Fuck You, Random Disappointed People.

I got unfollowed again last night. I say ‘again’ because it happens all the time, though I don’t usually get told about it. It comes with the territory.

This one was a little strange though, as it kind of upset me. For someone who professes to have no fucks to give, sometimes a little glimmer of a fuck creeps in when I least expect it. A micro fuck.

Going back a step, I have lived most of my life being a people pleaser. I put others before myself on many occasions, sometimes (quite often) to my detriment. As I grew older, I started to see the bigger picture. That I, like pineapple on pizza, am not for everyone. And that is ok. Life is an individual pursuit, and nobody is in control but you.

An ex once said he was disappointed that I wasn’t doing as many things for people as I used to. Disappointed. Just because I had learned to do a little more for myself. Comments like this come back from time to time, like a bad case of herpes. Especially when I am feeling my most vulnerable. So last night came with a sting.

“I’m not for everyone.”

– Far kew

A random stranger (let’s call her Beryl) who claims to be one of my longest-standing followers, wrote me an essay describing all the reasons I was not worthy of her patronage anymore. One of the main gripes was that my rants have become less regular. That I was clogging up her feed and not allowing other work to filter through to her social sphere. Then there were a whole bunch of other things that were unfairly critical, wrong, and just plain unnecessary. She ended her flounce with “love to you always”.

That is not love, Beryl. That is a social media bitch slap and you do not have permission to give me one.

Here’s the thing. My rants have become less regular. Why? Many reasons. Time, inspiration (it’s hard to complain when things are going so damn well!), my day job, my family, and my LIFE. That thing that is mine. That thing that comes before anything else. The thing that I control and the thing that no random disappointed stranger on the internet gets to complain about me having.

I do not owe anyone shit. I do this for me, and a happy by-product of my blog is that I make people laugh and maybe reflect on some stuff. But I come first.

Perhaps I am getting a little bit more brutal now my forties are in full swing. Maybe it’s PMS, maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s Maybelline. But I know me. I know that at my very best I am special to somebody. I know that when all the planets align, I do some amazing shit.

And no Beryl gets to make me feel bad.

I left a facebook business group about a week ago because I was made to feel bad. It wasn’t the first time. Apparently my “conversation starter” badge wasn’t very useful. So I turned that into a positive and created my own group, which is thriving and full of women supporting other women in business. Yay.

You don’t need to allow anything or anyone to make you feel bad. Especially not random strangers on the internet. You get to choose. Yes, it’s a choice. It’s pretty easy to flick a switch and simply turn away from drama, complications, bad energy and emotional turmoil. Unfriend, unfollow, mute, block. And if you don’t fit in the box, build your own.


***My sincere apologies to any lovely Beryls out there***


  1. That’s right! Fuck ‘em. I’m so sick of seeing people and companies and politics conforming to other people just because they get offended. For what it’s worth I appreciate your blog, although I personally relate to nearly everything you post, but if I didn’t your sincerity and transparency is admired. I too have always been a people pleaser until I finally got WOKE and started on the path to rebuilding what was left of me. So Far Kew, Fuck it, and Fuck them, and Fuck my family and Fuck fucking Beryl, and Fuck everything that just doesn’t matter at the end of it all. If you are taking your last breath of life and it doesn’t flash through your mind that it’s not worth a fuck. Have a great mother fucking day everyone!

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