Illegitimi non carborundum

 Ok. I've waited long enough. Where is it? I have just turned 52. Where, oh where, is my promised no-f**ks-to-give era that people have now been promising me for over a decade? When do I get this surge of self-confidence that allows me to shuck off social convention and expectation.

[Has it ever occurred to you that you might be one of those people who just lack self-confidence. Perhaps you are also one of those people who just likes to accept social convention and expectation.]

Merry Go Round
Mark Gertler (1891-1939)
Photo Credit: Tate [CC BY NC ND] 

When I was in the throes of adolescence I was, like most of us, so acutely self-conscious I could barely walk down the street without suffering violent mental agonies.

[So most of us were so acutely self-conscious and suffered violent mental agonies? Really?]

Dealing with school discos, first nightclubs, parties was commensurately worse.

[Uncomfortable, I can understand. So how violent were your mental agonies?] 

But I took comfort in the thought that one day this would be over. The mean girls and my glasses would be gone. One day I would be a grown-up and live my days untouched and untrammelled by the thoughts and opinions of others.

[Ah, good. The possible development of some critical thinking.]

In my twenties, it did get better. The mean girls, spots and braces did disappear and I thought i was on the road, lined with stops at the Self Esteem and Bugger That! service stations that would see me arrive safely at destination Mental Health and Independence.

[Oh dear. So mental health and self esteem have now come into the equation.]

Instead, I plateaued in my thirties and my forties were a decade of active regression. My self-confidence had increased but it couldn't keep pace with what was being asked of me by society, whether that was at work, at home, as a mother, as a friend, as a woman, as an anything really...

[Please don't say society. It's such a nebulous concept.]

What are we supposed to make, for example, of the fact that the actresses and pop stars we grew up with look largely the same as they did when they first became stars.

[If they look the same? What's that got to do with me or you? Ageing is normal.]

And the fact that a large number of them are on the cusp of becoming grotesque through what appears to be numerous surgical and non-surgical interventions because that, apparently, is better than looking your age?

[Again, what's that got to do with either of us? Who's saying that these medical procedures improve our appearance? I presume you would say - society. Ignore and use your own judgement.]

What are we to make of the fuss that still attends any woman appearing in public looking less than what others  deem perfect?

[See above.]

What are we supposed to make of the proportion of books that centre round protagonists no older than 30 (35, if it's a real panicker-romance), requiring you to search hard for any reflection of your own stage of life that might help with its navigation, or at least help you feel less alone with all its strangenesses?

[I'm afraid I only read books that I hope will inform, entertain or interest me.]

What are we to make of the loss of so many feminist gains we saw made in our lifetime - better reproductive rights, rape laws, financial independence, the establishment of rape crisis centres and women's refuges and so much more - which are now being eaten away by political changes, police failures, new social movements and the rise of online cultures like tradwife and incel influencers who are trading our freedom for clicks?

[Look for evidence. Question everything. Obtain your information from reliable sources.]

What are we to make of the focus of so many reports and reactions to the violent death of 78-year-old Ann Widdecombe on her lifelong spinster status and-yes her haircut and dress sense?

[Avoid or ignore irrelevant information and speculation]

Are we supposed to retain our sense of self-worth and confidence in the face of all this and more? I wish hormones were the answer. I wish.

[Illegitimi non carborundum!]

(Lucy Mangan, The i, 2026)