First, my boobs grew.
Then my belly grew.
Then my arse REALLY grew.
Then I had my baby and my heart grew and grew and grew.
Then the bags under my eyes grew.
And the worries grew.
And eventually, as I looked around the world he’d just joined, my concern grew.
My social conscience grew.
When I had my daughter, the feminist beast inside me didn’t just grow, she EXPLODED.
See, I was a journalist. I’d seen and heard so much awful shit that I’d become hardened and cynical to all but the very worst of humanity.
Then I became a mum and that tough hide dissolved completely.
I can’t ignore the injustices anymore. I didn’t care how the world treated me; I was used to my place and didn’t feel the need to fight it.
And then I had kids and the fight became about them.
I can’t sit back anymore.
I feel sick when I see how much waste goes to landfill. It hurts when I see people treated like animals because of where they were born. I despair at the way people speak to each other because I have a sensitive little man at home and I want to protect him. It tears my heart out when I see women hunted and killed for sport because I have a little woman at home and WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK is this world I’ve brought them both into? How can I let them out there and not even try to make it better for them? What sort of mother would that make me?
It’s just too hard to ignore it all when this is the world they’re going to have to survive.
Originally published on Instagram