I was 25, with two children under four and pregnant with my third. By then, I considered myself a seasoned Mumsnetter. I’d been there for the infamous penis beaker saga, could spot a stealth brag from a mile off, and knew which biscuits various politicians preferred - and why that question mattered so much. Mumsnet was my hidden community that lived in my pocket.
But after I found myself describing sex with my husband as “like cleaning dog shit off the children’s shoes” - unpleasant but necessary - something shifted. Mumsnetters rallied round. They told me, clearly and unequivocally, that I could say no. It was the first time anyone had said that to me.
Growing up within my Charedi (ultra-Orthodox Jewish) community, access to information was tightly controlled. This happened in two ways: first, by banning or censoring certain sources (easy to enforce when we only attended religious schools), and second, by discrediting anything that came from the outside world. Together, these mechanisms worked to ensure I didn’t just lack information - I was trained to mistrust it. There were whole parts of life I simply didn’t know about: the world, myself, what was possible for my children, or for me.
Joining Mumsnet disrupted what I thought I knew. I saw users distinguish between facts and opinions, challenge assumptions, and demand evidence. It exposed how much of what I'd been taught was about control, rather than truth. It gave me a framework for critical thinking and the space to start using it.
I met a Mumsnetter in person for the first time on a ROAK (Random Act of Kindness) thread. She was giving away an Ergo baby sling. My husband drove me to pick it up. Her house was only a few streets away from mine - but it was the first time I’d ever been inside a non-Jewish person’s home.
Mumsnet wasn’t a “safe” space for me, it was a brave space. That’s what made it so valuable. I got roasted when I posted something ignorant or thoughtless (like the time I took my chickenpox-covered children on the bus). But it wasn’t cruel. Mumsnet wasn’t about making me comfortable - it was about making me think: somewhere I could ask questions, make mistakes, and figure out what I believed, before I was ready to say those things out loud.
In my memoir, Chutzpah, I take those conversations further. I challenge the idea that women in restrictive situations face a binary choice: conform or flee. Mumsnet taught me that there is a third way - nuance, debate, complexity, and I want that for my community, too. That’s why I stay. I stay to model a different way of being Charedi - one that doesn’t require me to abandon my roots, or myself.
Staying doesn’t mean staying married. It doesn’t mean staying silent or small. It means staying present. It means constantly asking what works, what harms, and what brings joy - and choosing accordingly.
Looking back, I can trace my journey through several seismic turning points. But the catalysts for my empowerment? Hundreds of Mumsnetters, whose real names I’ll never know, but whose sharp, funny, fierce, and compassionate words helped me become the woman I am today.
I wrote Chutzpah to share stories like mine and open the door wider for others. But this one - this thank you - is for Mumsnet. For being my first window into the wider world, and for teaching me that it’s okay to ask for more - whether that’s better advice, a bit more honesty, or the chance to hold those in authority to account, and ask them about their favourite biscuit while I’m at it.