The Beverage That Stands Between Me and Crime
The other day I asked a simple question on Facebook: tea, coffee, or energy drink to keep you going? I expected a few answers, maybe a little friendly debate, perhaps one or two people insisting that water was all they needed because they are apparently descended from superior stock. What I did not expect was the level of loyalty people showed toward their chosen beverage. Coffee drinkers emerged in overwhelming numbers, defending their cups with the passion usually reserved for sports teams and family members. Tea drinkers arrived with quiet confidence. Energy drink fans rolled in looking like they’d slept for three hours and had things to do. Then there were the glorious wildcards. Mountain Dew. Mellow Yellow. Chocolate milk. The beverage equivalent of people showing up to a black-tie event wearing Crocs and somehow pulling it off.
The responses got me thinking about something I had never really considered before. Most of us have an emotional support drink. Not a favourite drink. That’s different. A favourite drink is something you enjoy. An emotional support drink is something you depend on. It sits beside you through meetings that should have been emails, school runs, grocery shopping, laundry mountains, and those afternoons where everyone in the house seems determined to ask you a question the exact moment you sit down.
At some point during adulthood, many of us quietly adopted a beverage and assigned it responsibilities it never agreed to. We expect it to improve our mood, increase our motivation, lower our stress levels, fix our exhaustion, and occasionally solve problems that would normally require years of therapy. We know this is irrational. We know a cup of coffee cannot repair our emotional wellbeing. Yet somehow, every morning, we still approach the kettle or coffee machine with the hopeful optimism of someone about to receive life-changing advice from a wizard.
And honestly? I think that’s beautiful.
“At some point during adulthood, many of us quietly adopted a beverage and assigned it responsibilities it never agreed to.”
When a Drink Becomes Part of Your Personality
There comes a point in life where your emotional support drink stops being something you consume and starts becoming part of your identity. It sneaks up on you. One day you’re simply drinking coffee. The next day you’ve developed strong opinions about coffee beans, brewing methods, and whether instant coffee should be considered a beverage or a cry for help.
You can often identify people by their drink before they’ve even introduced themselves. Coffee people have a particular look in the morning. It is the look of someone who is technically awake but not yet prepared to participate in society. They move through the kitchen clutching their mug like a precious family heirloom. Conversation before the first sip is risky. Eye contact should be kept to a minimum. Sudden movements may result in growling.
Tea drinkers tend to approach life differently. Tea drinkers always seem like they’re coping slightly better than the rest of us, even when they’re absolutely not. There’s something about a cup of tea that gives the illusion of wisdom. You can be sitting in a dressing gown surrounded by unfolded laundry, unpaid bills, and a toddler who has somehow removed their pants for the third time that morning, but add a mug of tea and suddenly it looks like you’re thoughtfully reflecting on life rather than barely holding it together.
Then there are the people whose personalities are powered entirely by energy drinks. These are the adventurers among us. The risk-takers. The people who look at a can covered in aggressive colours and ingredients that sound vaguely industrial and think, “Yes. This seems like a sensible breakfast.”
Coffee People Are a Different Species
Coffee absolutely dominated my poll, which surprised nobody. Coffee isn’t a drink anymore. Coffee is infrastructure. It is a load-bearing wall in modern society. Remove coffee and entire industries would collapse by lunchtime.
I used to think I drank coffee because I liked the taste. Then I became a mum. These days my relationship with coffee feels less like enjoyment and more like mutual dependency. Coffee needs me to drink it. I need coffee to stop me from staring blankly into space while my toddler explains something incredibly important about a sticker she found six hours ago.
The problem is that having a toddler dramatically reduces your ability to actually consume a hot drink while it is still hot. I make coffee with the confidence of a woman who intends to enjoy it immediately. Then reality arrives. Somebody needs a snack. Somebody needs help finding a toy. Somebody wants to be carried. Somebody has discovered a mysterious substance on the floor and is heading toward it at speed. Forty-five minutes later I rediscover my coffee on the kitchen bench, now approximately the same temperature as a damp sock.
And yet I drink it anyway. Coffee people understand this. We have standards, but we also have limits. Somewhere between the first child and the fifth reheated cup, you stop caring about perfection and start caring about survival. Coffee doesn’t need to be exceptional. It just needs to exist.
Tea Drinkers Are Basically Emotional Support Humans
Tea drinkers fascinate me because they seem to possess a level of emotional regulation that coffee people can only dream of. While coffee drinkers are out here white-knuckling our way through the day, tea drinkers somehow manage to project an aura of calm competence. They could be experiencing a complete personal crisis and you’d never know it. Their house could be one unexpected expense away from collapse, their child could be using the dog as a trampoline, and they’d still gently smile and say, “I think I’ll pop the kettle on.”
Tea has a different job description than coffee. Coffee is there to get things done. Tea is there to help you cope with the fact that things need doing in the first place. Coffee shouts. Tea listens. Coffee bursts through the front door demanding action. Tea sits down beside you and quietly asks how you’re feeling.
I think that’s why tea appears so often in difficult moments. Nobody says, “Come over, I’ll make you an espresso and we can discuss your emotional trauma.” But tea? Tea has built an entire reputation around being present during life’s disasters. Bad breakup? Tea. Stressful day? Tea. Unexpected bill? Tea. Global uncertainty? Put the kettle on.
My grandmother’s generation understood this instinctively. Tea wasn’t simply a drink. It was a social tool, an emotional first-aid kit, and a conflict resolution strategy all rolled into one. Entire family dramas were processed over tea. Neighbour disputes softened over tea. Personal crises were survived one cup at a time. Looking back, I suspect half of humanity’s emotional resilience may have been fuelled by hot water and leaves.
“The older I get, the more convinced I become that many adults are essentially toddlers with emotional support beverages.”
Energy Drink People Have Seen Things
If tea drinkers are emotional support humans, energy drink people are survivors of some kind of unseen battle. Every time I see somebody crack open an energy drink at seven in the morning, I immediately assume they’re either heading to a construction site, finishing a night shift, raising multiple small children, or all three.
Energy drinks don’t pretend to be relaxing. They don’t arrive wrapped in comforting traditions or warm childhood memories. Energy drinks walk into the room wearing fluorescent colours and make promises that sound slightly illegal. They don’t gently encourage productivity. They practically kick the door off its hinges and scream, “WE RIDE AT DAWN.”
The thing I admire most about energy drink people is their honesty. Coffee drinkers still like to maintain a certain illusion. We talk about flavour notes and brewing methods and pretend we’re participating in a sophisticated ritual. Energy drink people have no such pretensions. They know exactly what they’re doing. They’re tired. They need help. The can contains help. End of discussion.
And honestly, there have been days in my life when that kind of straightforward relationship with reality sounds incredibly appealing. Particularly those parenting days where you’ve already lived what feels like three separate lifetimes before 9am. The toddler has refused breakfast, accepted breakfast, rejected breakfast again, spilled juice into a place that defies the laws of physics, and demanded a completely different breakfast. At that point, if somebody handed me a beverage called Nuclear Lightning Thunder Punch and promised it would help, I’d at least hear them out.
The Unexpected Comfort of Chocolate Milk and Other Wild Choices
The biggest surprise in my little beverage survey wasn’t coffee winning. It was discovering just how emotionally attached some people are to drinks that don’t usually get invited into these conversations. Mountain Dew had supporters. Mellow Yellow had supporters. Chocolate milk had supporters. Actual adults proudly declaring that chocolate milk was their comfort beverage.
And you know what? I respect it.
There’s something wonderfully honest about emotional support chocolate milk. Coffee tries to disguise itself as productivity. Tea disguises itself as mindfulness. Chocolate milk isn’t pretending to improve your efficiency or enhance your focus. Chocolate milk knows exactly what it is. It’s comfort. It’s nostalgia. It’s a small edible reminder that life isn’t entirely made up of responsibilities and tax forms.
I think that’s why certain drinks stay with us throughout our lives. They’re tied to memories. A particular flavour can transport you back twenty years faster than a photo album. One sip and suddenly you’re sitting in your childhood kitchen. You’re visiting your grandparents. You’re on a family holiday. You’re watching cartoons on a Saturday morning before you knew what interest rates were.
Sometimes we don’t reach for a drink because we’re thirsty. We reach for it because we miss a feeling. The drink just happens to be the shortest route back there.
The Difference Between Home Coffee and Café Coffee
Home coffee and café coffee may technically belong to the same species, but emotionally they are entirely different animals.
Home coffee is practical. It is the dependable workhorse of the beverage world. It arrives wearing sweatpants and carrying groceries. Home coffee knows your budget. Home coffee understands that you’ve got laundry to fold and dishes to wash. It doesn’t judge you when you reheat it three times and forget where you left it.
Café coffee, however, is an experience. Café coffee arrives dressed for the occasion. It comes in a cup that feels slightly too expensive to throw away. Somebody else made it. Somebody else cleaned up afterwards. Somebody else handed it to you with a smile and wished you a nice day. That alone is worth at least two dollars.
As a mum, I sometimes suspect the drink itself is only half the appeal. The real luxury is those few minutes where nobody is asking anything from you. You’re not solving problems. You’re not wiping faces. You’re not looking for missing shoes. You’re simply existing as a person holding a coffee.
And for a brief moment, the coffee shop becomes neutral territory. Not work. Not home. Not responsibility. Just a tiny pocket of peace disguised as a caffeine purchase.
“Sometimes a café coffee isn’t really about the coffee.
It’s about permission to pause.”
Why Buying a Café Drink Is Not Financial Irresponsibility
I know there are people who will argue that buying café drinks regularly is a waste of money. These people usually appear online immediately after somebody posts a photo of their latte. They emerge from the shadows armed with calculators and unsolicited financial advice.
Now look, I understand budgeting. I genuinely do. I’m a middle-aged mum living in the same economy as everyone else. I know what groceries cost. I know what electricity costs. I know the emotional rollercoaster of watching a grocery bill climb higher while the trolley somehow contains less food than last week.
But I also think humans need small joys.
Not extravagant joys. Not “book a spontaneous trip to Europe” joys. Tiny joys. Affordable joys. The kind that fit into ordinary life. A favourite drink. A walk. A book. A conversation with a friend. Little moments that remind us we’re living a life, not merely completing a series of tasks.
Sometimes a café coffee isn’t really about the coffee. It’s about permission. Permission to pause. Permission to sit down. Permission to exist as something other than a productivity machine. And frankly, if a seven-dollar coffee prevents me from having a minor existential crisis in the supermarket car park, I consider that money exceptionally well spent.
Carrying a Drink Like a Security Blanket
The older I get, the more convinced I become that many adults are essentially toddlers with emotional support beverages.
Think about it.
How many times have you carried a drink around the house without actually drinking it? How many times has your mug followed you from room to room like a loyal companion? How often have you sat down with your drink, stood up with your drink, walked outside with your drink, then returned inside still carrying the exact same drink?
We’re not drinking it.
We’re travelling with it.
The beverage becomes a prop, a ritual, a tiny source of reassurance. It’s something familiar to hold while we navigate whatever nonsense the day has decided to throw at us. Much like toddlers carrying beloved blankets, adults carry coffee cups and water bottles and insulated tumblers the size of small household appliances.
Maybe that’s the real secret behind emotional support drinks. They aren’t actually fixing our problems. The coffee doesn’t eliminate stress. The tea doesn’t solve conflict. The energy drink doesn’t organise the laundry.
But they create a pause. A tiny ritual. A moment of comfort in the middle of ordinary chaos.
And sometimes that’s enough.
In This House We Respect Emotional Support Beverages
The older I get, the less interested I am in judging the little things that help people get through the day. If your emotional support drink is coffee, wonderful. If it’s tea, excellent. If it’s an energy drink with a name that sounds like a rejected superhero, I’m not here to stop you. If your comfort comes in the form of chocolate milk, Mountain Dew, Mellow Yellow, or something equally unexpected, then pour yourself a glass and enjoy it.
Life is busy. Parenting is exhausting. Work is demanding. The laundry reproduces when nobody is looking. The dishes certainly do. Most of us are simply trying to navigate a world that feels louder, faster, and more expensive than it did ten years ago.
In the middle of all that, there is something strangely comforting about knowing exactly which drink you’ll reach for when things get hard. It’s a small ritual, a familiar habit, a tiny act of self-kindness that asks almost nothing from you. No self-improvement plan. No twelve-step process. No motivational podcast. Just a drink you enjoy and a few quiet minutes to yourself.
So here’s to the emotional support beverages. The lukewarm coffees forgotten on kitchen benches. The mugs of tea that somehow make everything feel slightly less overwhelming. The energy drinks powering parents through sleep deprivation. The nostalgic glasses of chocolate milk carrying us back to simpler times.
They may not solve our problems.
But they do make them easier to face.
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