When I left for Mexico at twenty, I thought I was choosing adventure, independence, and opportunity. Instead, I found loneliness, disconnection, and a version of myself I barely recognized. Years later, I can finally see that the story was never really about Mexico. It was about food becoming comfort, the birth of control, and the consequences of choosing with my head instead of my heart.

For years, my weekend glass of wine felt harmless. It was my reward, my ritual, my way of relaxing after a week of trying to be "good." What I didn't realize was how deeply that habit was intertwined with my eating disorder and my relationship with myself. This is the story of how I stopped drinking—not forever, but for right now—and why that distinction changed everything.