I used to think the most vulnerable thing a woman could do in public was cry on the Tube. I was wrong. It’s dining alone, at a proper restaurant, with heavy silverware and white linen that seems to stare right back at you. There’s a particular kind of silence that arrives when you sit by yourself at a candlelit table and politely decline the second menu. It’s not loneliness, exactly. It’s exposure. There’s no one to fill the gaps in conversation, no one to toast with, no one to whisper to when the couple next to you begins a lovers’ quarrel over shared scallops.

There’s an unexpected sophistication to living slowly. In a world designed for urgency, instant results, endless notifications, streamlined everything, I’ve found myself drawn to something older, quieter. The skills I once dismissed as outdated have begun to take on a different kind of value. Not because I idealise the past, but because I’ve come to realise how much of the present is built on convenience, not capability. And perhaps part of becoming a woman is learning to distinguish between the two.

Let’s be honest: most of us aren’t leaping out of bed at 5:45am, downing green smoothies, and going for a casual jog while the sun rises like we’re starring in some wellness documentary. If you are, I admire your commitment, but if you’re anything like me, you’re hitting snooze twice, pulling on leggings that could pass for pyjamas, and hoping the workout counts even if it’s only twenty minutes. That’s fine. More than fine, actually.

Ah, the twenties. That transformative decade where you’re supposed to discover your purpose, build a career, nurture relationships, and somehow maintain an air of effortless sophistication. Spoiler alert: it’s not all artisan lattes and curated aesthetics. Sometimes it’s eating cereal for dinner while questioning your life choices.

Ah, the elusive perfect home. Not the Pinterest-perfect one with an all-white aesthetic that screams "I’ve never spilled red wine" (because, darling, we both know that’s a lie). I’m talking about a space that feels like a warm hug after a long day, where every corner whispers, "This is so you."