Honest K

MASKING INSECURITIES WITH HUMOUR AND SARCASM SINCE 1987

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  • honestk social media mum bod

    I caught the ‘mums’ – but there’s a social media cure for that.

    / March 1, 2018 / 10 Comments

    My body – if you ignore social media It’s an amazing thing. It grew and housed another human. It provided food for that tiny human. It expanded, it shrunk, it contracted. It really is a source of…

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  • Depression mental health

    Beauty and the Beast

    / August 17, 2017 / 7 Comments

    You can't fight the beast. Only I can fight the beast. I don't hate the beast. I hate that it can take hold of me, for hours, days, weeks. I hate the power it possesses. I hate…

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honestkirsty

Kirsty
It was really hard to think of 5... Sorry, I mean It was really hard to think of 5... Sorry, I mean narrow it down to 5. I'm only (half) joking about hating sensory play. It is kinda like reinventing the wheel, no? A house full of plastic tat, play doh and tiny lego pieces left lying at the 5 year old arse makes for brilliant sensory play. All while maw face here runs about screaming 'get that out your mouth' while chasing the toddler. Is that not sensory play enough? Thought so 😏 Go watch more of ma shite banter on YouTube: https://youtu.be/gn5F_O9uTnY Link in bio anol, in the LinkTree #mawlife #sensoryplaytime #getitinthebin #newyoutuber #scottishyoutuber #funnyscottish #scottishhumour
Breastfeeding my first helped post-natal depressio Breastfeeding my first helped post-natal depression take up residency in my mind. No doubt about it. Would I have avoided PND if I bottle fed? No. Would my symptoms have been less severe? Very likely. But I think my path into parenthood would have been hard all the same. The martyrdom I forced upon myself was unnecessary. I still wonder why I pushed my way through the tears, the breakdowns and physical pain exacerbated by the sleep deprivation. A mothers 'duty', to suffer while she gives her children the very 'best'. None of that was the best for either of us. Physically I could BF, but mentally, it was taxing. Another node in which I felt attacked, tired and just a thing here to be used. The second time round, it was easier, I knew what to expect. It was still hard, I still cried in the shower when I heard the baby was awake and hungry. I still wore the martyr robe, becoming defensive when my partner offered to bottle feed him. I then seen how easy it was for me to become very ill the first time round. There's so much more to BFing than whether or not you can produce milk in enough quantity to feed a baby. It's OK to speak out against it, your opinion is valid and needed. Maybe if I knew what a shit show it can be I wouldn't have suffered so much the first time or at least I would have known how mentally draining it can be 💙 #mentalhealthawarenessweek #breastfeedingmama #bottlefeeding #pnd #ppd #depressionawareness
Resentment is silenced by many stereotypes. The na Resentment is silenced by many stereotypes. The nagging wife. The moaning mum. The huffy partner dishing out silent treatment when you get home from the pub. The angry bitch flipping her shit for reasons 'unknown'. The simple truth is there's a conflict going on and one many people dismiss, giving it a label rather than pushing through the apparent 'strange' behaviour of their partner. She doesn't know what to say. Internally fighting how she feels and why. Logically, there's no reason to be mad, but she is. She feels attacked, unheard, stifled and disrespected. All while battling the female disposition of being gaslit for such emotions. There is no secret. Shes angry at the inequality, the words she feels but can't express. The freedom you have in your mind and life, perceived or not. Resentment builds, to a point of warping the mind. The grass on your side becomes so green she becomes blinded to the reality. But for her it is real. All of the resentment, anger and frustration. All it takes is to listen, no matter how untrue her resentment may be. No matter how wrong she has it. Shes crushed under this weight too. She doesn't want to be the stereotype, but often we are all forced into them, male or female. Theres a lot more going on behind those eyes than most know. Do more than ask, listen without judgement. On both sides. It might just save a life. #mentalhealthawarenessweek #resentment #pnd #depression #mentalhealth
I've always wanted to add another platform to moan I've always wanted to add another platform to moan about ma wains on. So a decided I would do it. I set up HonestK YouTube and I am mortified. Am no stranger to putting the phone in ma face and talking utter shite on stories, but when it comes to YT am a big shitebag. So here it is. A plan to fill it with ma best faces and genuine pearls of wisdom that can get you through life...swipe to see 😏 Good luck finding me, ma name is HonestK as you know. But am no pure famous yet so hide in the search bar. Go to ma Linktree in ma bio to find me if you are really into ways to waste yer time. Anyways. Am pure mortified sharing this. But av been told a need to share it, so here we are. Ma 10th subscriber will win a lifetime supply of hearing ma banging voice till the end of time. So hurry, go click like and subscribe to be in with a chance of winning. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCh5gXWUvoLHnH35Bd1-p_WQ
Capturing one of the lesser celebrated firsts: The Capturing one of the lesser celebrated firsts: The First Nose Pick. #proudmaw #weebam #picknflick #or #bogeyandbite #bendecides
No a haven't had another wain and thats why am so No a haven't had another wain and thats why am so moody. Am only 14 months late of ma birthing review. Ad give it a solid 7 out of 10. He was still a 10lb baby mind you. (Thats ma 10lb baby brag filled for the week). Theres a post on the blog if yea are that way inclined. Its in the linktree in ma bio. If yer scratching yer heid like, whit a blog? Yea get a bonus fact thrown in, thats the devil that brought me to IG. Lucky you eh #positivebirth #positivebirthstories #secondbaby #bigben #hopepeoplecometoseebigbenandlandonthispost
Babys can't self soothe, I'm neglecting him as I p Babys can't self soothe, I'm neglecting him as I pull the door closed. The thoughts fuel my guilt for an instance. He needs a comforting mother at 2am, in excess of 2 hours, for the 4th day in a row. A sleep regression, the likely culprit for this recent shit show. So much online tells me that it's wrong and unfair to leave him crying. None of this is fair. Not to me, when I broke down earlier in the day. Frustration rolled down my face while shame fluttered over me. I cannot be that soothing mum at 2am. Anger sweeps over me when I hear him fuss for the 10th time that hour. His cry sounding just as pissed off as I am. I can't go back in there. I can't hold him to sleep. I can't deal with this nightly dance, again. I can provide many things for my children, night patience is not one of them. So I close the door, marking my boundary. As I lay down, I rid myself of the guilt. I cannot go back in there, no matter what neglect and trauma I'm supposedly causing. I can guarantee it's lesser that a snarl filled mother snapping at both kids, holding back tears as the words 'fuck off' want to escape. As per, the needs of the parent are failed in parenting research. Presuming that the parent is fully charged and able to provide the calming voice of reason to endure comfort at 2am, for hours. Avoiding the dreaded 'cry it out method'. I can't. I just can't. And that doesn't mean anything about me as a mother. More to do with sleep deprivation and emotional intelligence on my part. So I say, seriously, fuck off to the guilt. I'm a human too. And a few nights of kid upset is far better than weeks of a depressed mother. Cry it out and its benefits/drawbacks are not up for debate here. Unless you want to talk about the link between rage, sleep and depression. Parents have needs too. (My mate bought me this t-shirt from @abandonshipapparel years ago. If only my 1 year old could read). #12monthsleepregression #GTF #cryitout #needsmust #itwillpass #sowillmysanity
The use of hashtags for the banter gets right up m The use of hashtags for the banter gets right up ma itty bitty pregnancy battered titties. People crack out mental health for likes, the latest trend to accumulate followers. Body image, stretch marks and (toxic) body positivity follow suit. Being used as a means to boost engagement, beat the dreaded algorithm people hang by as a need to validate their page. When you use a hashtag for likes, you create white noise, hiding actual decent and helpful content that others need to see. #stretchmarks shouldn't be of a woman gyrating about the place, showing how her belly expands over the day. Not once showing her silver lines, nor eluding to them in a any way. I always say, each to their own, but some people are taking the piss. We need to see truth on social media, the flip side can have damaging consequences. If you're going to use a hashtag, be mindful that people might actually want to see some truth behind it. Not all of us are here for you to build a platform upon. So please stop stressing my tits out, they have been through enough. Cheers. #gieitaby #stretchedtomalimit #punintended
To the women, being seen but not heard. To mother To the women, being seen but not heard. To mother 'nagging' about the unequal load of parenthood, screaming while it takes a mental toll. To the 'diva' female, being dragged in the mud, refusing to perform the unnecessary chest shot. To the women who need to prove their worth as soon as they set foot in a male environment. To women in work, 5 years a senior, yet belittled due to her gender. To the girls, who will be sexualised far too soon, dealing with harassment for life - that's what it means to be a girl. To the women building a business, while 'sacrificing' a family. To the women who humour sexism, to prevent an awkward situation. To the women quizzed on the role of her uterus, squirming at the intimate questions. To the women, who seek validation after being told they are not worthy. To the women who feel guilt and shame, for not being maternal enough or motherly enough. To the women traumatised during childbirth, who later learn about informed consent. To the girls who think they can not, when no one has told them they can. To the women, who hide their body, to protect the sins of others. To the women who are often too scared to speak up, even to their detriment. To the women who need to justify, constantly, their choices in life. It's all women. Challenge for the change that is needed for women to be heard as equals. There is no fight. It's equality, plain and simple. #ChooseToChallenge
It's from 2020, simmer. I've just no wiped it. Due It's from 2020, simmer. I've just no wiped it. Due on the 22nd, ha, I'll crack the jokes mate. Things just got more and more intense after that. So upset after yet another trip to the midwife, telling me Ben was nowhere near engaging. His head popping in and out my pelvis. Absolute wee bam. Reluctantly I got induced, not before I had to relive why I was refusing it in the first place. Over and over. I don't want to be induced because I don't want to be threatened with 'I'll need to cut you' - 5 years later, I still don't know why it was said. Words matter. Words from health care professionals matter more. Anyway, just wanted to flaunt that I went out on 2 social occasions that week. 2. Jeez. What a life we had a year ago. Think I lost all hope after the 22nd, and didn't wipe and write new weekly events. I was so deflated and terrified of having my baby forced out of me. Turns out, it was the best thing I've ever done. Then Ben was born and lockdown happened, why would I wipe it? To write 'go for another fucking walk'. I'll see how long I can keep it like this, see how long it takes before I get any reason to wipe it. I had a hot water bottle, full of water from the night I was contracting with Jess. 5 years the water was in there. 5. It made me emotional to think about it. Filthy water making me emotional. Parenthood. Wtf.
The greatest love affair you will ever see, a boy The greatest love affair you will ever see, a boy and his (well, his sisters) burger 💖 #truelove #happy #burgentines
Image Reposted from @_happyasamother I love this Image Reposted from @_happyasamother I love this graphic 💖 I'm so proud, and in awe at the dad by partner has become. How we have grown with each other, and continue to navigate parenthood. He holds us together, he always has 💖
Does it hurt to speak about my depression? Sometim Does it hurt to speak about my depression? Sometimes. It depends how deep I go. Using the word hate next to 'my baby', hurts more the further I get from that time. I don't relate with this mum anymore, how can hate and baby be in the same place. The same place I hold this child in deep, all consuming love now. It weighs heavy on me, what will she think when she's older? The longer time passes the more the word becomes powerful. The more I shift, thinking of the word hate and my baby makes me feel ashamed and upset. Sometimes I need to remind myself of my depression, most of it is suppressed. Pretty blasé about the whole event. Used to saying PND in my parenthood journey, jaded to how I felt at the time, unable to feel those moments anymore. But fully able to feel guilt for my words now. No one should do that. It was never a choice to feel that way, to push people out, self destruct. It did happen, I did lack love, my life was a chore. To myself, I'm justifying how I felt. It's easy to judge when you aren't in that position, when you can't relate. It's worse to have lived it and to judge your own words. I use hate and love because they are powerful, loaded words. They encompass a range of feelings, surmising what you maybe can't say. Two comfortable words learnt early in life. They don't exist exclusive of each other. They don't reflect the true situation, not all the time. But they are comfortable to say, to be heard. They both play a part in parenthood, arguably the biggest forces that keep parents pushing forward. Let's never underestimate the feelings behind these words, especially when it can take great courage to express them in the first place.
So a gets and email today, that says a will be on So a gets and email today, that says a will be on the telly box on Monday the 8th Feb at 22:30. Thats the show name there, Bump Birth Baby - coz a kept forgetting the order of the words. Despite it being logical and aw that. And it's on BBC Scotland. So stop sending me DMs asking. And stop sending me DMs wi banging screenshots of ma face. Unless you want to meme them and make me laugh. Naw, a don't know how you can view it outside the UK. Sorry. If you know of anyways to do this, let us know. Coz a am being chinned for it and a hate not having the answer. And naw, ill no be watching coz I am mortified to see myself on the TV. Am game for anything, but also a big shitebag. Might watch it wi subtitles from behind the sofa. But if my story and struggle with PND helps, then I'd be on that telly mortified for all a could be! Cani wait to see the plethora of faces a pull. Have a shot for each crazy eye a pull 🙄 #onthetelly #purefamous #sorrywhoareyou #talktomymanager #shescurrentlyaskingforasnack #mafacesaysathousandwords
Responsibility of little lives is hard. During a p Responsibility of little lives is hard. During a pandemic, it's crushing. Worry comes hand in hand with children, but never have we had to worry so much about their physical and mental wellbeing. And to be honest, im struggling. To question high emotions of your child, to police yourself in response to them. For an easily over stimulated parent, out of character wails and breakdowns are very hard. I know better than to scold and say 'stop!'. I know better than to use my power and authority for my own benefit, Lord over an upset child and tell them to go and calm down. Fighting screams with screams. I've done it before, and swore I would never do it again. But as the days pass, the almighty scream beast is poking out. This climate is far too much for parents. The worry, the pressure, the trying to stay stable in your own head while balancing the entire family upon it. Happy mum, happy life they say. And by fuck do we feel that responsibility. I know my kids need me to play happy mum, but that's been depleted by 10am. I'm a human during a pandemic underneath my mum robe. I'd love to kick back enjoy the hobbies and freedom. I'd love to take a day for me. But I'd still be a mum, first and foremost. That's the job. Watching my kid erupt over 'nothing' reminds me, hourly, of the strain we are under. That it takes a village, for them and me. The impact of just getting through the day are showing. Emotions are being pressured and eruptions are bursting, both child and adult. I'd love not to play mum for a while. I miss being just me. I miss being in a couple. I miss having time to talk utter shite with people. I miss having the want to talk utter shit with people. I miss not being a robot that gets charged at night (sometimes) only to get up and play the previous day all over again. I miss the normal worries about my children. Fuck, I even miss the soft play. #lockdown2021 #daysarelong #wastedtime #survivalmode #justkeepgoing #fuckoffrona
Tell you what, lucky he's cute with a smile that c Tell you what, lucky he's cute with a smile that could melt Satan's soul. Coz at 3, 4, 5 am I get that yeety feeling amidst his screams, dad snores and Jess complaints. Although, it's not long before the mums 'what the actual fuck' not so muffled sighs wake the whole house. A safety net for Mr Anti-Sleep, cani toss the baby when the big sis is about. Several times already, she has confirmed that you cannot sell Ben on Ebay. Nor can the baby be put in the bin, not even quickly on collection day. That's maybe the downside to having a 5 year age gap, the third parent. Not that I'm saying Dad is on board with a baby flying oot the windae. But if I said I could give a night of 5 hours UNINTERRUPTED sleep, aye well, I'm pretty sure he would see sense. Unlike that maw of a big sis. #ootyeago #showme #sleepporn #kidsaresavage #sleepisfotheweak #saymykids #thenightsarelong #thattheyfuckingare
Turns out, if your neighbour is also a fellow pare Turns out, if your neighbour is also a fellow parent who is up to their eyebaws in wains climbing up their arse and over being a snack bitch, you don't need to muffle the scream. In fact, they may also partake in a wee ragey scream with you, no judgment required. Might start a 'Rage Rangers' scream club. We can tandem scream, drown out the sounds of the wains and maybe get some fucking sanity back. #lockdown2021 #ragerangers #rage #boredaf #caniturnroonbutawainisinmaface #personalspace #mawporn #screamifyeawanttogotoacafe #screamifyeawanttoboltforthehills #screamyatitsaff
Get those positive vibes right up yer arse, send m Get those positive vibes right up yer arse, send me a link for new ways to hide from people within your own home. Starting to think the spider infested loft looks pretty silent and snug at this point. #lockdown2021 #wheresjoewicksnow #fuckedoffliketherestofus #bakemeagettofuckcake
Postnatal rage, thats exactly what it is. Thankful Postnatal rage, thats exactly what it is. Thankful a frantic Google search brought up a term, a reason, an explanation for what I'm feeling. Being woke at 645 doesn't justify this mood. Rage, swirling beside the need to calm down. So angry, over nothing. All of a sudden it flipped, to the familiar, yet past, feelings of being trapped. Knowing my mood is not necessarily mine, but not knowing how to stop it. Just like depression. Being trapped in my own mind and just hoping the mood leave me. There's something so helpless and lonely, frightening, when you mentally beg for the mood to stop. When you feel out of control of your own mind. For months I've been waking with clenched fists, tongue rammed to the roof of my mouth. For weeks my mood has an air of 'fuck off', 'its always me', 'just stop'. Waking in a rage of a mood is uncharacteristic, wanting to scream into a wall at 7 is downright diagnosable. I felt huge relief when I seen the term postnatal rage. I know enough to see my behaviour isn't me, nor do I feel bad, guilty. I do wish there was an easy way to stop it, the lack of patience, quick temper, the extreme vice around my body that makes my teeth grind and neck ache from tension. I don't have the answer to what seems like an overwhelming situation, but then again I didn’t know the beast that was PND until I faced it head on. #postnatalrage #welp #ragebestronginthisone
I lived in a bubble in 2020, and not the social on I lived in a bubble in 2020, and not the social one. One filled with a newborn, adjusting to a family of 4, my first born growing up to be a school girl, sibling laughs and love. My bubble was my family. I was more than happy for that to be my focus in a time when the rest of the world was going to shit. My 2020 was a good year, dare I say one of the best I've had. I gave birth and loved my baby. Healing trauma from my first birth experience. Experiencing, from the onset, the overwhelming parent love towards a child. Again, healing years of darkness, tears, pain, doubt and depression. Unwillingly, I let go of 2020. The year I gave birth for the last time. Breastfed for the last time. The year my baby boy was born. The year I seen what real unconditional love looks like. My bubble of newborn and baby life is about to pop. Ill be hitting 2021 home schooling and with baby about to enter toddler phase, who demands constant entertainment. Oofty. My 2020 was selfish, intimate and enclosed. Much of it out of necessity, boundaries hard in place to protect our mental health. Im proud to say we done that. A testament to our relationship, coming out of the previous 5 years of darkness to enjoy one of the biggest years in our worlds history. 2020 was an absolute shitshow, but I choose to see only the light. And enjoy as much of it as possible. 2020 made me the mum I thought didn't exist. But I still draw the line at baby groups, so thank fuck for that.
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