In a parallel universe I am barefoot in a kitchen, toddlers crowding around my legs, linen apron around my waist, and a delicate, almost artistic dusting of flour across my cheeks. I am kneading dough. Next I will churn butter, milk the cows, scatter feed for the hens, cuddle my children, greet my husband warmly, and thank the Lord for all He has provided for me. Also in this parallel universe, there’s a camera on the countertop, capturing this scene of domestic bliss. Later, I will splice together several clips of me doing said chores into an Instagram reel about the joys of embracing traditional womanhood. You see, online, I am a vision of effortless femininity. I am a tradwife (traditional wife); part pastoral fantasy, part algorithmic confection, whose greatest labour is ensuring that every moment of "simplicity" is exquisitely staged. Happily, in this universe, I am not her.…