is not caring for you, no matter what the mommy juice memes say.

And so I remember that what I deserve is to treat myself with love and respect, and that means not taking a drink.

And so I will be frazzled. I will say “no thank you” to offers of White Claw. I will watch these people run out to the Sheetz nearby and get fries and another pack of White Claws, some of those tallboys that I used to like so well and that I used to buy at that very Sheetz not so many years ago.

But I will sun myself, I will shout, “No running!” at my kids. And Monday will roll around, and I will not hate myself. In fact, I will even kind of like myself. And I will survive the pool—all those goggles and rash guards and spray sunscreen—and I will continue to hold gratitude in my heart, every day, for my sobriety.

What’s helps protect your sobriety around drinking? What are your sober summer plans? We’d love to hear in the comments.

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