Do you have a shameful story?

Why you must be your own mother, lover, friend.

Jan 31, 2024

Last week I told a client of mine something really shameful. I was trying to show her how the most important words she hears aren’t mine as her midlife coach, or her partner’s or her mother’s. They aren’t the latest podcast, or shiny new January book to help her calm the chaos of her life (I don’t say this disparagingly; I have my own self-guided book, and many have helped me work through my own life). Like all of us, the most important words she hears are the ones she says to herself.

Not the out-loud mirror mantras of “High 5!” we’re encouraged to say every morning

Not the mutterings of To-Do lists and logistical problem solving of trying to fit a round-shaped woman’s life into a square-shaped patriarchal expectation.

Not the talking to yourself out loud as you meander through Tesco trying to figure out what to make for the feckin’ dinners for another feckin’ week that won’t bore you and the family to death (or is that just me?).

I mean the words that whir and buzz around your brain, in a constant narrative about who you should be, how you should be, what you are expected to be and how much you are doing versus the expectation of what you’re supposed to be doing. Like so many of us.

So I told her my shameful story. I told her that for a period in my late 20’s, I would leave abusive notes for myself on my bedroom mirror. (To put my life in context at that point, I had just returned from a two year adventure volunteering, travelling and working round SE Asia and New Zealand, following a few years building my career in communications in London, so I was confident, career focussed and living a happy, social life).

And yet, the insidious societal narrative that has always been instrumental in keeping a good woman down, blew in my ear like whispering witches, cackling and cruel, poking me awake lest I drift calmly into a state of self-affection. Every time I would try to give myself credit for this amazing adventure of life I was on, every time I did that awful thing women aren’t supposed to do like celebrate my wins, and every time I settled a little deeper into my own skin, that outdated, misogynist conditioning would poke me again, never letting me rest.

The notes I would write for myself, and therefore greet myself with first thing in the morning said things like “You fat bitch.”

I was neither fat, nor a bitch. I was generally quite kind, a bit funny, sassy and really good fun, especially after a couple of Gins. Yet this sort of self-bullying sucked the wind out of my sails before I even had my first morning cuppa. I thought if I wrote these words down they would inspire (inspire!!?) me to eat healthier, quit smoking and get fitter. (Of course, apart from the smoking, I was a pretty regular size, with a more or less healthy diet and although I wasn’t running marathons, wasn’t a couch potato.)

Imagine. Imagine being that hard on someone. I wonder if you can, actually. Maybe not that particular brutal bullying, but not altogether different?

Many of us carry thoughts like that around in our head all day. “You’re so stupid” “No-one wants to hear your opinion.” “I’m too old / fat / poor…”

Which is why now, thankfully, I am so conscious of the power of my own words, I try to be a mother to myself, try to be a lover, try to be a friend, try to be a mentor to myself.

Because if a man had spoken to me the way I did back then, I would have left him.

If a boss had spoken to me the way I did back then, I would have reported them.

If a friend had spoken to me the way I did back then, I would have dropped them.

Building a loving, nurturing, inspiring, championing, honest and supportive relationship with yourself, is the single more effective way to thrive in live, not just survive it.

That’s why I’m such an advocate of journalling and have my own Journal Prompt Guide. It’s why I often ask clients to write to themselves in various forms, why I love this beautiful practise from Elizabeth Gilbert on Letters from Love as a beautiful example, and generally being my own damn best pal.

We are constantly told or sold the dream of finding “the One” but it took me a long time to understand that while there may be A One or even a few Ones, THE one had to be myself.

It runs through so much of my coaching women - women so busy being mothers, lovers, friends and daughters to others - they forget to be all those things to themselves.

Now, I start the day, before I even open my eyes, squeezing my arm and saying or thinking a loving greeting. Sometimes it’s just a “hello”. Often it’s peppered with a loving compliment. It means I don’t rely on anyone else to make sure I start and end the day with love (although Keanu Reeves squeezing my arm and whispering ‘hello gorgeous’ would also be rather lovely, but you, know, not reliable).

The greatest damage most of us experience, is the damage we do to ourselves. The way our shoulders sigh when we look at our menopausal bodies that can never be what they are ‘supposed’ to be. Jesus, my 20’s something body wasn’t what I thought it should be and I’d sell my left leg for it now. I didn’t appreciate it then, not because it was bad or ugly or defective, but because Kate Moss was the body du jour when I was a teenager and so my hour glass (hour glass!!!) figure with boobs and sassy hips was somehow deemed undesirable by the Fashion Fascists and glossy magazine editors.

None of the bullshit is real. It’s just opinion. Not fact.

It was a patriarchal opinion that women should sacrifice themselves at the alter of facilitating other’s lives before their own. Out-dated societal rules. Not fact.

It’s an ever-changing fashion industry who inflicts damage on a huge swathe of the population depending which trend of small bums, big bums, big boobs, waif look, tanned skin, translucent skin is in. Fads. Not fact.

It is the anti-ageing industry pouting propaganda and large-lettered labels in creams telling us to do something we can’t because, you know, biology. Propaganda. Not fact.

To help ascertain which way her critical thinking may slide. one question I sometimes ask my clients is who set the bar in your home for what was acceptable? In every family some one, or some group of people, will set the standard by which everyone else is judged:

In a family of extroverts, the introvert may be called “too quiet”.

In a family where someone is a Type A, those who are less ambitious are deemed “not enough”.

In a family where a main character or group are quiet intellectuals, the bold and boisterous adventurer is “too much”

None of this is fact… it’s just opinion based from a standard set by one or more personalities (and they aren’t necessarily given in any malicious way), yet we can carry these labels all through life, as effective in stilling our sense of self as much as the size label on our clothes (because someone else has decided which size is socially acceptable today).

So shining the light, the one you shone so brightly on others, on you, just balances out a lot of those external voices.

I loved this recent piece from

Help Me! Newsletter

by Marianne Power explaining Gabor Maté’s research on the health implications of carrying resentment. He says, if you have to choose between guilt and resentment, choose guilt.

I love this because guilt is a feeling, not a fact. It’s an emotion, not a judgement based in fact.

But be the mother, lover, friend you need and be curious about the guilt.

Is it guilt that someone else would feel? Did you actually do something to hurt another person? If so, then acknowledge you're wrong, say you’re sorry, AND THEN do something to prevent you feeling that grumpy and overwhelmed again.

But if the guilt comes from just a reaction to the bullshit, and if you ask would a man feel it and the answer would be no, then say fuck it and move on. If you choose between doing something for yourself and with that comes a bit of conditioning guilt, and doing something to people please and get eaten up alive with resentment, choose the guilt.

Women have been hung as witches and trolled as bitches throughout history and because of that, and despite that and because there has always been a pervasive, persuasive pointing of fingers by a cultural narrative not of our making, we have sometimes let those external voices smother our internal voice. Our loving, kind, nurturing, bold, beautiful voice.

So, as a women, as a mother to three daughters, and as a coach to women in midlife, I really believe that you must be all things to yourself - mother, lover, friend, father, sister - before you are anything to anyone else.

What’s the kindest thing you can say to yourself today?

I’d love to hear your thoughts so please join me in the comments below (if you’re reading this in an email, please click on the link below to go through to the website to join the conversation.)

Do you have a shameful story?

Why you must be your own mother, lover, friend.

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