Odd Mum Out

I keep seeing a lot of chat about the groups, the cliques, the tribes and the “squads” that have formed on and across social media. I hate the terms ‘influencer’ so I shall not use them here, but you get the gist. Now, this is always going to happen and there is a reason why it starts to feel like “we are in high school”, because it is something we do as humans animals, we socialise and create packs. It’s even happening at MB’s kindergarten so it’s not new – to form a social group of your choosing and your liking.

It is not necessarily about YOU and YOU have to remember that. “You” being you, but also me, because even I am self aware enough to know that friends form, visits to national trusts happen, events are attended and taxis are shared, but why does it hurt a little bit?

For starters, there are people who like other people and see them regularly enough to be…you know, mates. Mates that warrant a dinner date, a night ‘out,out’ and genuinely have a friendship, but then there are the others.

In the words of Jay Z “I’m not a businessman, I’m a business Maaannnn, let me handle my business damn” the ‘others’ have representation, they have to be seen to be together, they are offered the same opportunities and have been thrusted together for business, but we live in a world where business and pleasure are mixed like an overpriced cocktail at Soho House and we haven’t been invited to the party, let alone offered a drink! We’re put out.

In the golden days you would’ve just heard on ‘the grapevine’ that you missed out, but in this shiny digital age where FOMO has its own fucking hashtag, you can, with the click of a coined ‘squad’ catchphrase be ‘part of the party’ too. Oh, but not really, (because you are at home clicking refresh in your PJs) but here is a #password peep hole into the reason I will have an #adultheadache tomorrow, you could, but no one would, just say it how it really is and swap the word “hashtag” to “watch me have fun whilst you’re not”.

Is this a story I’ve made up in my head? This is what you need to ask yourself next time you have a case of the green eyes, because fact and fiction can get blurred when emotions are hurt and #FOMO is occurring. Or are you one of those glorious people who love the chance to have a peep? Especially as you cannot be there? Do you ‘join in’ the online party, double tap the frolics and revel in the joy that you can go to bed safe in the knowledge that no ‘adult headache’ will be occurring?

When does that tiny bit of green eye turn into a burst blood vessel? Because ‘comparison is the thief of joy’, but jealousy is a bitch. It is tricky and no one wants to be or feel jealousy, it’s not an enjoyable emotion or a feeling to harness, but why does the exclusivity of a group of women you don’t even know sting? Is it because I have thousands of ‘online friends’? and actually only about 10 IRL? Or is it because I have bought into the very dream they are faking?

Why do we have to share every single thought, feeling and moment of our lives? Do we share content knowing that it will boost someones day? Or are we all narcissists? Would that make you feel better? Or worse? Because it would hurt me more knowing that someone shared an image knowing the #FOMO it would cause, but from a PR point of view – isn’t that the point?

I would argue “no” – mothers don’t need to be shown what they are missing out on, we REALLY already know. We need good advice from women and facts about s**t we might need and possibly with a ‘swipe up’ option to hit the link, because the kid is in the other arm. We want information, because sharing is caring, so thanks for that top tip and the laughs, but if you are “having so much fun” why are you on your phone?

We live in confusing times, i’m sure every generation has written or said as much, but I’d put money on the fact that past generations haven’t had to type the words #toiletselfie. We witness every waking minute and feelings of other people’s lives, we chat, we engage, we share emotions emojis, but then we don’t get invited to the gig, the launch, the party or the class thing and suddenly we’re left feeling like the ‘the odd mum out’.

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