A few months ago, I started making bits and bobs for social media. Not because I harbour aspirations of being famous. Not because Im desperate for attention. Purely because its enjoyable. I love snapping photos of my recipes, sharing everyday shenanigans with my daughter, tiny glimpses of life at home. Nothing staged, nothing remotely professional. Just your run-of-the-mill videosusually filmed in the kitchen or lounge while Im going about my normal business.
From the get-go, my husbands radar was twitching with discomfort. At first, it was the odd remark. Why was I doing this? Who on earth would want to watch me? What was the point in posting videos? I told him, hand on heart, that I wasnt aiming at anything in particular. Its just a pleasant way to pass the time. But he didnt see it that way.
One day, he came right out with ithe thought I was angling for attention from other men. That I wanted to be liked. To be watched. I said nothing, mainly because I was at a loss as to where all this was coming from. My videos are about food, my daughters lunchbox, and a pasta sauce that actually turned out right. I dont strut around in a bikini, I dont dance, and I certainly dont flash any flesh.
What really takes the biscuit is that I have all of 99 followers. Ninety-nine! And about half of those are familycousins, aunties, mates from school. I laid it all out for him. Showed him the profile. Pointed out the comments. Yet he insisted it wasnt the number that mattered, but my intention. That I must be looking for something.
So the arguments started. Every time I picked up my phone to film something, hed give me that look. If I posted a video, hed demand to know whod watched it. If someone left an emojigood griefsuddenly it was a flirtation of Shakespearean proportions. Once, he even asked to see my private messages, though my inbox is emptier than the biscuit tin come Friday. Claimed that I was disrespecting him as a husband.
It reached the point where I stopped filming with any sense of ease. I started second-guessing every post. Felt like I was being surveilled by MI5. What began as a fun little pastime morphed into a source of household tension. He accused me of changing, of wanting to show off. Meanwhile, I just felt like anything I did could be taken the wrong way.
So now, I barely post. Not because I dont want to, but because every upload feels like asking for another row.
What am I meant to do?
