Champagne in the Fridge, Silence in the House

I wake up on Egyptian cotton sheets, the good kind, not the "on sale at John Lewis" kind. The kind you can only justify buying once you realise you are the one paying the bills, breaking the glass ceilings, and living in your dream flat that smells permanently like Jo Malone. (Lime Basil & Mandarin, if you're nosy.)

I'm thirty-seven now. Thriving. Glowing. Expensive. I wear Louboutins to Tesco. Not because I’m trying to make a statement, but because—frankly—I forgot they were even on my feet. When red bottoms become your version of comfy slippers, you know you’ve done something right.

But let’s get one thing straight: this life wasn’t handed to me. I built it brick by bloody brick in my twenties, during a time when half the people I knew thought “investing in yourself” meant a £6 eyebrow threading and posting it with the caption self-care x. Nah, babe. I was up at 5am, commuting into London, surviving on cheap Pret filter coffee and the naïve hope that hard work actually paid off. And guess what? It did.

The Grit Decade

My twenties were not cute. Let’s call them what they were: a strategic war campaign. I remember crying in the disabled loo of a corporate office because my line manager (who once wore Crocs to a strategy meeting) tried to publicly belittle me in front of the whole team. I smiled, nodded, and then quietly applied for a better job at a competitor. Got it within three weeks. I left a resignation letter in her pigeonhole with a spritz of my perfume on it. Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Deeply.

While others were panic-proposing after six months with Steve from HR, I was taking night classes. I was taking on side hustles. I was reading The Economist on Friday nights. Not because I’m naturally boring, I’m not, I once drank tequila with an ambassador—but because I knew I was building something. I was playing long-term games.

Now? I own property in three cities. My car starts with a button. I’m the only one from my school year who didn’t marry a man who wears bootcut jeans and call it romance. Most of their husbands still think an iPhone update is witchcraft. I, meanwhile, am negotiating contracts in Paris via WhatsApp while getting my gel toes done. Life’s sweet.

Auntie Energy, Full Throttle

Now let’s address the elephant in the room: “But don’t you want kids? A family?”

Bless. People still ask me this. As if a woman thriving alone must secretly yearn for sticky fingers and school runs. Listen, I adore children. I am that auntie. I fly in with Harrods bags, give the toddlers a sugar high, then kiss their heads and disappear into the night like a designer-clad fairy godmother. I’m an icon in the family group chat. No nappies, no school fees, just vibes.

Motherhood is beautiful, no doubt. But it’s not the only route to a full life. And settling down? Darling, I rose up. I didn’t settle anywhere. I date when I fancy it (and believe me, I fancy it often), but no one sleeps over unless they bring pastries for the morning. Standards.

The Flip Side

Here’s the truth no one tells you: the flip side of marriage and babies is freedom and disposable income. And don’t get it twisted, I’m not alone. I’ve got a tribe of women around me who made different choices. Lawyers, CEOs, artists, investors. Women who don’t have to hide their Zara orders from their partners. Women who booked a solo trip to Morocco on a Tuesday and flew out on Thursday. Women who are emotionally rich, spiritually grounded, and financially unbothered.

No regrets. Not a one.

The only time I get broody is when I see a Chanel drop I missed. But that’s why we’ve got personal shoppers now, isn’t it?

If you’re reading this in your twenties, exhausted and wondering if it’s all worth it, keep going. You don’t need to have it all figured out. Just don’t sleep on your potential. Pour into yourself like you’re the investment, because you are. Skip the drama. Skip the man-child who says you’re “too much”. You are not too much. You are perfectly portioned for greatness.

One day you’ll be sat on your own balcony, sipping Veuve, legs up, laughing at the idea that anyone ever thought you were meant for a small life.

I didn’t choose the soft life. I earned it.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.