Wine mummy wakes up

Most of my blogs are thought about, written and posted within the space of about 30 minutes. But this one has been simmering for days, and I’ve never taken so long to write, edit and rewrite a blog post. Because this topic feels so important and I want to do it justice.

I am a mum of two little girls, aged 2 and 5, who are simultaneously one of the main reasons I used to drink too much and also one of the main reasons I stopped. And since I stopped it’s as a mum that I feel most like an oddity because I don’t drink alcohol anymore. My mum friends are the people I worried the most about whether they would accept me as a non-drinker. And yet at the same time I used to work as a solicitor representing parents whose children were being taken into care and, in the case of the women I represented, alcohol or drug addiction was almost always at the heart of why this terrible thing was happening to them.

So what’s going on? What the fuck is wrong with this picture? It’s a question I’ve come back to in my mind over and over again since I stopped drinking. One of the things that scares me the most about it is our seeming collective blindness about what’s actually happening here. This is not a properly researched article because (oh the irony) I don’t have time to write one, much as I’d love to, mainly because of my kids. Because of providing for them and caring for them and sorting out the thousands of details of their lives and doing the other things I need to do in my own life in order to not completely lose my shit with them on a regular basis. But what was very stark to me just from looking at Google image searches about women and drinking is that on the one hand we have a few dry, scholarly articles from the department of no shit Sherlock saying that women are being increasingly targeted by alcohol companies and we are also statistically drinking more and suffering more harm as a result of our drinking.

And on the other hand we have this:

A google images search for ‘mummy wine memes’ brings an avalanche of quick, accessible messages that as a woman, as a mother, it is not only acceptable to drink more than the recommended ‘moderate’ limits, both in terms of quantity and frequency, but it’s a badge of honour. A membership requirement for the cool mums club. And the slogans include overt reference to so many of the signs of problematic drinking including:

Increasing tolerance

Binge drinking

Craving alcohol in the morning

Drinking alone

Drinking every day

But it’s a fucking JOKE cry a billion women (in my head – clearly a billion people are not going to read this). Well, yes, I get that and I also get that the majority of women who read and post these things will not be drinking at particularly dangerous levels. When you’re a mum of young kids you’re likely to have a very restricted social life and you’re also likely to be pretty knackered a lot of the time. Even me, binge drinker extraordinaire of many, many years standing, was often semi-comatose after two glasses of cab sauv on a Friday night after I had kids. But bear this in mind. Problem drinking takes many forms and most people are not open about any worries they may have about their drinking. I sure as hell wasn’t. So I’d be willing to bet that every single one of these ‘harmless’ social media posts is seen by at least one woman who is drinking in an unhealthy and life-limiting way and that it will contribute to the normalisation of her behaviour, which will ultimately prevent or delay her from seeking help. I speak from direct experience here.

Even though I know this to be true, still in writing this I’m starting to feel like a total sanctimonious arse and that’s the last thing I want to do. You see I used to LOVE wine memes. And mummy blogs where the writer made frequent reference to drinking. They gave me a feeling of ‘we’re all in this together’ solidarity that is sorely needed when you have young kids and I am 100% NOT about mum shaming in any way because fuck knows there’s enough of that about. Mums who don’t drink. Mums who drink too much. Mums who feed their kids out of the freezer 80% of the time. Middle class mums who feed their kids on spinach and quinoa. Mums who work and don’t spend enough time with their kids. Mums who don’t work and scrounge off the state. Mums who helicopter parent. Mums who spend time looking at their phone when they’re with their kids. I could go on and on – it’s like we can’t win no matter what we do and the absolute last thing I would ever want to do is add to that in any way. If you’re a mum reading this who drinks, moderately or not, I am telling you that I see you, I get it and this is not written from a place of judgement about how you relieve stress, let off steam or anything else.

What I am about is the truth. Because I stuck my head in the sand about it for so long. Because I think it needs to be said again and again, by as many people as possible, until every woman who drinks is doing so with her eyes fully open to how the alcohol industry (which like all powerful industries is populated at the top primarily by old white straight men) is deliberately targeting women and encouraging the ‘mummy needs wine’ culture because it is making them BIG BUCKS.

Because we are an ideal target market for Big Alcohol – a perfect storm and a very dangerous and destructive one. Being a parent is more stressful and anxiety inducing today than it has ever been. I know my mum often says to me that we have too much information now compared to when she was raising me in the late 70s and early 80s. And it’s true. We know FAR too much. We know that choking is silent and meningitis and sepsis present initially like a cold. We know that our next door neighbour might be a paedophile. We know that our teens won’t talk about bullying to us until it’s too late and that they might have apps on their mobile phones that could lure them into a sex trafficking ring. We know that someone might go on a shooting spree at our kids’ school or drive up on to the pavement while we’re out shopping in the city. And it’s not just the extreme stuff that keeps us awake at night. We also know that too much screentime is bad but that it’s literally the only way to stop the incessant talking for just ten minutes. We know what our kids should be eating to get all the nutrients they need but we don’t have time to do anything but sling fishfingers and chicken nuggets from the freezer to the oven three times a week. We know that we should be providing books and educational days out and middle class activities ad infinitum so that our kids grow up to be cultured and well rounded individuals but it’s all really fucking expensive. And on and on. This all causes anxiety. For me it caused so much anxiety I ended up on medication which I still take two years later.

The other thing that no one warns you about when you become a parent is how much your psychological world is rocked by suddenly becoming the second (and then third, fourth and so on if you so choose) most important person in your own life. I can only speak for myself but I reckon for most people, as much as we love our partners, parents, siblings and friends, if it really came down to it our own safety or wellbeing would pretty much have number one priority. But that totally went out the window when I had my firstborn. I won’t presume to speak for all mums and I certainly would never imply that people who are not parents don’t know world rocking, life changing love. But I will say that, for me, the only people who I really, 100% prioritise above myself are my girls (sorry friends and family). That’s not to say I don’t ever do things just for me as I often do, just ask my husband. But I always feel a little bit, or a lot, guilty, like I shouldn’t really be doing them, because in my head the girls’ needs rank above mine. Which is how it should be I’m sure but fuck me it’s a drag sometimes.

And so, here we are, mums of the western world, with all our #firstworldproblems, anxious, depleted, perhaps a bit depressed, certainly spending at least some of the time wondering what the actual fuck happened to the person we used to be and/or were going to be. Spending the vast majority of our time and our energy nurturing someone else, or several someone elses, not ourselves. And who is there for us? Who is there to make us feel important, valued and seen? Well, if we’re lucky, our partners, families and friends, but only to an extent. Because family will also be focused on the children and friends will have their own perfect storm to weather. So who else is there for us? I’ll tell you who.

Diageo. Bacardi. E&J Gallo.

Huge corporations which are making billions – BILLIONS – out of our stress and our heartfelt and totally natural desire to feel like the carefree person we used to be every once in a while. Who sell alcohol in pink bottles and bottles shaped like perfume and bottles with flecks of gold leaf floating in them. Who create marketing campaigns to tell us that if we drink their magic potion we will be successful, liberated and generally kicking the arse out of life. And not to forget thin and beautiful (which of course is the most valuable thing a woman can be). Who have a vested commercial interest in perpetuating the ‘mummy needs wine’ culture and the myth of the ‘normal drinker’ and ‘alcoholic’ split while conveniently brushing the vast swathe of ‘grey area’ drinkers who fall between the two under the carpet. Who provide the majority of the funding for Drinkaware, the primary support charity for alcohol misuse in the UK, the only one which is advertised on the bottles themselves and one which makes barely any reference on their website to abstinence (as opposed to moderation) being an appropriate or acceptable option for problem drinkers.

It’s a sign of how ingrained it all is in our culture that I have felt like a preachy, judgemental bore and a conspiracy theorist while writing this blog. Even though it’s all as plain as can be to anyone who does the most rudimentary amount of internet research on the subject. And that’s what has been one of the hardest things for me in quitting drinking. Stepping outside those cultural norms. I don’t miss alcohol. I don’t miss it even a tiny bit. I don’t miss the smell or the taste or the effect or even the ritual any more. But I do miss being able to send a mum friend this series of emojis after I’ve had a crappy day with the kids: anguished face head exploding wine glass wine glass (disclaimer, I did then and do still have many wonderful days with my kids, but some of them are undeniably crappy). Because it’s code, it’s code for ‘fuck me it was hard today, but I’m still me, parenthood hasn’t consumed me completely and I’ll be sticking two fingers up to the society that says this is all I’m worth tonight’. And I miss getting these emojis back: wine glass wine glass happy face kiss. Which is code for ‘I see you, I hear you, you are not alone and this too will pass’ and always felt like a hug.

Stepping outside all that has been hard and a bit lonely and isolating as a mum. My sober friends have helped hugely. My pre-sobriety mum friends, who have been without exception completely supportive and accepting (if a tad baffled at first) about my choice, have too. Sobriety turning out to be such an amazing, wonderful, life-enhancing, opportunity-creating surprise has helped more than words can say. But I think what might have helped more than anything is the knowledge that a big part of what has happened to me in the past 19 months has been the opening of my eyes. The realisation that every. single. time. I got pissed on happy hour cocktails or sank a bottle of red on the sofa I wasn’t engaging in any kind of act of rebellion against The Man. I was just buying into his bullshit and lining his pockets.

And now as a mum, a sober mum, I am still very fucking far from perfect. I do look at my phone too much (I’m doing it right now). I snap and I say ‘yes sweetheart’ absently because I’m thinking about something else. I feed them things covered in breadcrumbs and let them eat Haribo. They fall down and hurt themselves on my watch. I rock up on the school run 30 seconds before the bell goes having made the 5 year old cry by brushing her hair too fast. But I am a good mum. And I am free. I am happy. I do things for my own self-care that actually work in reducing stress and anxiety like meditation, running, massage and yoga. And I know that I am being the very best mum that I can be. And if nothing else keeps me sober for the rest of my life I’m pretty sure that will.

I’m anxious to press publish on this. I hope it’s not misunderstood. I hope the amount of love and respect I have for all my fellow mums comes across. I hope no one reading this who drinks, however much they drink, feels personally attacked or judged. Even in the midst of all our enormous privilege we are living lives which are far from easy. Where we can spend whole days feeling like we did nothing but scold and wipe for 12 hours. Where we get screamed at with all the fire of a thousand suns for giving someone the red cup not the yellow cup. Where we are sleep deprived and spinning a billion plates and have to say things like ‘don’t put Shopkins in your knickers’ (all actual examples from the last couple of weeks of my life). Where we have often gone directly to this life from challenging, intellectually stimulating careers and are still wondering WTAF happened five years later. Where our bodies don’t look remotely like they used to pre-pregnancy but we are bombarded with tabloid press telling us that we should have an ‘unbelievable post-baby body!!!!’ accompanied by pictures of the stars of soaps, reality TV and exercise videos to show us precisely how far we are falling short of this ideal. Where we live in a world in which, as Kristi Coulter writes in her essay Enjoli: ‘girls can do anything!’ got translated somewhere along the line into ‘women must do everything‘ (by the way this is utterly required reading if you are a woman concerned about your drinking or, to be quite honest, if you are a woman who drinks full stop).

I did not write this blog to add to the judgement that women, and I think especially mothers, face in their lives already. I wrote it because I was that mum. I was the mum who was desperately worried about my relationship with alcohol but had no clue what to do about it. I was the mum who clung to every meme and boozy mummy blog and Facebook post because it helped me to shore up my denial. I was the mum who felt torn apart by my simultaneous desire to be a good mum to my kids but also to salvage a bit of my pre-kids self, which seemed so inextricably bound up with alcohol, especially wine. I was the mum who would say ‘fuck it all’ and get happily shit faced on a rare night out and then feel so wretchedly ashamed post blackout the next morning that I just wanted to disappear. I was the mum who knew my Friday and Saturday night wine habit (and most weeks throw Thursday and Sunday in there too) was dimming my spark and dulling my wits but couldn’t contemplate life without it. I wrote this blog because now I can see how much of an illusion that all was, how my best and happiest self, truly, is the one who is not doused in booze. And I wrote it because I can now see, with clear sober eyes, precisely who stands to benefit when millions of women continue to live their lives curtailed by that illusion. I wrote it because I’m free and I can and if I can reach just one other woman who feels like I did and make her feel empowered to make a positive change in her life, then I will have done a Good Thing today.