Hi Keels,
I know you’re reading this as your post quite clearly illustrates that you have spent a lot of time reading these threads whilst simultaneously following social media too. Therefore, I’m wondering how you are able to be a busy journalist yourself given you have so little time?
First, I’ll address your comment about people being in respectable jobs and how they manage to comment on here. I think that was directed at me, so I’ll explain a little about myself.
I spent a lot of my childhood in refuge and I didn’t understand what love or a loving family was... fast forward to becoming involved in relationships that was sexually, physically, financially and emotionally abusive. I’m nearly 40 and I don’t think I’ve ever known what that deep, all consuming, protecting do-anything-for-you kind of love is. I feel it towards and from my children - but I’ve not felt that in a relationship. And yet, I still believe in love. I fiercely believe that if every child was loved and reminded how loved and amazing and kind and inspiring and brave they were, wow... we’d have much less broken adults wouldn’t we?
You see, I was thrown out of a car whilst he sped off with my baby in the back, I was raped whilst heavily pregnant with a painful thrush, I had my child removed from my arms and had to wait three days for her to be returned because his name was on the birth certificate... the irony of all of that was he didn’t want to sign it. His words were “unless you give the baby my surname I won’t have anything to do with it and it’ll grow to be a psycho like you cos you don’t have a dad”.
I’ve had a social worker look at me like I was dirt and she believed him. In fact, they must have thought the refuge was a holiday camp because they didn’t believe me until he attacked someone with an axe ... I had a call from another social worker who said “They’ll believe you now”.
I was called a psycho, slag, whore, mentally unwell. I had to sit in a room with professionals who went through minute details of my medical records, the children’s school reports, my parenting ability. I lost friends. My mum never rang - not once - to see how we were. On Mother’s Day 2014, I sent her a text to tell her I loved her but she didn’t reply. She went out with my sisters for a meal though. And she sat with my ex reading through my court documents. I spent my youngest daughter’s birthday in court. I had to depend on food banks. And I even had to wear nappies in my underwear once when I didn’t have any money to buy sanitary towels.
I work part time and I also study for a PhD. I don’t socialise, I don’t watch telly. I read, go for long walks. I haven’t been it since 2013, I don’t trust many people and I never invite anyone over. I couldn’t trust my family so I can’t trust anyone anymore. I have anxiety and OCD. I overeat and I don’t like me much, I haven’t had a hug - a romantic hug, since 2010 and I so wish I could come home from a crap day and fall into someone’s arms.
I don’t have anyone to tell me it’s going to be okay.
And guess what Keels? Neither do those women I work with. And that’s where I know I am good. Because I know how they feel. I can look in their eyes even when they’re shouting at me - and I can tell them it will get better. I can write about the work I do here, I can’t tell anyone in real life. Some Friday’s I come home and eat and eat and feel tired because I’ve taken on everyone’s worries. I can’t change their world but I can give them hope. I write here in between visiting them, whilst on the bus. I write here when I sit with a coffee when I’ve cleaned upstairs and before I tackle downstairs. I read here when my children are in bed.
Don’t you dare try and belittle us when we wouldn’t have found this thread had it not have been for you. In fact, many of the posters here were angry in your behalf and defended you. No one would have even known who you were. YOU and only you created this... you caused PTWM’s distressing story... I’m now actually wondering if you were both in partnership because 1) she’s gained following since and now people know about you? Some small time journo from the Wirral?
I’m a working class mother, a bit stressed (your words) and you know what pisses me off? People like you and PTWM who get off on exploiting us, taking the piss out of us. Claiming to stand up for those who are tread on and you don’t. Go back to your keyboard and find another topic. I do more good work in a week that you’ve ever done.
I know you’re reading this as your post quite clearly illustrates that you have spent a lot of time reading these threads whilst simultaneously following social media too. Therefore, I’m wondering how you are able to be a busy journalist yourself given you have so little time?
First, I’ll address your comment about people being in respectable jobs and how they manage to comment on here. I think that was directed at me, so I’ll explain a little about myself.
I spent a lot of my childhood in refuge and I didn’t understand what love or a loving family was... fast forward to becoming involved in relationships that was sexually, physically, financially and emotionally abusive. I’m nearly 40 and I don’t think I’ve ever known what that deep, all consuming, protecting do-anything-for-you kind of love is. I feel it towards and from my children - but I’ve not felt that in a relationship. And yet, I still believe in love. I fiercely believe that if every child was loved and reminded how loved and amazing and kind and inspiring and brave they were, wow... we’d have much less broken adults wouldn’t we?
You see, I was thrown out of a car whilst he sped off with my baby in the back, I was raped whilst heavily pregnant with a painful thrush, I had my child removed from my arms and had to wait three days for her to be returned because his name was on the birth certificate... the irony of all of that was he didn’t want to sign it. His words were “unless you give the baby my surname I won’t have anything to do with it and it’ll grow to be a psycho like you cos you don’t have a dad”.
I’ve had a social worker look at me like I was dirt and she believed him. In fact, they must have thought the refuge was a holiday camp because they didn’t believe me until he attacked someone with an axe ... I had a call from another social worker who said “They’ll believe you now”.
I was called a psycho, slag, whore, mentally unwell. I had to sit in a room with professionals who went through minute details of my medical records, the children’s school reports, my parenting ability. I lost friends. My mum never rang - not once - to see how we were. On Mother’s Day 2014, I sent her a text to tell her I loved her but she didn’t reply. She went out with my sisters for a meal though. And she sat with my ex reading through my court documents. I spent my youngest daughter’s birthday in court. I had to depend on food banks. And I even had to wear nappies in my underwear once when I didn’t have any money to buy sanitary towels.
I work part time and I also study for a PhD. I don’t socialise, I don’t watch telly. I read, go for long walks. I haven’t been it since 2013, I don’t trust many people and I never invite anyone over. I couldn’t trust my family so I can’t trust anyone anymore. I have anxiety and OCD. I overeat and I don’t like me much, I haven’t had a hug - a romantic hug, since 2010 and I so wish I could come home from a crap day and fall into someone’s arms.
I don’t have anyone to tell me it’s going to be okay.
And guess what Keels? Neither do those women I work with. And that’s where I know I am good. Because I know how they feel. I can look in their eyes even when they’re shouting at me - and I can tell them it will get better. I can write about the work I do here, I can’t tell anyone in real life. Some Friday’s I come home and eat and eat and feel tired because I’ve taken on everyone’s worries. I can’t change their world but I can give them hope. I write here in between visiting them, whilst on the bus. I write here when I sit with a coffee when I’ve cleaned upstairs and before I tackle downstairs. I read here when my children are in bed.
Don’t you dare try and belittle us when we wouldn’t have found this thread had it not have been for you. In fact, many of the posters here were angry in your behalf and defended you. No one would have even known who you were. YOU and only you created this... you caused PTWM’s distressing story... I’m now actually wondering if you were both in partnership because 1) she’s gained following since and now people know about you? Some small time journo from the Wirral?
I’m a working class mother, a bit stressed (your words) and you know what pisses me off? People like you and PTWM who get off on exploiting us, taking the piss out of us. Claiming to stand up for those who are tread on and you don’t. Go back to your keyboard and find another topic. I do more good work in a week that you’ve ever done.
yes we were. Many people on here are or were and they are or were on many other threads too. 
We have to buy school uniforms and take them for a day out... Please don’t make us feel more shit than we already do because we can’t buy lovely clothes ‘sourced’ from an ethical, organically commune up a mountain somewhere. Don’t make us feel bad because you feed your kids avocados and salmon when we (or I) have hot dog tins and ketchup. Don’t show us your grey and white, beautiful sparkly homes when some of us (me again) have play doh stuck to the rug and really old, second hand (but still lots of life in) furniture. Just fucking stop and leave us alone. 
you legends... you’ve made people think this evening. Well done ladies 