 UGLY IS A MODERN INVENTION.
Today was a disaster. It started off as a fabulous family boat trip on our favourite, The Black Pearl, but quickly disintegrated into chaos. A refreshing swim stop in the gorgeous Blue Lagoon turned into a beauty meltdown. My freshly installed hair extensions fused into one giant knot. Three hours in the salon later, half of them had to be cut out. A gel tip nail fell off mid-way through the day. And to top it off? My strip lashes peeled off and floated away in the sea like a tragic mermaid moment. I drove home full of self loathing. My daughter noticed I was quiet and asked what was wrong. I told her just didn’t feel good about myself, I felt ugly. Her reply was instant and cutting in the kindest way: "Mum, if you think you’re ugly, what does that make us, your children, who all look like you?” I felt sick with guilt as the last thing I want to do is drop my plastic insecurities onto them. And then she added something that really stuck: “Before the 20th century, people didn’t even know what they looked like. Mirrors were rare. Portraits were for the rich. People weren’t obsessed with being attractive, they didn’t even know what that meant.” And it got me thinking. As usual, she’s not wrong. It’s only in the last 80 years or so that we’ve become fixated on image. We call it self-care, but so much of it is just well-packaged insecurity. We’ve been sold the idea that beauty is empowerment but it’s just well marketed bullshit which I have built a career around. We’re drowning in the pressure to be seen, polished and perfect. When I left my husband, the man who never really cared how I looked, I reinvented myself. I threw myself into beauty. Expensive skincare, hair extensions, designer makeup, nails, lashes, botox, aesthetics. You name it, I got it as I wanted to feel worthy again. I wanted to be visible, to look and feel beautiful. But maybe, just maybe he was right to care less. Maybe I’ve been performing ever since. Exchanging one kind of neglect for another, a shinier one, sold to me by expensive brands that don’t know my name but know exactly how to make me feel not good enough. Today reminded me that this version of vanity is man-made and very modern. We didn’t always live this way. And some days, I feel like I’m still acting in a role I never auditioned for. So here’s to the mess: the lashes that don’t stick, the hair that tangles, the face without foundation. I know beauty isn’t in the mirror. Without sounding like a cliche, it’s reflected in your soul. Your strength, your kindness, your honesty and your attitude is what undoubtably makes you beautiful but some days, it’s hard to believe that’s enough. And sadly here’s the truth I’m not proud of: I know it’s fake but I’m not ready to let go. * * * * * * * * * If you like my blog, read my book, You're Going to Die So Do It Anyway https://lnkd.in/drWSDCax (UK) https://lnkd.in/dVmqSc-S (US)
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 Why More Women Over 60 Are Getting Tattoos Than Ever Before
By AMANDA MOSS as featured in Sixty and Me Not long ago, tattoos were often seen as the mark of rebellion, they were statement reserved for the young, the wild, and the defiant. But walk into a tattoo studio today, and you may be surprised to find something quietly radical happening: women in their 60s, 70s, and beyond sitting confidently in the chair, ready to mark their skin with stories, symbols, and strength. More women over 60 are getting tattoos than ever before and we’re not doing it for anyone else. We’re doing it for us. For most of my life, I watched others get tattoos while telling myself it wasn’t for me and also being told that “nice” women didn’t have tattoos. I was too busy raising children, maintaining appearances, surviving relationships, and fitting into roles I never truly felt at home in. Tattoos? Those were for other people — younger people, bolder people. Or so I thought. Then I turned 50, and something shifted. Maybe it was the quiet realization that life is far too short to leave parts of yourself unexplored. Maybe it was the shedding of expectations that had weighed me down for decades. Or maybe, like many women, I simply decided it was finally time to do what I wanted unapologetically. The Tiger That Started It AllThe first tattoo came after one of the hardest decisions I ever made: leaving my marriage. It wasn’t easy. It took years of doubt, fear, and finally, courage. When I finally walked away, I wanted something to mark the moment. Not just a new chapter, a complete rebirth. I always wanted a tiger for my arm, bold, fierce, and untamed. The tiger is everything I felt I had rediscovered in myself: independence, raw strength, and the refusal to be caged again. That ink wasn't about the past. It was about my future and who I was becoming. Watch me roar into my new life.People asked, “Why now?” My answer was simple: “Because I finally can and because I want to.” A Rose That BleedsNot every tattoo is about empowerment. Some are about grief, betrayal, and learning painful lessons. The bleeding rose on my back came after the loss of a close friend, not to death, but to deception. I trusted her deeply, only to be stabbed in the back when I least expected it. The rose bleeds because that betrayal left a permanent mark on me, just like the ink. But it’s not just about pain. It’s a promise to myself: never again. I won’t ignore the warning signs. I won’t dim my light to keep others comfortable. The bleeding rose reminds me that pain can be beautiful when it becomes a lesson and I wear that lesson with pride. Wonder Woman, From My DaughterNot all tattoos come from heartbreak. Some are born from love, the kind that grounds you, heals you, and makes you feel seen. My colourful Wonder Woman tattoo sits proudly on my thigh. The design came from my daughter, out of the blue. She sent it to me and said, “Mum, this is you.” Ten minutes after getting her text and the picture, I walked into a tattoo studio and got it done. To have your child reflect back to you the strength you weren’t sure anyone noticed, that’s the kind of love that changes everything. It's not just a symbol of a comic book heroine. It’s a tribute to the woman I became, and the woman my daughter already believed I was. A Scorpio with a StingAnd then there’s my big one. A Scorpio woman on my hip with a giant sorpion tail coming out of her lower body. I have always been spritual and this is sultry, subtle, and undeniably powerful. That tattoo is for no one but me. It’s a nod to my star sign, yes, but also to the parts of me that people often overlook.I may be warm, loyal, and open-hearted but there’s a sting in my tail. If you cross me, you’ll feel it. That Scorpio is my reminder that strength doesn’t have to be loud. It can sit quietly under the surface, ready to rise when needed.And I won’t hesitate to lash out at those who deserve it. Each of these tattoos tells a story of freedom, loss, strength, and rebirth. And I’m not alone. A Growing Trend with Deep RootsSo why are more women over 60 getting tattoos today? It’s more than a trend, it’s a movement. We’re part of a generation of women who were raised to play by the rules. Many of us were taught to be quiet, agreeable, and self-sacrificing. We raised families, supported partners, built lives, often while putting ourselves last. But now? We’re rewriting the script. There’s something beautifully liberating about this phase of life. The expectations fall away. The people-pleasing ends. You begin to see your body not as something to hide or perfect, but as a canvas. One worthy of art, of meaning, of your story and a body to be celebrated. Getting a tattoo after 60 isn’t about chasing youth. It’s about honoring who you are, where you’ve been, and who you’re still becoming. For some women, the tattoo is a tribute to lost loved ones. For others, it’s a celebration of survival after cancer, divorce, abuse, or depression. And for many, it’s simply joy. A sunflower for happiness. A wave for calm. A bird for freedom. Tattoos no longer belong to one generation or one stereotype. We’re proof of that. It’s Not Too Late — It’s Right on TimeI sometimes hear women say, “I wish I could, but I’m too old now.” I smile and tell them the truth: There’s no such thing as too old. If anything, we’re the perfect age and you are right on time. We’ve lived. We’ve loved. We’ve lost. We’ve learned. Our skin carries decades of stories and adding a tattoo is just one more chapter. One we get to write ourselves. Each time I catch a glimpse of the tiger, or feel the rose beneath my shirt, or smile at Wonder Woman on my thigh, I remember: I am still becoming. Still growing. Still powerful. And I get so many compliments too. It feels kind of badass. If you're thinking about getting a tattoo, do it for you. Let it tell your truth. Let it mark your journey. Let it remind you and the world that you are not invisible. You are art. Living, breathing, evolving art. And you are just getting started.  WHERE'S THE SISTERHOOD GONE?
Let’s be real: when you’re a single woman, people treat you differently. The invites slow down. The catch-ups get fewer. Group events morph into couples' things. You used to be part of the crew. Now, you're on the outskirts, almost like your singleness is a social inconvenience and you're often looked upon with pity. Here’s the thing: I’m not lonely. I’m not sad I’m not pining after someone’s lifestyle. I have a great life, I’m just observing as a writer. And what I’m noticing is that sisterhood, you know the real, honest, show-up-for-each-other sisterhood, often disappears when your life doesn’t follow the expected script. When my book got published recently and started conversations in literary circles, the group chat got quiet. They knew this was my dream. But there were no congratulations. No likes, No check-ins. Just crickets. The same women I rooted for through every milestone suddenly had nothing to say. And since we’re speaking honestly, I don’t want your husband or your boyfriend. If I’m chatting and he’s sitting next to you, please relax. I’m not trying to poach anyone. I’m allowed to exist in the same space without it being a perceived threat. If the idea of an attractive woman being single and confident makes you nervous, that’s something for you to unpack, not me. If I’m talking and he’s sitting next to you, please don’t act like I’m making moves. I’m not. The assumption is tired and frankly, insulting. I can hold a conversation without it being about scheming. That says more about the dynamic in your relationship than anything about me. Sisterhood isn’t supposed to be conditional. It’s not something that only applies when our lives look the same. Real sisterhood is flexible. It grows with us. It includes the ones who are thriving, the ones who are rebuilding, and the ones who are just doing their own thing. So where is it? Because I still believe in it but I also believe we need to start being more honest about how often we abandon each other when life paths diverge. Let’s rebuild it without the ego, the insecurity, the silent competition. Let’s choose connection over comparison. Let’s actually show up for each other and not just when it’s convenient or familiar. To the women who still do that? Thank you. You’re rare. You’re real. And to everyone else, we’re not here to threaten you. We just want our seat back at the table. Read my award winning book, YOU'RE GOING TO DIE SO DO IT ANYWAY https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FFMJGQQK  THE SITUATIONSHIP
After I left my marriage, I didn’t fall in love. I fell into fire. It was fast, intoxicating, magnetic, the kind of connection that lights you up and blinds you at the same time. A passionate situationship that felt like escape, like rebirth, like proof that I was still desirable, still alive. It had been 25 years since I had slept with another man and I never thought I would. It was exhilarating, exciting and all consuming. But what I didn’t see at the time was how thin the line is between chemistry and chaos. He was charming, yes but cruel. Belittling in a way that’s hard to put your finger on. Sarcastic compliments, Putting down my business, saying I didn’t do any real work. All subtle digs disguised as humour or concern, chipping away at my confidence while pretending to be supportive. It was manipulation wrapped in charm, designed to make me doubt my worth and question my success. Silent punishments, little jabs that made me question myself. And bit by bit, without realising it, I began to shrink again. I softened my voice. I tolerated things I screamed about in my marriage. I let boundaries blur, not because I didn’t have any, but because I wanted to be loved and desired so badly, I started to forget my own worth.I thought I was in control. But really, I was just lost again. This time in someone else’s storm. I accepted breadcrumb affection. I tolerated low-level cruelty and piss taking masked as banter. I allowed yet another man to dim my light to keep his shining. I will never lose myself like that again. Again, my boundaries were skewered. But I’ve learned passion isn’t the same as respect. Intensity isn’t the same as intimacy. And being wanted doesn’t mean being valued. Now, my standards are sky high. Not for how someone looks but for how they speak to me. How they show up. How they honour my boundaries. How they make me feel when I’m not naked and smiling. That situationship taught me what I will never tolerate again. Funnily enough it was a word he used to describe me. I was “intolerable” to him. But really I was just a woman with a voice who wasn’t prepared to be quiet. I understand that intolerable often just means "a woman who won’t tolerate nonsense." It means I have boundaries, standards, and a voice I’m no longer afraid to use. If that makes me too much for him, then he was never enough for me. The situationship was a hard, necessary lesson and I don’t regret it. Because from that place of chaos, I found a fiercer kind of self-love. One with teeth. One with a spine.I am certain he has found less with someone else. It didn’t end with a dramatic goodbye. It ended quietly by text with a message “I don’t find you sexually attractive”. And then I was blocked like I never existed. Erased in a second. That was heartbreak in its most cowardly form. Cruel, cutting, and deliberately designed to wound and it says everything about him, not me. That text was completely unnecessary. And for a while, it did exactly what he wanted it to: it made me question my worth. My body. My desirability. Everything I had been slowly rebuilding since my marriage ended. I cried for a year. But here’s what I know now: When someone tries to destroy you with words, it’s because they already feel powerless. That text wasn’t the truth. I know I’m gorgeous. It was a last attempt to humiliate me. He tried to break me but here’s the thing, I am unbreakable.The woman I am now doesn’t stay on the floor. She reads that text, wipes her tears, and writes a book. That man doesn’t get the final word. He most certainly doesn’t get to define my beauty, my physical strength, my worth, or my sexuality. Excerpt from my book, You're Going to Die so Do It Anway,  SEX SWINGS AND DICKHEADS.
I have a love-hate relationship with social media. It’s like that friend who’s hilarious and always down for a good time but also wildly inappropriate at the worst moments. On the good days, I love it. I get to see what my friends are up to, discover new music, share memes, and pretend I’m going to do all those workouts to tone my abs. On the bad days? I seriously question why I’m still here. Social media is essential for my business. It’s how I network, promote and stay visible. It’s also the easiest way to stay connected with my kids and keep up with their lives where ever they are. So quitting isn’t exactly an option but some days I wish it were. Take this weekend, for example. I don’t usually entertain men in my DMs. I’ve learned my lesson with too many weird encounters and far too many unsolicited comments. But I was a week into having my apartment all to myself, which rarely happens at this time of year. No plans, no distractions, just me and a lot of silence which I was enjoying. But when a really attractive guy slid into my DMs one evening, I figured, ok. Let’s chat. He led with the classic “Hey, beautiful” line, which honestly should have been my first red flag. Let’s be clear. “Hey, beautiful” isn’t a compliment. It’s generic, impersonal, and tells me nothing about why you’re actually messaging me other than you saw a photo and thought you’d try your luck. Thanks, but I own a mirror. I don’t need that kind of surface-level validation . Still, I was bored so I responded. At first, it was surface level stuff. Basic chitchat. He was Russian, allegedly working for the EU in Cyprus, divorced with a teenage son. So far so good. Money and good looks. But it escalated very quickly. And by escalated, I mean within minutes, this man sent me a picture of his sex swing and asking me if I liked it. I hadn't hint or drop any cues that I wanted that kind of conversation. And yet, there it was, swinging into my DMs like we were in the middle of some steamy saga I never signed up for. No context. No respect. Just straight-up digital creep behavior. Why do they do this? What is it about social media that makes some men feel so entitled to other people’s time, attention, and bodies? There was no warmth, no effort, just a blatant display of objectification. It’s like being catcalled, but worse because it happens in the space that’s supposed to feel like yours. I didn’t reply. Didn’t educate. Didn’t scold. I just blocked him. Because at this point, I’m not in the business of fixing grown men who think sending sex furniture is a flirty opener. Anyone who knows me knows I am definitely not a prude and I wasn't shocked and there are things I would happily do with a partner I am sharing intimacy with. It takes more than a few leather straps to rattle me But this is the double-edged sword of social media. I need it. I rely on it. But it also makes me feel exhausted, exposed, and, sometimes, completely done with the idea of putting myself out there. Men don’t make any effort to see the real person anymore. It’s like they’re skipping the connection, the curiosity, the actual getting to know someone and going straight to the fantasy. Straight to the objectification. Like we’re just profiles to conquer. This kind of behaviour isn’t isolated, every one of my friends will share a similar story It’s part of something bigger and more disturbing. There’s a whole undercurrent of misogyny online, and it’s growing louder. Incel culture, red pill ideology, and male-driven echo chambers are feeding this belief that women exist to be dominated, used, or put in their place. It’s not just ignorance, it’s hostility. And social media gives it a megaphone with no accountability for their behaviour. And so, here I am. This is why I’m single and this why I don’t do dating apps. And this is why I’ll probably live out the rest of my years choosing celibacy and cats. And honestly? I'm fine with that.  I'M NOT HERE FOR A POPULARITY CONTEST
I’m back in Liverpool for the weekend, and already the familiar frustrations of the local business scene are bubbling up. Yesterday, I received a message that perfectly sums up what I’m dealing with: “Hi Amanda, I am not in PR anymore but I am glad I am not so I don’t have to deal with you.” My response? "You’re not missed." Sharp, with an underlying tone of fuck you, did I ask? That kind of clicky, toxic behaviour is exactly why I’m not here for popularity contests or being part of some exclusive business “club.” I’m not here to win friends or be liked by everyone. I’m here to do my job with integrity, deliver results, and build genuine relationships based on respect. And honestly? I genuinely don’t give a shit if you like me. I like me. My kids love me. I'm good at what I do. That’s all that matters. If you’ve ever been part of a tight-knit corporate community, you’ll know what I mean. There are always groups playing favouritism that feels more like high school politics, and drama that wastes everyone’s time. It’s exhausting, unprofessional, and a massive distraction from what really matters. I’ve dealt with companies that invite every other magazine to an event except me, which is funny really, since I’m the only publication still standing after 17 years, with a robust following and my reputation intact. I’m known for no-nonsense; I don’t blow smoke up anyone’s ass and I speak my mind which frankly, gets results. When business becomes about who you know, we lose sight of the bigger picture. Innovation stalls, opportunities get missed, and talented people are sidelined because they don’t fit the model group. For those of us who simply want to work hard and be respected for what we do, it’s frustrating and demoralising. I believe business should be about authenticity, collaboration, and mutual respect. It’s about bringing value, building partnerships, and helping each other grow, not tearing people down or playing popularity games. I really thought this was over. Despite the noise and drama, I’m committed to staying focused on my values. I choose my connections carefully, keep my standards high, and don’t waste time on negativity. Because at the end of the day, reputation is earned by what you do, not who you rub shoulders with. I have found my tribe, I keep my head down, and keep delivering my best. Popularity fades, but respect and results last. And as for Liverpool? I’m outta here tomorrow. I'll be working from the beach in my bikini. This is exactly why I moved to Cyprus. Where there’s freedom, where people are happier, and where life feels less weighed down by petty politics. People's hate make me shine brighter. Maybe this woman just needs some more vitamin D  STOP THE SYNTHETIC SHAMING OF WOMEN The astronaut Sunita Williams is splashed all over the media who are fixated on her appearance after being lost in space for nine months. She wasn’t chosen to go to space for her looks, her incredible military experience and 30 years experience with NASA has been completely overlooked to focus on her wrinkles and aging. Newsflash, they don’t have hairdressers and beauticians in space. She cut off her long hair and donated it to charity before a previous space mission. She is the only astronaut to complete a marathon in space. Meanwhile her colleague, Butch has cornered less than a paragraph of news reporting on his physical appearance. Whether it’s the relentless scrutiny of celebrities on the red carpet or the judgment women face in their everyday lives, appearance-based criticism remains a constant. Today I opened instagram to see an advert for women in their 40s and 50s get the legs of a 20 year old. No thank you, I am not in competition with a child. Society's obsession with women's appearances is deeply ingrained in history. For centuries, beauty has been seen as a woman's currency, a measure of her worth. Patriarchal standards created impossible ideals that shifted with the times—from ridiculous corseted silhouettes to size-zero bodies. And we are all guilty of buying into these expectations, getting botox tweaks and downing collagen shots that promise the illusion of perfection. But perfection doesn’t exist. Any recent pictures from the Oscars will present a group of women with the same make up look. Whatever happened to individuality? Whatever we do, we are often labeled as "too much" or "not enough" — too thin, too curvy, too old, too young, too plain, too glamorous. This ridiculous pressure to meet unrealistic standards can erode self-confidence. I too feel anxiety and self-body shame despite looking presentable after having six kids, losing an ovary that ruptured in childbirth and nearly dying on the operating table. Social media fuels these criticisms daily, no wonder GenZ are so depressed. We need to step back and remember that our value doesn’t lie in our appearance and our accomplishments are far greater than our bra and waist size. And forget the audacity of mediocre men who look like a potato who feel the need to comment on women’s appearance. That’s an entirely new trend apparently. We need to remember that beauty doesn’t fit into a box and we should embrace the diversity of body types, skin tones, and expressions of femininity. It’s time to speak up over the harmful comments and stand up against body shaming.I almost got a tiktokban last week for calling out a man who felt the need to cricitise. And yes,I know I post bikini pics but that is for self empowerment, to inspire other women that a bikini doesn’t have a sell by date past 30. Every body is a bikini body. Speak to yourself with kindness. Treat your body as a source of strength and joy rather than an object to be judged. Your body is an incredible machine and we shouldn’t take it for granted. Some people would love to be in your shoes, literally, to be able to walk unaided or carry shopping without getting breathless. Women are multifaceted, resilient, and powerful. We are leaders, artists, mothers, entrepreneurs, and friends. Our worth is not confined to a dress size or a wrinkle count. The next time you feel the weight of judgment, remember that your value lies in your spirit, your laughter, and the love you share with others. Our beauty is a reflection of our confidence and authenticity where every woman is free to shine, whatever shape we are.here to edit.  WHY I DON’T CHARGE MY KIDS TO LIVE AT HOME
As parents, we strive to make decisions that we believe are in the best interest of our children, even as they become adults. One of the best decisions I've made is not charging my adult kids rent while they live at home. This choice is based on a variety of personal beliefs and family values that have guided me through parenthood. In essence, I wanted to be the mum my mother wasn’t and through her shortcomings I have learned to be so much better than her. When I was 18 I landed my dream job of a trainee reporter on a local newspaper My take-home pay was £650 and she demanded £300 in rent from me, almost half my salary. Filled with resentment I moved into a bedsit. I would rather pay a stranger than her and avoid the weekly fights she would start or threats of being thrown out anyway. Not having enough money to live on, I turned to credit cards, on her advice, to live on and this started a lifelong toxic relationship with money. And so one of the biggest reasons I don’t charge my kids rent is that I want them to be able to save money and set themselves up for a successful future. They’re already supporting themselves through university and racking up huge student loans so why would I want to create additional burden for them? By allowing them to live at home rent-free, they can focus on building their financial independence without the added pressure of high living expenses. Plus it’s their family home, the home they have been brought up in for 20 years. They didn’t ask to be born and their home is always going to be their safe space free from responsibilities. It’s their refuge from all the shittiness that life throws at them and they can relax knowing they always have that family support from me. There’s enough adulting to be done once they close the front door behind them and charging them rent would take away that sense of freedom. They have a life time ahead of them of paying bills so if I can delay that for them, then I will. By not charging them rent, they don’t have the pressure to move out. If I had my way they would live at home forever. Nothing makes me happier than seeing them around the kitchen table sharing stories of their day, cooking endless meals and laughing over instagram posts. Charging them rent might push them to rush into decisions they’re not ready for. I believe it’s more important for them to take their time and figure out what truly makes them happy. Also when my kids are not focused on paying rent, I believe we build stronger bonds with each other. It allows us to spend quality time together, share experiences, and be a part of each other's lives in a way that’s hard to do when there’s a financial transaction involved. It helps us focus on creating memories, not just managing bills. I didn’t raise kids for them to pay me back. Some argue that charging rent teaches them financial responsibility, but I believe that responsibility goes beyond just paying bills.Regardless, my kids have way more savings than me and are much more sensible with their money. I keep telling them not to make the mistakes I made and similar to their attitude towards studying and a keen work ethic, they have natural self-discipline and the confidence to face life’s challenges. I don’t want to them to go out wit limited resources if they’re skint. I want them to be able to jump into a taxi and get home safely without worrying about the cost. They also contribute to family life naturally, by buying their own food if they don't like what’s in the fridge and they pay for their own clothes and holidays. It amuses me that I get a text asking them to buy toothpaste or shower gel for their bathroom, simple things they can afford to take for granted. Every family is different, and there’s no one-size-fits-all approach to parenting and I am not going to judge anyone who doesn’t parent like I do. But for me, not charging my adult kids rent is a choice that reflects my values of support, family, and long-term investment in their success. I believe that without the unnecessary financial pressure they exhume confidence and are inspired to take risks. They’re not falling into unhealthy relationships where they’re dependent on their partners to support them financially. My eldest daughter worked for a year and saved her entire salary and is now spending a year globetrotting with her sister.This would not be possible if I took rent from them. As always I encourage them to create the life they love. Money creates freedom and with freedom they can make better life choices and build the future they want for themselves. Plus they’ll have more money to pay for my luxury retirement village in Florida.  DO I HAVE A FAVOURITE CHILD?
Having six children definitely has made me a target for judgment over the years. Mostly because some people can’t relate to or understand how having such a big family can tick. People jump to conclusions; I must be religious or am pro life or in the words of the most unoriginal and unfunny comment of all, lack a television. People have assumed I’m on benefits or super rich. I am neither. People just can’t imagine how anyone could handle that many, or they assume it’s too much, or they simply project their own discomfort onto me. It takes a strong and confident woman to have six children and an even stronger person to brush off the comments. The question I am frequently asked is do I have a favourite child? I find this utterly incomprehensible as I love all my children equally. They’ve all developed into wonderful humans with their own unique intelligence and qualities that I am proud of. Each of them bring something special to my family dynamic, and it is so rewarding to see them grow into their own unique selves. It’s so important to give them all space and at the same time nurture so many individual strong personalities. I grew up feeling unloved with my older brother being the ‘golden child”. Both my brothers went to private schools, I didn’t. I was always being compared to my older brother and made to feel that I was never enough. This has led to a lifetime of me feeling not good enough and always wanting attention and overachieving. I have brought my kids up to be best friends with each other. I always said that their siblings are the only ones they can rely on when they’re older as friends will let them down and to this day they have listened to me. I can confidently say that my kids do not feel one is given more attention or love than another. Like all humans, my kids have different temperaments, needs, and personalities. I may have more in common with one or two than another but that doesn’t mean I love the others any less. The idea that love can be "unequal" is unsettling. I have a unique bond with all my children and I think I understand them. I hope they feel they can turn to me for support, I’ve made that very clear. Love isn’t a fixed amount that you divide up in equal measurements. For me and my children it just expands. I can praise one child for an achievement without have to go round the room pointing out every other’s perfections at the same time. Praise for one of my children doesn’t diminish my love for the others. Growing up I wanted to be the type of mum everything my own mother wasn’t. My kids have never been grounded, I don’t believe in physical punishment or verbal chastising. If they annoy me, I just tell them to fuck off and have done since they were little. Then when I calm down I apologise, explain why they annoyed me and we carry on. I have never gone to bed on bad terms with them. I have never had a major row with them. I never gave them a bed time, they had to learn to manage their own sleep and if they were tired because they stayed up late, then that was a consequence they had to learn. I rarely go in their bedrooms and wouldn’t dream of going through their things. Boundaries create respect. There’s no subject I am not afraid to broach with them. And I am learning so much from them too and we have really good conversations about politics, feminism, careers, relationships and life. It’s a two way experience and usually ends up with them taking the mick out of me, but that’s fine. I can laugh at my mistakes, I just don’t want them to make the same ones. So back to the question, do I have a favourite child? The answer is no. People do tend to gravitate toward those who reflect parts of themselves but I see bits of my personality in all of my kids. Whether you have one kid or six, the depth of that love and how you show up for them is what defines you as a parent, not how many kids you have.  DON'T CALL ME A BITCH
A man left a comment on my facebook page calling me a bitch. It was meant as a light hearted reply to one of my posts but I messaged them and told them it was inappropriate, especially from someone I have never met. Equally, it is offensive to call me babe or sweetie or any other over affectionate label that isn’t my name if you don’t know me. While I can call myself all of the above, it doesn’t give anyone else except my close friends, the right to. Social media creates blurred lines I know, people think they’re your friends and they know you, even though they’re just following your posts. And as a feminist it’s all about creating a safe space with respect to acknowledge women’s rights and strengths. So delving a bit deeper, calling a woman a bitch, especially one that you have never met, is in fact quite passive aggressive. In the urban dictionary, the definition of a woman is “someone who whines excessively,” “annoying and whining female,” “a person who performs tasks for another, usually degrading in status,” a “woman with a bad attitude.” I have a great, positive attitude on the whole and labelling a woman a bitch is implying that she isn’t fitting the mold women are “supposed” to fit into and we’re defying society’s unhealthy and antiquated expectations of a woman. We are here to be seen and heard. Bitch is an insult aimed at women who behave in “male” ways, women who are too ambitious or aggressive, women who are ambitious, women who earn a lot of money, women who are not as nice or as quiet as some people would like them to be. And yes I am all of those but I behave without arrogance and mostly with empathy so as not to intentionally hurt anyone. Calling a woman a bitch is actually exposing deep rooted prejudice against a woman and I take it really personally. Bitch is so insulting because it attempts to use a piece of my identity – my femaleness – as a weapon. “Bitch” is literally mysogeny, slagging me off because I’m a woman. Similarly calling a man a bitch is insulting. It’s derogatory to imply they’re acting weak, again, a slur against women. You may think I’m over reacting, but I am a feminist protecting women’s rights to be strong. Which is why me and my friends call people (who deserve it) cunts. It’s good enough for Chaucer and Shakespeare and more recently Germaine Greer. The word historically is associated with shame and repression as well as the way women have been denied knowledge of their own bodily pleasure. Men gasp and prudes wince but it’s empowering for women to take back control of the word and everything it symbolises. I am sugar and spice, and all things nice. And even though I swear, I’m classy as fuck. It doesn’t make me a bitch. |
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