In March 2025, my finger was hovering over a button that said ‘share’. I was about to post on my Instagram grid for the first time in two years and it felt like opening a floodgate. The post was the picture you see below, of myself and my husband Ben lying in bed. He was wearing a nebuliser mask. I was there to tell my 80,000 followers that he had almost died.
For the previous five years, I’d considered myself ‘in recovery’ from being an influencer. In 2015, my satirical account Deliciously Stella, which poked fun at clean-eating fads and the
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