As an influencer, I invited followers into my life. Then a disturbing incident made me stop

Telegraph

4 days ago

When I started 'Meet You at the Barre', my online barre and strength platform, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I didn't have a microphone or a tripod. It was lockdown and I was home-schooling four children with a husband working full time. What I did have, however, was a gut feeling that midlife women deserved something better than the typical, punishment-heavy fitness content we're constantly bombarded with. I was 42 years old, I'd just completed a course that qualified me to teach barre, a form of exercise using the ballet barre, and I kept thinking: what if I could build something that actually works for women like me?
What I didn't realise, though, when my classes were picked up in an article about the best lockdown workouts and I started to get hundreds of people joining my workouts, is that an online business is a double-edged sword.
Success is rooted in you – your voice, your home, your energy – and when you're growing an account, particularly in the early days, you feel pressure to share more and more of your life. Instagram is a beast that constantly needs feeding.
At first, I tried to meet that pressure. There's something uniquely complicated about being a woman on social media – especially when you're trying to be 'relatable'. People start to feel like they know you. And in many ways, that's the point. I built my platform on honesty, warmth and realness – I didn't want some perfectly curated, robot-fitness influencer vibe. But sometimes, people confuse access with intimacy. And that's when things get uncomfortable.
I've had people message to let me know they think I've gained weight. How generous. Others have told me they don't like my outfit or that I'm looking tired. Shrugging off these kinds of remarks gets easier with time. But then there are the comments that make you pause. Such as the woman who messaged to say she'd spotted a logo on my child's school jumper and now knew where they go to school. Or the woman who recognised the hotel I was staying in from a photo and messaged, 'I live nearby – want to meet for a drink?' It was meant kindly, I'm sure. But it made me realise that by simply living my life online, I'd inadvertently given away more than I had intended.
I feel for Alexandra Saper, the Instagram blogger who was followed to Bali by a British man with a rope in his suitcase. He'd been harassing her for almost a year with emails and video messages: 'You're never getting rid of me,' he told her.
I've never experienced anything serious, thank goodness, but I've had to block people – especially men. When I was doing live workouts during lockdown, there was one guy, Charles, who showed up to every class with ridiculous comments. Thankfully, my followers had a great time taking the mickey out of him, but still – it was draining. And some men are persistent. They'll make a second or third account to keep watching you. That said, I think the majority of them steer clear – probably because what I do is clearly not aimed at them.
The only time I've ever pulled down a reel was a few years ago. It was a funny, chaotic snapshot of surviving the summer holidays with four young kids. I showed more of my personal life in that video than usual – my house, my children, the reality of daily life. Most people laughed and related, but a few came at me hard with judgments about my parenting, my privilege, even the layout of my kitchen. People are, of course, entitled to their opinions – but if you don't like what you're seeing, there's an unfollow button. I wish they wouldn't use their keyboards like a weapon.
That said, the community I've built gives me a great amount of joy. Today, I have more than 1,000 monthly members worldwide, almost 30,000 Instagram followers and a brilliant, loyal community of midlife women who want to move for joy, not guilt.
When my dog ran away, one woman – a follower with a tracker dog – drove three counties to help me find him. I still can't believe that happened. And the number of DMs I get from people checking in when I've gone quiet for a few days – it's astonishing and humbling. Over time, I've made conscious changes, though. I don't share where I am until I've left. My teenagers want nothing to do with my feed – which is fair. And I'm a lot more careful now about what I show and whom I show.
This isn't out of fear – I'm not hiding behind the sofa – but it's awareness. You start noticing where the line is once someone's crossed it. I'm lucky I haven't experienced the full trolling storm that some of my peers deal with. But I've seen how comfortable people feel commenting on your face, your body, your choices – especially as a woman over 40. I haven't had any work done, but I've had messages comparing my face from old videos to now. Others slide in saying things such as, 'Your eyes look really puffy – are you OK?' It's framed as concern, but it's invasive.
There's this weird notion that once you've put yourself online, you've made yourself public property – and this idea seems to grow with your follower count. I have friends with much bigger accounts than mine who get relentlessly targeted. It's usually jealousy disguised as 'constructive feedback'. These are women doing creative, brave work – and getting penalised for daring to take up space.
Still, there's no part of me that wants to walk away. I've built something I'm deeply proud of – not just a business but a space where women feel seen, supported and reminded that they matter in midlife. We move together. We laugh. We cheer each other on. It's not just about the workouts – it's about being allowed to take up space and to do it unapologetically.