I went out on Saturday night. As in, out out, for maybe the third or fourth time since the birth of my son over three years ago. Looking immaculate in my “special occasion” dress, I got into the car to drive into the nightlife district and thought back to the last time I went out in the evening, without nipple pads on or a self-imposed curfew to coincide with my son’s feeds. I caught up with a group of friends who are in many different life stages, including a couple who had recently become mothers, and who were experiencing their first “adult outings” since giving birth - a huge milestone.
Catching up with these acquaintances who had undergone the shift to “mum” made me reflect on those early days, weeks and months of parenthood. Although mostly a blur, I remember moments of endlessly scrolling social media and chatting while breastfeeding (or being “nap trapped”, as my newborn son learned early on that sleeping on mum was much more comforting than being swaddled and laid in a bassinet), looking for something to relate to, to feel connected with. Online motherhood pages provided a smorgasbord of content that either normalised the experience of new parenthood or left me feeling completely inadequate and questioning my decisions and ability. Peppered between the posts on sleep and sensory play were memes that were usually focused on the unspoken challenges of raising a baby. “Oh my god”, I thought, “it’s not just me!” - not just me who is experiencing sensory overload, maternal rage, extreme emotions, resentment towards my partner, feelings of extreme isolation completely removed from who I was before having a baby. I felt seen. But I couldn’t relate to a predominant theme throughout a significant number of the memes, those which focused on booze as a coping mechanism.
By the time I became a mother, I was well and truly steadfast and confident in my sobriety. I’d written “non-drinker” in my Peanut profile (think Tinder for mums) and felt quietly relieved that I didn’t have to consider alcohol intake timing well with when my son would need a feed. But quickly, I became self-conscious when engaging with the new mum online forums, and planning kid-free outings together. Many in the groups would express excitement about going out and having a few drinks, which seemed to be a shared joy. For me, this usually meant either hoping the venue would have a decent mocktail selection, or opt out of the event to avoid the feelings of discomfort when being inevitably asked “are you just having a sparkling water?”. This experience quickly started by “wine mom resistance” era.
The term “wine mom” is easily understood by most people who are even somewhat online. Gifs of Amy Schumer chugging a massive glass of wine added to the end of social media posts describing a day/week with a toddler, targeted ads with kitschy wine glasses lettered with “mommy’s sippy cup”, the notion of a psycho-addictive substance being required to deal with the everyday (yet unrealistic) demands of motherhood has become so normalised that it’s already become a personification - chances are that while you are reading this, you are picturing a white, middle-class woman, enjoying a glass (or bottle) of Moscato. While at times mocked for leaning into “Karen” territory, the dependence on alcohol displayed in these constructions of a “wine mom” is considered not only socially acceptable, but understandable. Raising children is all-encompassing, and we all deserve a little wine-down (sorry). But let’s change who our mother is. Let’s consider a First Nations mother - while recent evidence suggests Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are less likely to drink than other Australians (but those who do are more likely to drink at dangerous levels), socio-political discourse is not as understanding or as jovial towards their relationship with drinking.
Over the course of Saturday’s night out, conversation naturally drifted towards topics regarding navigating newborn life. Exhaustion is at an unprecedented high, the physical and emotional toll of creating and nurturing new life more devastating than anyone could prepare you for. You yearn for that village that is supposed to help you with the weight of raising your child, but you’re more isolated than ever (mentally and geographically). “It isn’t supposed to be like this” you think to yourself.
Us geriatric millennials came of age in the postfeminist utopia - all empowered and “leaning in”, girlbossing the shit out of our careers while comfortable in the knowledge that we absolutely, definitely could have it all. And while we were all shattering glass ceilings and basking in being our own She-E-Os, we were oblivious to the individualistic, neoliberal ideals that were being ingrained in us as the new standards. Since having my son my feelings of failure have all stemmed from not being, or having, “enough” - not enough time to be a fully attentive parent while also excelling in my career, not enough money to live in an area which is accessible for work/lifestyle and close to extended family, not enough connection to who I was “pre-baby”. But if we shift this sense of inadequacy from an individual to structural lens, the true failure here is on the lack of appropriate social and economic resources in place to hold a new mother (which was further exacerbated during the COVID-19 pandemic), to support her with that longed-for village. And while progress towards addressing these very real issues is happening, it is at a snail pace. So we reach out and grab onto anything that can bring about a sense of control, or familiarity, for now - and one of the most accessible ones is that glass (or bottle) of wine at the end of a difficult day to numb the feelings of anguish, while scrolling social media and feeling seen, heard and validated through the multitude of memes which resonate with the complex disconnection we are experiencing.
While most people who drink do so in a responsible and measured way, there is no denying that alcohol consumption is one of the biggest health and social issues in Australia at the moment. Evidence suggests that levels of problem drinking have increased significantly among women over the last number of years, and moreso throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, with the common theme among female drinkers being that alcohol has been their primary form of “self-care”. And it is here where we go back to the postfeminist, girl-bossification of the matter - to truly “have it all”, you absolutely MUST self-care! But not the type of self-care that is genuinely helpful like having time/space/resources/boundaries - no, only the type that is achieved through the temporary numbing of difficult feelings, requiring no external support. But hey, it’s EMPOWERING to “take control” of your emotions and let loose. It’s ME TIME! As long as nobody is getting hurt, right?
Well, let’s take a look at that. Despite the global success of alcohol lobbies to brand booze as a positive lifestyle choice, alcohol remains a Group 1 carcinogen, and kills more women from breast cancer than any other one. In addition to the physiological damage from alcohol consumption directly, there are the additional key drivers of premature death that booze plays a direct role in (vehicle fatalities, injuries, domestic violence). The impact of alcohol on the nation’s health is growing - the rate of alcohol-induced and alcohol-associated death in Australia were recorded in 2022 as a ten-year high. In addition to the impact on the person consuming booze, we also know that there is a negative impact on those around them. In the case of mothers who are reaching for the bottle as a coping mechanism, we know of the statistics on problem alcohol consumption and risk factors for children. But what is less considered is the emotional burden placed on children when they receive the messaging that caring for them is so taxing, so demanding, that the parent needs alcohol to be able to do that. This isn’t the intent of the parent drinking - but developmentally speaking, a child is not able to consider this connection in any other way.
So in actively fighting against this stereotype, I am advocating for stepping back and looking at women with a compassionate lens. I want to emphasise here that in resisting “wine mom” culture, I am not judging the choices of women who do drink. Rather, I am rising up against the neoliberal, capitalistic forces which limit our choices and access to more appropriate support, which inevitably makes us vulnerable to the quick (not so) fixes. I want the conversation to shift from framing any kind of problematic alcohol consumption as an individual flaw, to a public health issue, which relies on a whole-of-society approach to address. Because to defeat the wine mom, we must understand and appropriately support the wine mom.