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View as: GRID LIST

Not another bloody blogger type… I hope!

1
Over the past few weeks, I’ve really struggled to write.

I’m tired (not just need-an-early-night tired, but actually fluey-with-exhaustion tired), pretty overwhelmed with fighting lots of battles in my homelife and I’m definitely a bit numb as a result. But it’s not that.

I’m busier than normal, and my head is constantly a-whirr with thoughts, ideas and “to do” lists. There’s no space for anything beyond the routine and functioning. But it’s not that.

“So what is it?” I ask myself. Almost daily.

I’m think I’m a bit

SelfishMother.com
2
“stuck”. I’ve plenty to say but none of it floats my boat right now or flows like it used to. Some may say it’s writer’s block (but I’m not one of those wanky writer types… I hope!), some may say I’ve lost my “mojo” (but I’d dispute whether I was actually cool enough to have a mojo to lose in the first place…), and some may say I’m a bit distracted (a teacher once said “she thinks great thoughts”, but we all know she really meant “can’t concentrate for shit”…). But I say I’m “stuck”.

Here’s why:

A few

SelfishMother.com
3
weeks ago, Instagram offered to change my page to a business blog. I gave it a go (there’s pretty much zero difference as far as I can tell) and I started to think BIG! I thought about being an actual, real life blogger! I updated my “bio” and even called myself a “beginner blogger” (cringe). I followed a few mummy/wifey bloggers and they followed me back. Things were taking off!!!

Or were they? The more Instagram pushed for “sponsorship” (aka money for my thoughts that I used to post for free) and the more I saw other blogs, the more

SelfishMother.com
4
uncertain I became about being a “blogger type”…

1. I don’t have a cool insta-name like “mumerella” (or should it be mummerella, I can’t decide…) or “thenotsocrazyexwife” or “applebeeatch”… and I’m mostly ok with my lack of imagination and creativity… (Although, I’m obviously cursing myself for not coming up with that last one sooner. It’s a cracker!)

2. I don’t do instastories. I bloody HATE myself on camera, especially in selfie mode. There is just no need for that chin amplifying angle in MY life. Let alone

SelfishMother.com
5
anyone else’s. (You’re welcome!) And, I also bloody HATE my voice. (Actually, that’s not completely true. I don’t feel fussed about it one way or tuther when I speak in real life. But when I’m recorded, I sound like some tiny devil-imp has jumped up my nostrils and blocked them til I sound like I have a coke habit to rival Daniela Westbrook’s whilst The Crankies have simultaneously moved into my voice box!) I don’t need instastories to provide a lasting reminder of any of these things, thank you very much.

3. I don’t do schmoozing.

SelfishMother.com
6
Partly on principle. I find it totally disingenuous and a bit creepy to ooze superficial greetings on people I don’t like and don’t actually know. (Soz, dahling!) And partly, I just can’t. As in the words literally cannot form in my brain and make it out my mouth or onto my keyboard. On the plus side, friends can rest assured that all I say is totally honest and genuine.

4. I have zero time! Real, actual, proper, professional (?) bloggers seem to post all day, every day. Do they not have actual lives to lead? In person? With other human people?

SelfishMother.com
7
Do they not have (small) people to ferry around and tell off for breathing too loudly when they have a headache? Do they not have children’s bottoms to wipe and tantrums to body swerve? Are their spare waking moments not spent immersed in crappy TV programmes, pontificating about other peoples lives? I have to be honest, I quite like the human part of my life and, most of the time, I strive (and usually fail) to spend more time on it and less on my phone. And that’s the way I’d like it to stay.

5. Photo artiste, I am not. I cannot make my legs

SelfishMother.com
8
look arty against a sunny wall. Nor can I “capture” a selfie, where my head is actually in the frame and both my kids are doing something worthy or witty enough to write about. And I definitely can’t use any of the functions beyond the big “take the fucking picture” circle button (despite attending a personalised photography workshop…!). My camera roll is full of approximately 5,762 failed photo attempts. I like looking back at them and having a wee smile to and at myself. But insta-worthy, they ain’t.

6. I’m pretty shit at self

SelfishMother.com
9
promotion, it gives me “the catholic guilt” so there’s no way I’ll be paying for the pleasure. I’d never leave confession! (If I ever went…)

7. I don’t have a “thang”. I’m not a self confessed shit, and sometimes struggling, mum. I’m not an ex wife living the relentless realities of separation. I’m not a survivor of a difficult childhood. I’m not an advocate of positive and open mental and emotional health issues. I’m all of those things. “A patchwork of life” some may say. Personally, I say a mishmash of shit I like to

SelfishMother.com
10
write about, but it doesn’t quite have the same ring to it…

8. I’m not a brand. And I don’t have brand vision. I’m me. My logo is my profile pic, drawn by my toddler last summer. I might write a book one day. But it’ll be for me and not for the fame or big bucks (though I may wear a fancy dress and eat takeaway the day it gets published).

So, how do I unstick myself…?

I think I just did. 😊

SelfishMother.com
Michelle Appleby

By

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- 22 Jul 18

Over the past few weeks, I’ve really struggled to write.

I’m tired (not just need-an-early-night tired, but actually fluey-with-exhaustion tired), pretty overwhelmed with fighting lots of battles in my homelife and I’m definitely a bit numb as a result. But it’s not that.

I’m busier than normal, and my head is constantly a-whirr with thoughts, ideas and “to do” lists. There’s no space for anything beyond the routine and functioning. But it’s not that.

“So what is it?” I ask myself. Almost daily.

I’m think I’m a bit “stuck”. I’ve plenty to say but none of it floats my boat right now or flows like it used to. Some may say it’s writer’s block (but I’m not one of those wanky writer types… I hope!), some may say I’ve lost my “mojo” (but I’d dispute whether I was actually cool enough to have a mojo to lose in the first place…), and some may say I’m a bit distracted (a teacher once said “she thinks great thoughts”, but we all know she really meant “can’t concentrate for shit”…). But I say I’m “stuck”.

Here’s why:

A few weeks ago, Instagram offered to change my page to a business blog. I gave it a go (there’s pretty much zero difference as far as I can tell) and I started to think BIG! I thought about being an actual, real life blogger! I updated my “bio” and even called myself a “beginner blogger” (cringe). I followed a few mummy/wifey bloggers and they followed me back. Things were taking off!!!

Or were they? The more Instagram pushed for “sponsorship” (aka money for my thoughts that I used to post for free) and the more I saw other blogs, the more uncertain I became about being a “blogger type”…

1. I don’t have a cool insta-name like “mumerella” (or should it be mummerella, I can’t decide…) or “thenotsocrazyexwife” or “applebeeatch”… and I’m mostly ok with my lack of imagination and creativity… (Although, I’m obviously cursing myself for not coming up with that last one sooner. It’s a cracker!)

2. I don’t do instastories. I bloody HATE myself on camera, especially in selfie mode. There is just no need for that chin amplifying angle in MY life. Let alone anyone else’s. (You’re welcome!) And, I also bloody HATE my voice. (Actually, that’s not completely true. I don’t feel fussed about it one way or tuther when I speak in real life. But when I’m recorded, I sound like some tiny devil-imp has jumped up my nostrils and blocked them til I sound like I have a coke habit to rival Daniela Westbrook’s whilst The Crankies have simultaneously moved into my voice box!) I don’t need instastories to provide a lasting reminder of any of these things, thank you very much.

3. I don’t do schmoozing. Partly on principle. I find it totally disingenuous and a bit creepy to ooze superficial greetings on people I don’t like and don’t actually know. (Soz, dahling!) And partly, I just can’t. As in the words literally cannot form in my brain and make it out my mouth or onto my keyboard. On the plus side, friends can rest assured that all I say is totally honest and genuine.

4. I have zero time! Real, actual, proper, professional (?) bloggers seem to post all day, every day. Do they not have actual lives to lead? In person? With other human people? Do they not have (small) people to ferry around and tell off for breathing too loudly when they have a headache? Do they not have children’s bottoms to wipe and tantrums to body swerve? Are their spare waking moments not spent immersed in crappy TV programmes, pontificating about other peoples lives? I have to be honest, I quite like the human part of my life and, most of the time, I strive (and usually fail) to spend more time on it and less on my phone. And that’s the way I’d like it to stay.

5. Photo artiste, I am not. I cannot make my legs look arty against a sunny wall. Nor can I “capture” a selfie, where my head is actually in the frame and both my kids are doing something worthy or witty enough to write about. And I definitely can’t use any of the functions beyond the big “take the fucking picture” circle button (despite attending a personalised photography workshop…!). My camera roll is full of approximately 5,762 failed photo attempts. I like looking back at them and having a wee smile to and at myself. But insta-worthy, they ain’t.

6. I’m pretty shit at self promotion, it gives me “the catholic guilt” so there’s no way I’ll be paying for the pleasure. I’d never leave confession! (If I ever went…)

7. I don’t have a “thang”. I’m not a self confessed shit, and sometimes struggling, mum. I’m not an ex wife living the relentless realities of separation. I’m not a survivor of a difficult childhood. I’m not an advocate of positive and open mental and emotional health issues. I’m all of those things. “A patchwork of life” some may say. Personally, I say a mishmash of shit I like to write about, but it doesn’t quite have the same ring to it…

8. I’m not a brand. And I don’t have brand vision. I’m me. My logo is my profile pic, drawn by my toddler last summer. I might write a book one day. But it’ll be for me and not for the fame or big bucks (though I may wear a fancy dress and eat takeaway the day it gets published).

So, how do I unstick myself…?

I think I just did. 😊

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Michelle Appleby

I’m a mum, a wife, a teacher and, above all else, a human. A human who has struggled to feel “good enough” most of her life but is slowly getting it right for herself, writing about life’s lessons along the way. (I’m defjnitely NOT a blogger type, whatever they are: I just like writing therapeutically.) **all views are MY OWN and not affiliated with any organisation or professional body**

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