Clad in cashmere, a fresh-face cleansed with La Prairie and a Mulberry Mitzy slung over my shoulder. I looked the epitome of ‘success’. But what lurked beneath the glossy exterior was insatiably eating away at my marriage, my career and my sanity.
Addiction wasn’t supposed to look this good!
I was once described as “glamorous”; then I had kids didn’t have time for sport, ate all the tempura prawns and learnt that tights up to my tits makes for the perfect sidelines base layer. In other words, I went from caring what people thought of my appearance to making sure I was happy for me and with myself; tempura prawns, comfortable body temperature and my sprogs make me happy, so ‘up yours’ “glamorous”.
One thing I’ve never been described as is a “real woman”; why is this the reserve of my more voluptuous counterparts?