In many ways, the “Same, Lindsay” trend is the latest manifestation of “Mama needs wine” culture. At best, it’s an attempt to empathize with the very real struggles of motherhood and postpartum depression. But it falls far short of that. Is it relatable? You bet. But is it actually helpful? Hell no.
This is not the way to find the “village” and support that mothers desperately need. This behavior is accomplishing the opposite by feeding depression and anxiety, rather than relieving it.
My time spent down the rabbit hole
Nearly a decade ago, I was a struggling Christian barely holding on to my faith, grieving my father’s death, and processing trauma by drinking. Social media became an unhealthy crutch as a newlywed in a new city where I didn’t know anyone. I made “friends” in Facebook groups of people who had a lot of anger from abusive childhoods and churches.
Their feelings after these legitimately awful experiences were valid, but the anger they freely shared online pulled me further into my own. What started as oversharing with strangers turned into creating content with the purpose of inflaming and starting controversy. It fueled me in a similar way that alcohol did: temporary euphoria, consequences later. Then, inevitably broken friendships.
The loneliness and feelings of abandonment were real, but a lot of that was my own fault for being unwilling to deal with my problems in a productive way.
Today, I’m much healthier because of counseling, antidepressants, and a whole lot of Jesus. I’m better able to be the mother my children deserve.
Perhaps the biggest lesson I took from this experience is this: if I haven’t processed a problem with the Lord and close friends or family, then it doesn’t belong on the internet.
“Mama needs wine”
Author and podcaster Allie Beth Stuckey said something profound in response to a viral TikTok video from a woman who regrets having a baby: “Motherhood is very inconvenient to selfishness.” She’s absolutely right.
I don’t want to downplay the hardship that is an intrinsic part of parenting. I’m a stay-at-home mom of a toddler and an infant, while my husband works for 12 hours a day, several days a week. Motherhood is rewarding, but also legitimately hard.
Aside from scheduling playdates with other stay-at-home moms in the same boat, what helps me keep perspective during the days of dropped naps and refusal to use the potty and spilled juice is this: hard things can be sanctifying. Not everything that’s hard is “bad.” True joy is experienced through hard work more than perpetual comfort.
Western culture seems to have forgotten or outright dismissed that. A change in perspective is not going to cure postpartum depression – that may require other interventions – but it’s certainly a start.
Instead, we consume content from other parents who process their depression by complaining about their kids. And it inspires us to create similar videos and posts.
We post “Same, Lindsay” instead of breaking the toxic cycle.
We feed into “Mommy wine culture” with cute merch that makes light of the fact that our kids drive us to drink.
Maybe some moms are just in it for the likes, comments, and shares that help pay the bills. But for moms who are desperate for help and looking for solidarity, this is outright poison.
Moms don’t need wine, they need discernment
Aside from seeking professional help for depression and alcoholism, the next best thing for me was to set strict boundaries around social media. I unfollowed accounts that wallowed in bitterness, using real children as props (eventually I unfollowed accounts that profit from children as content altogether).
Eventually, I distanced myself from the friends I had made who helped feed my bitterness. I cared about them still, but I couldn’t be around their influence anymore if I wanted to be well.
I’m trying to leave my phone on the shelf during the day when I’m with my kids. There’s no text or post that’s more important than my daughter asking me to dance with her in the living room. It far outweighs the frustration of cleaning spilled juice.
Image from eBay
