You, your kids and the blog…


 I am asked from time to time about my blog and whether I am nervous about my kids reading it one day.

This is a very good question. One I do ask myself often when I write down my thoughts and feelings and especially when those thoughts are feelings are less than happy ones.


But the answer to this question is No.

This is my story, warts and all. I have shared my love, my laughter, my crazy, my torment and my pain. There is no shame in this. It is not like I am flashing my tits for the world to see or running an online brothel. This is a blog – from the term weblog. Which means an online log. In laymen’s terms —> This is my online diary. There is no padlock and it is not hiding under my bed.  I am flamboyantly sharing my life, with you.

I am aware that my blog has caused much upsetness in the past to quite a few people. Namely the HairyKnuckle and Arsfuk.


This is just one of those things in life. I write what I feel and move on with life. I do not pretend to be anyone’s friend, and in all honesty, wish they were not characters in my story. I would much prefer to be writing about unicorn poop and maybe some soft porn, but alas, there are no unicorns pooping in my garden nor do I have the energy for online soft porn.  And yes, they hate my blog, but I also hate that they have been such a negative experience in my life.

They cannot sit there and point fingers about my expressive and hurtfully accurate account of things on my blog when those events have happened to ME.  And then at the same time,  run off and speak about me to others in far worse terms than I ever have. In true gossiper fashion.

The difference between me and them?

I never used their real names and I have never claimed to be a victim.

We must all own up to our shit in life. Our part we play in the production of our own life story.

My kids know that I blog. When they were very little their dad tried to tell them that I write terrible things about him on the internet, and I told them the truth.

“Mommy writes down her experiences, and perhaps your dad should stop reading my blog if the truth is proving to be hurtful to him.”

I have never discouraged my boys from reading my blog, but not really encouraged it either. They were too little, and still are in my books, to properly understand what I have written.

However, It is not lost on them that I call their dad an asshole. But this is my right. Because to me, he is an asshole – just like I have the right to call her the Hairyknuckle.  She earned that name with me.  Just as I know they have a names for me. And for them, they can use it. We have history. And our story is complicated and entangled.

I am not ashamed of the journey I have traveled, my journey was real,  and I learnt how to laugh despite the madness. The madness and me have walked a long way together. We are now uncomfortable friends.

There will come a time for them to read my blog, at the moment, they are not too fussed or interested. Perhaps that time will be many years in the future when I am no longer around to tell them stuff. When I won’t have a voice for them to hear. And then this will be something for them to read. This blog will be a voice for them to remember me by.

They will find out some crazy stuff about me, they will learn that mommy was a person with feelings. They will share my loss when they read about my mom and most of all, they will be able to get a better understanding of me.

Not as their mom, but as Briget – the girl who wrote all her crazy down for the world to see.