About

I’m a writer terrified of writing, a mother terrified of mothering and a human who regularly wants to abandon society and retire to the woods. And I live beside a wood actually so that bit would be super easy.

Before I started this blog space I held myself back because I thought no one would care about the things I care about. Of course there are plenty of feminists out there (thank God) but they all seem so young and unencumbered. They can read the page of a book without a toddler interrupting them by pouring their orange juice all over the floor in a bid for attention. For instance.

In my world pre-motherhood, thinking people read. They talk to other people who read – even if it isn’t face-to-face – and they learn new stuff and hone their own ideas. It’s no exagerration to say I don’t have any time to hone anything. When I do meet up with women friends who share similar values, we just end up talking about the kids. It’s a disease.

So I didn’t write anything.

And then I realised something. My own specificity is actually not that specific. Of course there are mothers out there who are feminists, and take six months to read one book, and tried to grow their leg hair but just didn’t like it, and who feed their children Skips instead of dinner, and live on Instagram, and have an unhealthy obsession with the Kardashians, and who can’t remember who the fuck they are anymore and want to talk about all of the above without censor.

So I’m daring to be caught trying. Here we go.