I tried to change my daughter’s future – now Mother’s Day marketing to her makes me furious

If you ask me why I quit drinking, the biggest reason is simple: my daughter.

AUD is a spectrum disorder that can be mild, moderate or severe, and means your ability to stop or control your alcohol use is impaired, despite adverse social, occupational, or health consequences – if you’re drinking more than 10 standard drinks a week, which is the nationally recommended limit to avoid alcohol-related harm, it’s cause for self-examination.

Sarah Rusbatch, pictured, wants to make sure her kids will never think “Mum can’t find out about this”. Credit: Composite image by Maria Ercegovac

Research shows daughters of mothers with alcohol use disorder are far more likely to develop this disorder themselves. Part of the reason? They’ve never truly seen self-care modelled in a healthy way.

Until my daughter was seven, she saw me drinking in almost every context. Socialising with friends. Relaxing in the bath. “Unwinding” after work. Playdates at 10am. Kids’ birthday parties. Christmas Day (wine at 9am? Why not?)

Any day that felt a little too hard to handle.

She heard me say, over and over again, “I need a wine”, as if my survival depended on it. Her little subconscious brain was absorbing all of it. Life as a woman and a mum is hard, but a glass of wine makes it easier.

We often underestimate how much kids pick up. Not always just from what we say, but from what we do. And this is why as Mother’s Day rolls around each year, the alcohol-fuelled marketing campaigns make my blood boil.

From PJs covered in wine bottles to “personalised” gin bottles telling us to “make Mum feel truly special,” the message is loud and clear: alcohol is a mother’s reward. What are we teaching our daughters? That parenting is so exhausting, so overwhelming, that the only real solution is to drink?

And meanwhile, almost no one talks about the real cost. Alcohol is a Group 1 carcinogen, the same level as tobacco, and it’s responsible for around 35 per cent of hormone-related breast cancers.

A year into my sobriety, I finished a Zoom call one evening and stepped out of the office. My daughter grabbed my hand, whispering excitedly. “Look, Mama, you’ve been working so hard; I made you a day spa!”

She had run a bath, lit candles, and played calming music – because she had seen me, every night in early sobriety, create that ritual for myself to unwind.

This moment brought tears to my eyes. Instead of seeing me reach for a bottle of wine to cope, she observed me create true self-care: a bath, quiet music, a moment to breathe.

And she modelled it.

I can already see my daughter has a brain a lot like mine. M&Ms light her up like a Christmas tree. It’s a battle to pull her away from the iPad. Her dopamine reward system is more sensitive than that of her brother, who by contrast is indifferent to gaming, sugar and screens.

Knowing what I now do about dopamine and addiction, I’ve set up her life differently, with lots of outdoor exercise, limited devices at night, plenty of protein and nourishing food and good sleep routines.

Because it’s not about saying “don’t do this” - it’s about giving her the tools to feel good without needing an external substance to regulate her emotions.

And when the time comes to talk to her about alcohol, I’ll be ready.

I’ll teach her that, for women, alcohol can hit harder depending on the time of the month (estrogen plays a big role). I’ll show her there are ways to care for herself that are sustainable, healthy and truly nurturing.

She’s already seeing that socialising without alcohol is normal. She watches me go out with friends, laughing, having a wonderful time and not even thinking about a drink.

We have solid research to back up that children are learning from our drinking. A study in Sweden showed that children as young as two can tell whether a parent’s drink is alcoholic and recognise in which situations their parent is likely to drink.

The habits we model early shape their beliefs. If they see us socialise, relax, and celebrate without alcohol, they learn it’s possible. If they only ever see alcohol attached to fun, relaxation, or coping, they grow up believing that’s the norm, and changing that belief later can take years of unlearning.

Just this week, my daughter spotted a big-name nightwear brand launching a Mother’s Day range with pyjamas covered in wine bottles. She looked at me, horrified, and said, “Well, there’s no way I’m buying you those, Mum! That’s gross!”

Our kids are watching us. They’re learning from us. And every choice we make, especially the hard choice, changes their future.

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