'I was in denial about how much I drank, until my son said six words.'

I grew up on the Gippsland Lakes, the youngest of four kids in a tiny community where everyone knew everyone and alcohol was just part of life.

Birthdays, barbecues, weekends, weeknights – there was always a reason to open a bottle. It was how people celebrated, how they commiserated, how they filled the space between the two.

We moved there when I was four. It was after my dad had what they called a "nervous breakdown." Alcohol came with us. It was part of every night, every celebration, every social gathering, every day.

Watch: Felicia on navigating her father's alcoholism. Post continues after video.

The drinking wasn't wild or dramatic. It wasn't bingeing or falling down drunk. It was quieter and more constant. The kind that slips into every corner of life until you can't imagine a barbecue, a birthday or a night at home without it.

I remember being a teenager, studying for Year 12 while Dad sat up late with a beer in one hand and a cigarette burning between his fingers, asleep in his chair. Even then, I knew it wasn't right.

We never talked about it, but we all knew. If neighbours dropped by, we'd hide the bottles.

As soon as they left, they'd come back out. There was a quiet shame around it that no one ever named.

When drinking feels normal,

By the time I was 12 or 13, I'd started drinking too. That's just what kids did in a small town.

There were about 1,500 people where we lived, and not much to do on a Friday or Saturday night. So we'd go to the beach, grab a few UDLs and call it a party.

Catherine when she was a teenager. Image: Supplied.

When I moved to Melbourne at 18, it didn't stop. I got a job in the legal industry where long lunches were still the norm. Later, I worked in recruitment and training, where we even had a "social fund" to keep the office bar stocked. On a Friday, we'd start drinking at four in the afternoon and carry on right through the night as we hit the clubs after work.

Everyone drank. It was part of belonging. I can't remember anyone around me who didn't drink, at least a little.

Consuming alcohol every day was a slow transition that crept up over about 15 years. It started as something that happened on a Friday or Saturday night, then Mondays joined in, and before I knew it, it was every day. It happens so slowly you don't even realise it's happening, one glass becomes two, and suddenly it's part of your routine, part of who you are.

That "wine o'clock" time became my ritual. Start at five, stop at nine. Unless it had been a particularly stressful day. I used to tell myself I was having a couple of glasses, but the recycling bin often told another story.

Breaking one habit but not the other

There were so many times I could have stopped. Times that should have been my wake-up call.

A couple of years before I fell pregnant with Ethan, I gave up smoking. There was a long history of smokers in my family, and I was determined not to pass that on, so I never took it up again after Ethan was born. Alcohol always came back though.

Then there was the day my dad asked Ethan, who was still in primary school, to grab him a beer from the fridge. I lost it. Something inside me just snapped. I remember thinking, this can't go on. I knew exactly what I was seeing, because I'd lived it as a child. But even that moment, as confronting as it was, wasn't enough to make me stop.

In 2019, I had a car accident on my way to work that changed everything. I suffered a spinal injury and chronic pain that still affects me today. During recovery, I was on heavy painkillers and there were moments in my recovery when I didn't drink at all. But when the medication tapered off, I went straight back to drinking every day.

Catherine's car after the accident. Image: Supplied.

Looking back now, it's clear that alcohol was so deeply woven into my life that even life-changing moments couldn't shake it loose. It was the ritual, the comfort, the habit that wrapped itself around every emotion I didn't want to face.

It wasn't until Ethan's words years later – those six simple words – that everything finally shifted.

Waking up with regret.

By the time 2021 rolled around, I'd wake up most mornings with that familiar gut-sinking feeling. I'd think, what did I say last night? Did I do something stupid?

It wasn't that I was getting blackout drunk. I wasn't. But it was always there. The guilt. The fog. The self-talk that starts every day on a low.

The end of that year brought summer, which was full of the usual celebrations. There were family gatherings, barbecues, endless drinks. Nothing dramatic happened. Just more of the same. Too much of everything.

In addition to the usual Christmas and New Year celebrations, both Ethan and I had birthdays in early January. I'd be turning 44 and he had reached 18.

It was one night, around this time, that I walked into Ethan's room to say goodnight. He looked at me and said quietly, "I really don't like the person you become when you drink."

It floored me.

There was no excuse. No justification. Just silence. I'd spent my whole life telling myself I'd never let alcohol affect another generation, and here it was, happening again.

That moment changed everything.

The very next day, January 17, 2022, at 44 years of age, I had quit alcohol for good.

There were no hangovers or big blow-ups. Just a decision. I had already seen a psychologist to help with PTSD from the accident, and I realised I couldn't truly heal while I was still drinking. So I stopped.

Cold turkey.

I kept my rituals, though. I still pour a drink at five o'clock, but now it's a kombucha or a non-alcoholic wine. I still offer guests wine at dinner, but I don't drink it myself.

The first few weeks were surprisingly easy. Then it got harder. That moment when you've had a rough day and every part of you reaches for a glass… that's when you have to do the work. That's when you remember your "why".

For me, that "why" was Ethan. I valued what he thought of me more than anything. I couldn't bear the idea of him looking at me the way I used to look at my dad.

Learning to live without a crutch.

The change in our relationship has been profound. There's a trust between us now that I didn't even realise was missing before.

Without alcohol, I'm calmer and more present. I don't wake up foggy or ashamed. I deal with things head-on instead of pouring a drink to soften them.

Catherine with her family. Image: Supplied.

The truth is, when you stop self-soothing with alcohol, you're forced to actually face what's underneath. You have to work your stuff out. It's uncomfortable at first, but it's also where the growth is.

I trust myself now in a way I never did before. I know my judgement is clear. I can see when I need help and ask for it, instead of pretending I'm fine.

Freedom and clarity.

At 47, I feel like I've been broken and rebuilt. I'm not perfect. I still have a sweet tooth, I still love dessert, but I'm no longer carrying the weight of alcohol and shame.

Quitting didn't magically fix my chronic pain or make life easier, but it made me honest. It stripped away the fog so I could see what really needed healing.

Catherine, after quitting alcohol. Image: Supplied.

The most powerful thing has been breaking the cycle. My dad's drinking shaped my childhood, but it won't shape Ethan's.

Freedom, for me, looks like clarity. It's waking up without guilt. It's knowing I've changed something for the generations that come after me.

These days, that decision to quit drinking has shaped far more than just my health, it's shaped my purpose. Without my journey through alcohol and sobriety, I'd have never been led to the work I do now, helping others find clarity in life's hardest conversations.

I'm the founder of Critical Info, a certified social enterprise that empowers Australians to plan for end-of-life with confidence, compassion and dignity.

Through our Critical Info Platform, national guide My Loved One Died, What Do I Do Now?, and my podcast Don't Be Caught Dead, I'm helping people prepare for what we all face eventually, so no one is caught off guard when death happens.

For me, it all comes back to the same truth I learnt the day my son spoke those six words: when we face difficult things honestly, we give the people we love the greatest gift, peace of mind.

For anyone wondering if they drink too much.

You'll know. That gut feeling in the morning, the one that whispers "this isn't right," listen to it.

You don't have to hit rock bottom to make a change. Start small. Delay your first drink. Skip a day. Notice how good it feels to wake up clear-headed.

That's where it starts.

One small change that grows into freedom. One decision that breaks the cycle for good.

Read more of our sobriety stories here:

• 'I saved my life by getting sober 5 years ago. On my birthday, I learned what I'd also lost.'

• 'Alcohol was completely sabotaging my life. Then came the moment I knew I had to quit.'

• 'I discovered I had ADHD.' 10 women on the most surprising thing about giving up alcohol.

Feature image: Supplied.