‘But thanks anyway…’


I am a judgmental bastard.

I look at people on the train and wonder what they were thinking that morning when they chose that outfit, or those shoes, or that insane purple eyeshadow that should be left for pre-teen girls as a free gift with their latest pre-teen magazine.

The thing is, I HATE to be judged. I am acutely aware that I am a fatty, with lardy thighs and hair that is inexplicable. I have no bite, a weird smile, and bingo wings that flap of their own volition, and to top it all off I manage to cultivate a weird face garden of wiry black hairs which require plucking on a regular basis. So who the hell am I to judge you?!

Yet I do it. And I can guarantee I’m not the only one.

I bet everyone reading this now has judged someone. Think back to the last time you were on a bus, a train, even walking up the street. Did you notice something that made you think ‘Oh love, you didn’t think that choice through did you?’ or ‘Oh dear, must be no mirrors in that house’.

It doesn’t even have to be someone you see in the flesh. I read an article this afternoon about a girls experience when she had to go for the morning after pill. Before I even read the rest of the article my thought process went like this:

  1. Oh let me guess, one night stand and doesn’t want Mr Tequila slammer guy to be a dad, primarily because you have no idea who Mr Tequila slammer guy is…
  2. Irresponsibility should not be paid for by the NHS

Those two snap judgments were made before I read the rest of the story. It wasn’t until I learned that this girl had been sexually assaulted and didn’t want to report it for fear of being disbelieved, that she took herself to the pharmacy, and got herself the morning after pill, knowing the horror of the assault was enough to deal with, never mind a pregnancy following the attack.

In that moment I stopped reading and promptly reprimanded myself for 2 things:

  1. Judging so quickly without knowing any facts
  2. So easily judging another woman

Women judging women has become something of a pandemic. We don’t seem to champion each other anymore. Why not? We don’t seem to support each others dreams and ambitions. Why not?  Is it not hard enough to be female without all of the associated negative energy that comes from having other women hate on you, or belittle you because of what? Anger? Jealousy? Fear? What is it that drives women to the point where our snap judgments are based on a stereotype, or a bias, or a story we heard about ‘Lucy the slut’ from a friend of a friend. We call the ex partners of our boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives ‘bitches’ or ‘evil’ or ‘bad mothers’, and we don’t think twice about it, despite in most cases we hate her because she had sex with your current partner first, and actually this just makes you mad, but hey if you can throw some shade for other potential shortcomings then why the hell not?

So why write this and then openly admit I judge people? Surely I am opening myself up to being judged in return?

The truth is, I can’t help what other people will say about me. I know that tonight when I go to Aquafit that no one will be judging me as harshly in my swim suit as I judge myself. And that’s also a problem. Where does it end? Even tomorrow, if the whole world stopped focusing on everyone else, stopped the bitching and belittling, we will never stop judging ourselves. I have never come across anyone who doesn’t have at least one thing they would change about themselves. I have never spoken to another woman who hasn’t had a negative opinion in one way or another, about herself. I told my partner the other night that she was the most beautiful person I have ever known, inside and out, and she returned with ‘No i’m hideous, but thanks anyway…’. No pause before ‘I’m hideous’, but a definite pause before ‘but thanks anyway…’

As women we need to start embracing ourselves. If we can never get over the things we dislike about ourselves, then how can we make steps to stopping judging others? How can we expect to walk into a room and other women to genuinely say ‘Wow, you look great’ without following it with an afterthought of ‘if everyone was blind.’

So tonight at Aquafit,  I am 100% going to get in the water and curse the instructor when she makes me do these crazy underwater exercises that are apparently ‘good for me’ and probably call her a bitch tomorrow when I ache all over, cause lets face it, having to exercise as part of a healthy lifestyle is shit. But that’s not all.

I am going to walk tall into that class, cellulite and all with my head held high. I am going to TRY not to think about my wobbly belly, boobs and bingo wings and just get on with it.  I am going to refrain as much as possible from judging any other woman in attendance in her swimwear, and I am going to tell my girl that she is super sexy fine in her cozzie. Because she is, despite what she thinks about herself.

As for continuing the trend of judging other women so shamelessly, we need to just stop it. So the challenge is on. Next time a negative thought about a friend, a stranger or a colleague enters your mind, remind yourself that on your way to work this morning at least 10 people will have thought ‘bloody hell Mrs, get dressed in the dark did we?’ about you. And it sucks. So stop. Think about why that woman might be wearing what shes wearing. Champion her bravery for her bold print trousers and clashing jacket, cause hell, she might think shes the motherfucking shiz and who are you to ruin that?!

Women judging women. I’m just not having it…anymore.



Daily Prompt: Mystery

My mysteries:

  1. Why when I am actively looking for a job do I come off as overqualified, under-qualified or unemployable? What the fuck. Just give me a job.
  2. Why is my body clock set to wake me up at 03:03am to pee? Urgently. Like, I can’t just sit there and hope it goes away. I need to drag my ass out of bed, into the cold, blind myself with the worlds brightest bathroom light, wake up the kids with the flusher, and run the hot tap for at least 3 minutes to get decent hot water to wash my hands.
  3. Excel. I cannot work it. I have no patience for it. It’s little ‘cells’ and formulas. why does it not like copy and paste? Get to fuck.
  4. Why does my right hand boot, in all pairs of boots, start to leak first? Every year I get new boots. I wear them in, I love them. So comfy. November hits. Mega rain hits. Right boot starts to leak. At the toe. Repeat process….
  5. Why does thinking about pickled onion monster munch make my jaws tingle?
  6. Where are my sunglasses. The new prescription ones I bought a mere few months ago that have now disappeared from earth.
  7. Why do my children need dragged out of bed Monday to Friday, but Saturday hits and they are up at 7am singing/playing harmonicas/asking for iPads….
  8. Why did I have children…why did I not think about how bad Saturdays would be? Forever.
  9. Why do I have no filter? Like, do my friends really need to know about my latest gynae appointment, how it went and what my cervix looked like in HD? No, they don’t. Yet here I am. Telling you…
  10. What kind of word is Mystery anyway? Who came up with that? Like, in what age did someone say ‘oooh, something has happened that I cannot explain. We should have a word for that. Let’s call it a….a…mystery’ Stupid English Language. I’m not having it.


via Daily Prompt: Myster



Let me start this blog by saying I have HUGE respect for all parents out there. Mums, Dads, step-parents, Foster parents, Guardians….you get the drift. I love you all. You’re tremendous, but is it just me or are we part of a generation of paranoid parents?

I’m 32 years old and between my partner and I we have 2 boys, both 9. I know, it’s like I was lucky enough to not have twins then boom, you blend your families and the children gods laugh in your single child smug face.

I reckon my other half would be OK with me saying neither of us had a real clue about how to be a mum. It’s like ‘Hoorah I’m pregnant’ then fast forward 9 months ‘Holy shit what do I do with this tiny human?!’ Having spoken to many other mums, I know that I’m not the only person to have felt this way, and that in fact there really never is a time to be ‘ready’ for a baby. You can do all the prep, pee on all the sticks, track your cycle, buy the apps, but when it comes down to it, when the midwife plonks that little pink person on your chest this will roughly be your thought process:

‘Oh my god I’m a muuuuuuum’ (emotion emotion, etc etc)

‘Oh. My. God. I’m a mum’ (emotion, slight panic….)

‘Holy shitting God I am a mum. I have no clue what to do. This child won’t survive with me. I don’t even know how to cook an egg. What the fuck was I thinking?! Why is it looking at me? What does it want?’ (sheer panic/dread/fear)

All this before you even consider how ravaged your body is from bringing this wee guy or gal into the world. Natural birth? Take a moment and think back to the hours before giving birth, when your vagina was just a normal vagina, not a cavernous tunnel that is now on fire and will probably make you think you are dying when you go for a pee. For the mums who’s babies have not only given you heartburn for 9 months then decide there ain’t no way they are burrowing down and need to be taken out the roof, and you’ve now been told ‘Congrats it’s a boy! Now don’t move for 6 weeks’, do not add to the stress by giving yourself more things to worry about.

Of course it’s natural to have the fear. Despite this, and my complete lack of knowledge on how to ‘parent’, my kid made it to 5 with me looking after him, and for the last almost 4 years I have co-parented and managed to raise 2 regular kids. Yay, go me! Crap, the Mrs will be reading this, I mean ‘go us!’ Love you angel.

We had our kids pretty young, aged 21 and 23, and it would appear now that the baby boom of everyone we went to school with, our friends, other family members (read as, sensible people who at least attempted to get their shit together before reproducing) has happened. Facebook is announcing the arrival of a baby a month. Instagram is full of #newmum or #newbaby or #welcometotheworld all the while my head screams #howthefuckdoyouhavetimeforinstagram…

Then I see it. Enter the hashtag #paranoidmum:

‘Can anyone recommend the best video baby monitors so that I can see my child asleep in his/her bed from every room of my house, from every angle, at all times? #paranoidmum’

‘Can anyone recommend the best thing for colic? I’m afraid my babies wind is awful. Worst wind I have ever heard. Actually I’m just going to go to A&E…#paranoidmum’

‘What’s the best cream for nappy rash? My baby doesn’t have nappy rash but I want to be prepared with all available creams in case he does get it, although in saying that first sign of a rash and I’m off to A&E. Maybe I’ll go now and see if there is a preventative cream…#paranoidmum’

I get it. Parenting is scary. You have the major responsibility to successfully raise this child, keep him/her safe from harm and teach them well. It is on your shoulders if they get hurt, or if they are unhappy, but it is also on your shoulders if they grow up and have to have a badge pinned to them that says #paranoidchild. Crazier still is that many of the #paranoidmums that I have seen across social media have already had a child. They are on number 2, or 3, or some are really insane and have more, (I kid, power to you, you kick ass baby maker), yet this overpowering paranoia keeps slipping into daily life.

‘I’m leaving my kid for the first time in 2 years with his Gran overnight. Me and the hubby/wife are off out on a date. It’s going to be amazing.’

This is what they actually mean: we will eat dinner quicker than we ever had whilst staring at our phones and sending texts asking for updates on the health and wellbeing of our child forgetting that ‘Granny’ managed to raise one of us with no video baby monitors, bathing us in the sink, and letting us pick our noses. God how did we even make it this far? Change of plan, we are cancelling and staying home with a Chinese…


‘I wish my little darling would just let me sleep through the night. I can’t believe at 3 years old I am still up and down. Exhausted is not the word. I look like death today. They have had their feet in my face all night as per usual. They slept like a baby, me, I want to die…’

I mean, what the actual fuck? Are you having a laugh? Are you blaming your kid for the fact that at 3 years old they haven’t been taught that their bed is theirs and your bed is yours? No sympathy for you there pal! When questioned the response, in my experience, has gone like this:

‘Is there a reason the little darling won’t sleep in his own bed?’ (moron)

‘I’m not sure we have never tried it. Well actually, we did once, when he was 1, but he cried for 7 minutes so we didn’t think it was fair and just let him in with us. It’s lovely, we get to make sure he is safe through the night, and despite the fact he has peed on us 17 times and I regularly get 2 hours sleep max, I wouldn’t have it any other way…’

Fuck. Off. Get that kid in his own bed and teach him that feet do not belong in other people’s faces. Introduce him to that magical 2nd bedroom that cost you an extra £10k on your mortgage which holds the £2k of nursery furniture which includes a bed with hypoallergenic, spring soft, cushioned vitamin C enriched mattress that Granny is still paying off in preparation for his fucking arrival. In other words, you child will be fine in his own bed, in his own room, give yourself a break!

Parenting is a continuous learning curve. There are days when all you want to do is have your kid sit on your lap whilst you sniff the top of their little kid head and kiss their cheeks and smother them with love. Then there are the other days when you want to just smother them. The fact of the matter is, kids are resilient. Will bad things happen to your kid? Maybe. Is it likely? No. Will your list for Granny keep that baby any safer than when she is with you? No. Will your child die from crying that you have put them in their own bed? No. I mean, they might puke, but hey, lesson learned.

Give yourself a break. You brought a person into this world. You gave a child who needed it a home. You are already amazing. Time to scrap the #paranoidmum and replace it with just #mum. That’s what your kid needs. They don’t need pre-emptive creams. They don’t need to never ever ever be out of your sight. It’s ok if they binge watch their favourite cartoon just so you can do the laundry or have a shower. It’s ok to not always feel like a good mum, a good parent, but it’s not ok to not trust your instincts.

Paranoid mum? I’m just not having it.