Am I being Unreasonable?
Oh Mumsnetters you bunch of divs, you’ve been at it again. We bloggers have forums too, you know (except we can spell). Every now and then someone will pop a link to one of the Mumsnet threads, just so we can all have a good laugh.
They are often totes hilare. The one about the elderly Korean lady in someone’s garden. That was funny.
The latest spouting off about despising mummy blogs? Not so much.
The Mumsnetter that posed the question went on to explain that she was ‘aghast’ and that the blogs seemed so ‘bitter and twisted’.
Hmm. Pot, kettle, black…
Is this really a bit like how I despise the girl at the gym? Come on ‘fess up.
Gym Girl has a wonderfully tight ass and tits that don’t move even when she whips her Sweaty Betty bralette off in the changing rooms. I am actually insanely jealous of Gym Girl, I’ll admit it.
Is that what this is all about?
Is it because you want your own blog? Because maybe if you wrote one of your own you could show us all exactly where we’re going wrong.
Your question invited a barrage of mummy blog bashing to the tune of: ‘Step the fuck away from the mummy blogs’ and ‘It’s all self-indulgent twaddle’ My personal favourite ‘my friend has just started an instagram style one and it’s cringey as fuck’ Wow you’re a nice friend. ‘Oh and her husband is an absolute c**t to her and she’s miserable as anything but conveys a #yummymummy #hubby #mygorgeousfamily instagram life’
Did it even occur to that particular potty-mouth (who uses the phrase c**t with absolute abandon) that maybe her friend – and I use that term loosely – whose husband is treating her like a c**t is using Instagram as a coping mechanism? As a way to retain a semblance of control in her otherwise miserable life? I guess not. Instead, she spends her time viciously tapping away bitching to a forum full of people she’s probably never even met when her real life friend is going through hell and back.
Shame on you.
Mumsnetters: you ask where mummy bloggers get their free time from to write this shit you love to read – but pretend not to read – you want to know why we’re not playing with our kids? And yet, YOU seem to be able to find the time to sit on a forum wasting what? Minutes, hours, bitching and moaning about other women. And FYI there are a lot, and I mean a lot of us earning an amazing living from this drivel. It’s called work.
Thank-you-very-much for the extra page views.
Let me tell you something about mummy (and daddy) bloggers.
Two years ago, an image of a small dead boy washed up on a beach hit the news. For many – rightly or wrongly – it was the catalyst to try and do something. To try and help. To try and invoke one tiny iota of change.
Within 24 hours of that image appearing on our newsfeeds, a group of bloggers put their heads together and launched a huge charity campaign. We raised more than £8000.
Last year a fellow blogger organised an auction for another blogger, who’s son was in need of a costly life-changing wheelchair. Something that was a desperate necessity but unaffordable. Guess what? He got his wheelchair.
Two weeks ago a hugely respected blogger, talented writer and author who has devastatingly suffered YEARS of domestic violence put out a call asking bloggers for help after the roof caved in on the women’s refuge she was staying in. There were several other vulnerable women and children in crisis too. The council wanted to remove the women from the borough where they felt safe and displace them to another where they had literally been threatened with their lives. Several hundreds of retweets later and within two hours a Guardian journalist was on the doorstep. By the following morning, a story in print, an MP and the Mayor involved. A backtrack from the council. The women and children are safe.
I could go on.
Would you like to know why I started this blog? My story is the same for so many of us. It is so much more than mummy blogging. I began writing from a broken place and slowly, slowly over the years I have shared my narrative of survival, of finding inner strength, of dogged determination. (Oh and I also have a rip off of Nigella’s lemon drizzle that does exceptionally well.) I’ve mended myself and this blog has even been a place of solace for others when they’ve needed it. Please, don’t call it ‘drivel’ or ‘twaddle’ or any of the other insults you like to bandy about.
It is so much more than that.
What you’ve done is make a sweeping judgement and good God I’ve had my fair share of women that judge. I’m so sick of keyboard warriors, hiding behind the safety of your iPhones and laptops. If we met at the school gates wearing our matchy matchy Boden tees and gold Saltwater sandals. Because hey, let’s not pretend you haven’t been shopping my Instagram. Something tells me you wouldn’t have the neck to say you despise me to my face.
So, AIBU when I tell you to Kiss. My. Ass?1