Autisteuse
VIP Member
My turn to rant.
I’ve been reading my way diligently through all the threads, and I must say that Ms James is perhaps one of the most shockingly un-self-aware individuals it has ever been my misfortune to come across.
I’ll preface my remarks by stating that I don’t have children. I don’t want them. I have such a fear and horror of pregnancy and birth, coupled with CFS, fibromyalgia and a crumbling spine, that the mere idea of carrying a baby sends me into a panic (and the idea of sleepless nights even more so). Having the fun of being a high-functioning autistic woman, I am extremely triggered by babies’ and children’s screams and tendency to vomit. I find babies fairly chaotic yet bemusingly dull. I like my sleep, I like having a healthy bank account, I like being able to leave the house without having to pack as if I were going on military campaign. So - no children. No prospect of ever having them. And that’s okay. Not every woman in the world has maternal instincts. I admire and applaud those who do. In fact, I’m in awe of all of you on here: I don’t know how you do it; especially with such proficiency, tenderness, patience. I don’t have it in me. It doesn’t make me heartless or less of a woman.
Ms James has no such instincts.
When I read her drivel, I am struck by her chronic insecurity. All her self-worth derives from the labels she affixes to herself; all her protestations that she is a good and loving mother are designed to reassure herself, not us. Those who protest so comprehensively and endlessly are the embodiment of that which they fear.
I don’t like to make pronouncements on others, but Ms James should never, ever have been a mother.
Her child is understimulated, malnourished and resented. She does the absolute bare minimum for him, and then castigates him for not being a carbon copy of herself. His diet is atrocious (I am surprised that he is able to put one foot in front of another); rather than introducing him to new tastes, textures, experiences, she relies on what she considers a safe choice (but not the best one); her arrant dislike from him seeps from the virtual page of Instagram into her interactions with him. She claims to be highly intelligent and literate (again, a reflection of her huge insecurities), which is belied by almost everything that comes out of her mouth or texting thumb, yet wilfully refuses to take any advice on Alf’s development or safety issues pertaining to him (heavy lamps, cot bumpers, inadequate sleeping arrangements, nutrition, freezing cold room, thin pyjamas, death-trap canopy, rotten windows, sleep schedules - and on, and on, and on). When she has made mistakes (for she is only human, not some untermensch) she lashes out viciously, doxxes - breaking numerous laws in the process - targets and demonises her opponents.
The people who claim that others are universally jealous of them have two unifying traits: poor self-esteem, and more than a touch of narcissism.
I would hate to have Ms James’ life. I would hate to be so riddled with self-doubt, poor confidence and poor judgment; I would hate her endless days of nothingness. ‘I’m tired,’ she complains. ‘He was up at 0130,’ she grizzles, while facilitating precisely the kind of behaviour she derides. She has no ability to learn from experience, nor the capacity for humility which is so necessary for any and every life endeavour - particularly when she is literally responsible for the survival of her (placid, docile) child.
Her endless preening, the oversized photographs of her all over her home, her posing in lingerie for ‘empowerment’s’ sake, all indicate that she is a deeply unhappy, dissatisfied woman. All of you clever commentators have pointed out that such exhibitionism scarcely offers an opportunity for her viewers to feel better about themselves - may I add another suggestion? Ms James releases these images for a number of reasons, the main one being that she is trying to reassure *herself* that her life has value, that her person has value. These photos are not for us. They are for her alone. They speak to a deep need to overcome her self-perception that, while she was an underwear model in her twenties, she had little more value than being a masturbatory object. I think she believes that in taking these photos under her own direction that she has ‘taken her power back’. But, in the knowledge that she is an intellectual inadequate (one doesn’t talk endlessly about one’s A-level qualifications in one’s thirties, when absolutely no-one cares about them), she then uses these images of herself as a means to control the male population she so resents. It is reminiscent of Julia Roberts’ line in ‘Pretty Woman’: ‘I say how, I say when, I say how…’ And then Julia cries. I imagine that Ms James must feel perilously close to tears on all occasions. It is exhausting to maintain such a facade day-in, day-out. I have experience of this: austistic people, particularly women, ‘mask’. We do so in order that we can maintain a social face and operate in a ‘normal’ social space.
Her whole life is this facade.
When someone is this insecure, their emotional growth is stunted: they are unable to mature at an average rate, and mentally exist in the 11-18 year old sphere. Ms James’ responses are almost, without exception, childish. Someone disagrees with her? She spitefully seeks revenge, seeks them out, tries to use their own feelings against them. Someone contradicts her ‘woman of the working people’ (while taking numerous expensive holidays and spending a fortune on redecoration and renovation of her second home): they’re ‘jealous’. Someone gives her good advice on child nutrition? She stubbornly continues to feed her growing child a very restrictive diet (completely lacking in nutrients, proteins, complex carbohydrates and fibre) more suited for a 10month old, and then complains that he is a ‘picky eater’. She acts like a martyr for having procreated, fabricating a birth trauma because she simply cannot process the fact that she is now, and will ever be a parent, and believes that she ‘deserves’ a daughter who sleeps through the night. What she ‘deserves’ at this point is a wake-up call. Her needs are now secondary. If she is unable to cope with the minimal amount of parenting she does, she should have the child adopted. Harsh, maybe, but it would be a better outcome for Alf if he were the centre of kind, loving, boundary-setting parenting.
She will raise her daughter to be a mini-me: insecure, brash, lazy and defensive, railing at the male sex for all her ills. All the while, her son will be the focal point of her resentment. I would not be at all surprised if he goes no-contact with her once he reaches the age of majority. She needs serious mental help, serious therapy to deal with these deepseated issues. Instead, I imagine that she’ll try to doxx me. (Well, I never ‘take it off Tattle’ because I have no social media. No Twitter, no Facebook, no Instagram, Snapchat or the like. Should she try to identify me via other means I will sue her into oblivion, and ask that she be prosecuted for breaking laws pertaining to malicious communications, harassment and GDPR.) Far easier to lash out than have the courage to be self-critical and acknowledge that she is simply not fine.
And all the while that dear little boy is growing up bereft of attention (the phone, the online world is of more importance), adequate nutrition (which may lower his IQ by up to 10 points), and a source of resentment who is dumped on as many people Ms James can bribe or pay to take care of him.
There is so much more I could say, but I’ve ranted long enough - as you were, Tattlers. Lovely day x
I’ve been reading my way diligently through all the threads, and I must say that Ms James is perhaps one of the most shockingly un-self-aware individuals it has ever been my misfortune to come across.
I’ll preface my remarks by stating that I don’t have children. I don’t want them. I have such a fear and horror of pregnancy and birth, coupled with CFS, fibromyalgia and a crumbling spine, that the mere idea of carrying a baby sends me into a panic (and the idea of sleepless nights even more so). Having the fun of being a high-functioning autistic woman, I am extremely triggered by babies’ and children’s screams and tendency to vomit. I find babies fairly chaotic yet bemusingly dull. I like my sleep, I like having a healthy bank account, I like being able to leave the house without having to pack as if I were going on military campaign. So - no children. No prospect of ever having them. And that’s okay. Not every woman in the world has maternal instincts. I admire and applaud those who do. In fact, I’m in awe of all of you on here: I don’t know how you do it; especially with such proficiency, tenderness, patience. I don’t have it in me. It doesn’t make me heartless or less of a woman.
Ms James has no such instincts.
When I read her drivel, I am struck by her chronic insecurity. All her self-worth derives from the labels she affixes to herself; all her protestations that she is a good and loving mother are designed to reassure herself, not us. Those who protest so comprehensively and endlessly are the embodiment of that which they fear.
I don’t like to make pronouncements on others, but Ms James should never, ever have been a mother.
Her child is understimulated, malnourished and resented. She does the absolute bare minimum for him, and then castigates him for not being a carbon copy of herself. His diet is atrocious (I am surprised that he is able to put one foot in front of another); rather than introducing him to new tastes, textures, experiences, she relies on what she considers a safe choice (but not the best one); her arrant dislike from him seeps from the virtual page of Instagram into her interactions with him. She claims to be highly intelligent and literate (again, a reflection of her huge insecurities), which is belied by almost everything that comes out of her mouth or texting thumb, yet wilfully refuses to take any advice on Alf’s development or safety issues pertaining to him (heavy lamps, cot bumpers, inadequate sleeping arrangements, nutrition, freezing cold room, thin pyjamas, death-trap canopy, rotten windows, sleep schedules - and on, and on, and on). When she has made mistakes (for she is only human, not some untermensch) she lashes out viciously, doxxes - breaking numerous laws in the process - targets and demonises her opponents.
The people who claim that others are universally jealous of them have two unifying traits: poor self-esteem, and more than a touch of narcissism.
I would hate to have Ms James’ life. I would hate to be so riddled with self-doubt, poor confidence and poor judgment; I would hate her endless days of nothingness. ‘I’m tired,’ she complains. ‘He was up at 0130,’ she grizzles, while facilitating precisely the kind of behaviour she derides. She has no ability to learn from experience, nor the capacity for humility which is so necessary for any and every life endeavour - particularly when she is literally responsible for the survival of her (placid, docile) child.
Her endless preening, the oversized photographs of her all over her home, her posing in lingerie for ‘empowerment’s’ sake, all indicate that she is a deeply unhappy, dissatisfied woman. All of you clever commentators have pointed out that such exhibitionism scarcely offers an opportunity for her viewers to feel better about themselves - may I add another suggestion? Ms James releases these images for a number of reasons, the main one being that she is trying to reassure *herself* that her life has value, that her person has value. These photos are not for us. They are for her alone. They speak to a deep need to overcome her self-perception that, while she was an underwear model in her twenties, she had little more value than being a masturbatory object. I think she believes that in taking these photos under her own direction that she has ‘taken her power back’. But, in the knowledge that she is an intellectual inadequate (one doesn’t talk endlessly about one’s A-level qualifications in one’s thirties, when absolutely no-one cares about them), she then uses these images of herself as a means to control the male population she so resents. It is reminiscent of Julia Roberts’ line in ‘Pretty Woman’: ‘I say how, I say when, I say how…’ And then Julia cries. I imagine that Ms James must feel perilously close to tears on all occasions. It is exhausting to maintain such a facade day-in, day-out. I have experience of this: austistic people, particularly women, ‘mask’. We do so in order that we can maintain a social face and operate in a ‘normal’ social space.
Her whole life is this facade.
When someone is this insecure, their emotional growth is stunted: they are unable to mature at an average rate, and mentally exist in the 11-18 year old sphere. Ms James’ responses are almost, without exception, childish. Someone disagrees with her? She spitefully seeks revenge, seeks them out, tries to use their own feelings against them. Someone contradicts her ‘woman of the working people’ (while taking numerous expensive holidays and spending a fortune on redecoration and renovation of her second home): they’re ‘jealous’. Someone gives her good advice on child nutrition? She stubbornly continues to feed her growing child a very restrictive diet (completely lacking in nutrients, proteins, complex carbohydrates and fibre) more suited for a 10month old, and then complains that he is a ‘picky eater’. She acts like a martyr for having procreated, fabricating a birth trauma because she simply cannot process the fact that she is now, and will ever be a parent, and believes that she ‘deserves’ a daughter who sleeps through the night. What she ‘deserves’ at this point is a wake-up call. Her needs are now secondary. If she is unable to cope with the minimal amount of parenting she does, she should have the child adopted. Harsh, maybe, but it would be a better outcome for Alf if he were the centre of kind, loving, boundary-setting parenting.
She will raise her daughter to be a mini-me: insecure, brash, lazy and defensive, railing at the male sex for all her ills. All the while, her son will be the focal point of her resentment. I would not be at all surprised if he goes no-contact with her once he reaches the age of majority. She needs serious mental help, serious therapy to deal with these deepseated issues. Instead, I imagine that she’ll try to doxx me. (Well, I never ‘take it off Tattle’ because I have no social media. No Twitter, no Facebook, no Instagram, Snapchat or the like. Should she try to identify me via other means I will sue her into oblivion, and ask that she be prosecuted for breaking laws pertaining to malicious communications, harassment and GDPR.) Far easier to lash out than have the courage to be self-critical and acknowledge that she is simply not fine.
And all the while that dear little boy is growing up bereft of attention (the phone, the online world is of more importance), adequate nutrition (which may lower his IQ by up to 10 points), and a source of resentment who is dumped on as many people Ms James can bribe or pay to take care of him.
There is so much more I could say, but I’ve ranted long enough - as you were, Tattlers. Lovely day x
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...his legs should be placed either side of carrier and he should be wearing shoes.
