Mom Rage, Anxiety, and the Myth That Wine Helps

Let’s talk about something real for a second.

Not the glossy, meme-worthy “mom life” stuff. I mean the boiling, shaky, red-faced moments, the ones that scare you a little. The ones where your body is buzzing with rage, your jaw is clenched, and your kids asking for a snack feels like an assault.

That, my friends, is mom rage.

And for the longest time, I genuinely thought a glass (or five) of wine was the cure.

It wasn’t.

I told myself it took the edge off. That it helped me relax. That I deserved it.

And sure, for 15 minutes, it felt like it was working. But behind the buzz, it was making everything worse. I just didn’t want to admit it.

What Alcohol Was Really Doing

Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way:

Alcohol spikes cortisol—the stress hormone.

It interrupts your sleep. It destabilizes blood sugar (hello mood swings).

It numbs your feelings temporarily, but they come roaring back louder.

And for me? It was throwing gasoline on the very fire I was trying to smother.

I’d drink to “relax,” but wake up the next morning anxious, exhausted, overstimulated, and pissed off before my feet even hit the ground. Then I’d beat myself up, wondering what was wrong with me.

And repeat.

The Lie We’re Sold

The “Mommy Needs Wine” culture is a trap. A soft, pastel-colored trap with glittery fonts and stemless wine glasses that say “Mama’s Juice.”

It tells us that drinking is normal. That we’re funnier, calmer, sexier, or more lovable after a few drinks. That it’s harmless. That we need it.

But the truth?

Wine was not helping my anxiety.

It was feeding it.

It was making my nervous system brittle. My patience thin. My ability to regulate myself in the chaos of motherhood? Nonexistent.

So I Quit.

Not because someone told me to.

Not because of rock bottom.

But because I started telling myself the truth.

I quit because I realized I wasn’t okay.

Because the “treat” was costing me my peace, my health, my presence, and my relationship with my kids.

Because I was tired of being stuck in survival mode and calling it self-care.

The first few weeks were rough. I’m not gonna lie.

But then… something shifted.

The mom rage didn’t disappear, but I started understanding it. I could feel it coming and breathe through it instead of exploding.

I started sleeping. Thinking clearly. Feeling things without trying to bury them.

I started trusting myself again.

If You’re in That Place…

If you’re reading this with a pit in your stomach, wondering if wine, White Claw or Michelob Ultra or Tito’s is actually helping you cope—or if it’s making everything worse—I get it.

You’re not broken. You’re not weak.

You’re just living in a system that sold you a lie.

And if you’re craving peace? I promise you:

It’s not in the glass.

It’s in you, underneath all that noise and exhaustion and self-doubt.

And I swear to you, she’s still in there.

The calm one. The grounded one. The mom who doesn’t lose her mind over the fifth spilled drink in a day.

She’s not gone. She’s just been drowned out.

But you don’t have to pour a glass or crack a can to find her.

From One Mama to Another

I’m not here to preach. I’m just here to say: I’ve been where you are.

And now, on the other side of it—living without wine, but with my full emotions, a regulated nervous system (okay, still working on that one), and my evenings back—I can tell you it’s worth it.

You are worth it.

One less glass at a time.

-Casey