One afternoon, on a quiet coastal holiday with my family, I lay down for a nap. The day up until then had been full of the simplest pleasures I could recall from my own childhood holidays – cereal in individual serving boxes, running barefoot on the sand, being chased by the tiniest of waves. Then I opened Instagram.
I emerged from my rabbit hole an hour later, bleary-eyed and depressed from consuming reel after reel after reel, from accounts all promising they had cracked the code to parenting. It had started with a mumfluencer promising she could help me become a more playful mother.
