People LIke Her(71)
“Bye-bye, little man. We’ll see you soon. Daddy loves you,” Dan says, still avoiding my eye and instead waving at his son, who’s either smiling back or about to ensure we need to immediately stop the car for a nappy change. I imagine the fact Dan will have to deal with Coco solo all weekend is the only reason he’ll miss me at all right now. Dr. Fairs says five days out of contact is probably the best thing for us both.
As we drive away, I root around in my bag to double-check I have all the essentials and an emergency supply of chocolate. Within minutes, Bear’s dozed off and is making the really quite extraordinary grunting sounds that got him kicked out of our bedroom and into his own at four weeks old. It’s astonishing how much noise such a small person can make, even when he’s fast asleep.
The driver tries to start up a conversation, but I point at the peaceful Bear and put a finger to my lips, shrugging apologetically. I settle down for a farewell scroll while we make our way through a steady stream of traffic out of town, through Chiswick, across the river, through Richmond, over the river again. Things are ticking over online as Irene had expected. The rest of the pod are pointedly ignoring the furor, hanging back to see how it plays out before speaking out in support (or otherwise). The most ardent fans have taken on the angriest trolls, and we’ve been watching them slug it out among themselves in the comments for days, Winter tasked with deleting the nastiest rants. Most important, the brands seem to have bought into the excuse and accepted my apology, and Irene’s phone is no longer ringing off the hook with bad news.
She texts to check I’m en route and ready to start the stories. Nearly, I tell her. Once the roads start to get more rural, I pull out a mirror. Makeup-free and wearing a black polo neck, I look suitably wan and contrite. I give myself a moment, and when my eyes are visibly moist, I press record, pointing the camera first at Bear.
“If only I could sleep as soundly as him, but what’s happened over the past few days has kept me awake at night,” I murmur softly, panning the phone round. “I’ve let you all down, I know that. I’ve let this little man down too. I haven’t been the best I could be. I should’ve taken time away from these little squares to really recover from bringing this new human into the world. I should have taken self-care seriously, so I could care for him—and for you all. Instead, I took on too much, and because my head was all over the place, I fucked up.”
I take a deep breath, gaze sadly out of the window for a moment.
“I just really want to take a moment here to talk about kindness. There are some amazing things about this Instagram community, but perhaps we should learn to bear—forgive the pun—with each other a bit more. We need to lift each other up, not knock each other when we’re down. It’s so easy to fire off a comment, write a post, send a DM, without really thinking through the implications. But perhaps we should consider how what we write affects other people out there. I know that I certainly will from now on.”
I take a break before pressing record again. The roads are getting more rural—I don’t even think I’ve seen a house in the last half an hour, although I have seen quite a few distant corrugated barns, a fair number of sheep, a burned-out trailer, and a hand-painted banner about Brexit stretched across some hay bales. I record a few more emotional musings—the nature of fame, the purity of the love I have for my children, how my husband has been my rock throughout, never for a second doubting me. Then I sign off.
“As you know, I am stepping away from social media for a while to really evaluate what it means to be here. Never in my wildest dreams, when I started out with my little shoe blog, did I imagine that I would touch a million mamas. So many wonderful things have come out of my life on the grid, and I don’t want to lose that, but I also know it’s taking its toll on my family. We’re all learning how this brave new influencer world works, kind of making it up as we go along. But I need a pause on my journey, a little metaphorical foot rub, a second to catch my breath. So Bear and I are on our way to a digital detox retreat. No social media, just me hanging out with this perfect little human and truly connecting with him, with myself. Because you can’t get this magical time back, can you?”
The DMs are rolling in thick and fast by this point. You do you, Mama! You give so much, Emmy, we’re right there with you! Don’t leave us, Mamabare, we need you! Such powerful words, you inspiring superhuman! Sending hugs and rainbows!
Only the odd Why aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I hope you disappear forever creeps in.
Bad luck, lurker. I’ll be back in five days. I save the stories into my Highlights, so any followers bereft at my social media blackout can rewatch them over the next five days.
“Nearly there,” says the driver, waking Bear up with a start.
As we pull up the scrubby track, it becomes clear that Irene wasn’t joking when she said this would be rustic. I have no idea how many people will be at this thing—who’s running it, even. Hagrid perhaps? As I am walking up to the house, the porch light comes on and a woman appears at the door. Dressed in a bobbly cardigan and cord trousers, and with her wispy white hair piled on top of her head, she doesn’t look much like a former tech exec to me.
“Emmy, welcome! We are so happy to have you here. Please come in, make yourself at home. This will be your sanctuary for the next five days, the place that will disconnect you from the rest of the world, so you can truly switch off,” she says, arms open expansively.