I’m not sure I am relatable to you. At all. I’m not sure my posts ring true to anyone. I just ramble. But I ramble honestly. These random things that I write about actually happen. Not made up. For some reason weird things happen. This has been like this for my whole life. A bit of a comedy ’tis the life of Jess.
If some ramblings resonate with you, awesome! If it doesn’t, awesome too!
Recently, I’ve been a bit irked by some public figures or writers or influencers out there for parents. So much so, I can’t read what they are writing about. So much so I’ve unfollowed them (not that they will notice or care).
It’s not that I don’t respect what is being written. It’s just that I can’t relate to what is being written. I can’t connect. And I want to connect.
For example: I recently clicked on an article written by a mum of 2, granted it was an American article, and it was about traveling with kiddies when they are young. I thought oooo this sounds good, maybe gets some tips or inspiration, especially whilst on a tight budget.
No. I started to tune out when it went on to mention her 4 yo has been on over 120 flights and they have traveled to 15 countries in the past 3 years.
I’m sorry, what???? Are you a gazilllionaire??
She did have one piece of advice I nodded my head to. But the rest, I really just couldn’t relate to what was being said. I’m not being a sour tits either. I’m just not in that circle if that makes sense? And then I browsed her profile, as you do. And it confirmed that I just can’t tap into it comfortably; all the shineyess. All the beautiful (I admired them, but in passing) flat lays of gorgeously expensive kids clothes. The ‘I’ve-just-been-caught-in-front-of-the-camera-looking-all shy but actually this a set up with lights camera action’ pose of a well put together mumma and her bubs. The non-realness (for me) of it all. It is that lovely mums realness, just not mine.
I follow Constance hall. I find most of what she writes real, confronting, thought provoking, supportive. I also follow her because there is never any hidden or overtly explicit advertising (apart from self promotion of her book). I can start to read something and get half way through without feeling trapt that agghhhhh, this is an Ad! For those reasons, I can read on.
But I also understand that this is how people make their dollars. And I admire that too! If you can find your niche in writing and get paid for it, bloody hats off to you. Maybe one day that’ll be me. For now, it’s my thoughts and drivel.
And that’s the beauty of what is out there in the big wide interweb; things we can chuck away. Things we can turn our nose up at. Things we can steal snippets from. Things we can nod enthusiastically about in agreement and think Hallefuckingluyah, I’m not alone.
So I have no idea really what I wanted to achieve in writing this, if anything. Just another awkwardly worded and punctuated ramble about nothingness that maybe is geling in your frazzled mind or maybe is screaming what horse crap have I just read.
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