You’ll most likely be aware of the mammoth rise of the Mummy Blogger these past few years. There are some extraordinary stories out there of women’s blog posts going viral, finding fame and launching new careers off their writing, mainly of which details the trials and tribulations of motherhood. I suppose I’m no exception, except for the viral and fame parts obviously.

I’ve noticed that the term “mummy blogger” is used both in a descriptive way, and one with huge negative connotations attached to it. If you browse Twitter you’ll see how bloggers attribute the title to themselves, after all, it’s a pretty straightforward way to tell readers what you’re about.

However, I also regularly see comments such as “oh, she’s just another mummy blogger” in response to a question of who the blogger is or what does she do. Can’t you just feel the eye roll?


I’ve been thinking for a while why there are so many mummy bloggers out there. While I don’t claim that mine is the one and only answer, I think I’ve got a pretty solid theory.

The truth is, when you become a parent your world changes. We all know that. Speaking from my own personal experience, I felt isolated, lonely and had a complete loss of identity. I missed interacting with adults and while I enjoyed life with my first born I also became incredibly bored.

Physically my body and time were not mine. I existed solely for the purpose of someone else, or at least, that’s how it felt. I struggled to rediscover myself in this new role and it took me a while to really get to grips with it and for everything to fall into place.

At the time, Hubby worked away and so my nights were free. My own family were in another country and I only saw Hubby’s folks once or twice a week. Little Man was such a good sleeper and in those early days when he averaged two, two hour naps per day, I had an abundance of time. I turned to blogging as a hobby.

Quickly realising that my initial idea of sharing crafts wasn’t really my thing I just started writing general rambles about my life. A bit like a diary. It was pretty liberating if I’m honest. Here was something that was just mine. The tiniest piece of the internet where I could do and say whatever I wanted.


My blog evolved when the girls came along. Due to their traumatizing but albeit healthy entry into this world it was both a magical and difficult period. Ultimately I became unwell and frustrated by parenthood, completely and utterly overwhelmed by it. There were days when the anger would make my head throb and it would sit there with nowhere to go. Even now I have “why the F do I even bother?” moments. Like when I make breakfast for three unreasonable people and the majority of it goes on the floor. I clean SO FUDGING MUCH but you can’t tell. My bathroom continually smells like a train station urinal because Little Man thinks it’s fun not to aim. Sometimes I hate who I have become, surely being a grown up is more than this?

Alas, the only way I can really talk about these things is on my blog. Sometimes Hubby and I debrief when he gets home from work but largely we’re still in the midst of childcare to find a quiet moment together. My parents are on Skype when they can be and will offer support. I also have a few girlfriends I can have a good old whinge to face to face. But, the reality is, it’s not enough, at least for me.

Gone are the days when you’d sit for hours and have a cuppa’ with a friend every other day. In all honesty I’d probably be at my parents house daily if I were still living close by. People are so busy now and while the concept of a village is a great one, sometimes the practicality isn’t there. It’s becoming the norm for people to move away from their home town and being an ex-pat is an incredibly common thing. A lot of women no longer live in ready made villages anymore so we have to make one.


Some of my posts are a bit like verbal diarrhea, I get that. On occasion I’ve poured my inner most feelings into my blog but in turn my following has grown. Messages and comments started coming in about how hard other women found being a mother.

I know not everyone wants to openly discuss their mental health or how they’ve accidentally dropped the F-bomb in front of their child. But that doesn’t mean they don’t seek comfort from reading about someone else doing exactly that. Not everyone will find writing a blog to be a source of therapy, but reading one may be. It might just be the thing they need to find on Facebook at 10am to keep them going through the day. When I think of blogging in general, the word “community” primarily comes to mind. It’s true that like-minded people come together and in turn total strangers offer their support to one another. I guess if you’re a Mummy Blogger and this happens then it’s the very definition of a global village.

I don’t know if I solely identify as a Mummy Blogger because I just write about what’s going on for me or us as a family. But, I would be far from embarrassed if someone thought I was one.

K x


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