There Is No Finished Version of Me

I’m a wife and mother to three boys who are rapidly becoming men, which is both beautiful and mildly offensive because I’m fairly certain I only just became an adult myself.

These days, I’m a writer, comedian, creator and someone who seems incapable of having only one idea at a time.

I’ve written a memoir called BREAKTHROUGH. I’m creating a one-woman musical comedy called Neurosparkly. And I’m building Robotish, a human-centred AI business based on the slightly ironic belief that technology should help us become more human, not less.

None of this was on the original life plan.

For a long time, I was very good at doing what I thought I was supposed to do.

I married young. Became a mum young. Built a career. Worked across sport, airlines, film and television, fashion and retail.

And somewhere along the way, I became extremely good at adapting.

I also became very good at measuring myself against things outside of me.

Job titles. Recognition. Whether people liked me. Whether I was useful. Whether I was succeeding according to whatever invisible scoreboard I thought everyone else was using.

From the outside, I could make things look pretty good.

Inside, there were periods when I was absolutely drowning.

Then I’d use these section headings throughout the story to make the longer piece really readable online:

When life hit me over the head with a chair

This is where burnout, becoming unwell, hospital, stopping comedy and discovering her neurodivergence sit.

I didn’t need to become someone new

This is the pivotal section: “I needed to stop abandoning who I already was.” That line absolutely stays.

What if I stopped waiting for permission?

This leads beautifully into fear, failure, embarrassment, money, being too old and the safety of saying “one day”.

So I started tiny

Writing. Voice notes. Comedy. BREAKTHROUGH. Perimenopausal insomnia. And, naturally, show tunes. I wouldn’t sanitise her humour here; it is what makes this story hers.

Two things can be true

This section is one of the strongest parts of the entire story:

I can be terrified and still do something.

I can love my family fiercely and want things that belong only to me.

I can ask people for advice and still trust my own judgement.

I can have made terrible decisions and not be a terrible person.

And I can fall apart and still build something from the pieces.

I’m a work in progress

Then into becoming more herself, creating “weird shit”, making people laugh, connecting people and building things that help someone feel understood.

Do it scared

This becomes the powerful closing section:

You’re probably going to be scared.

Do it scared.

You might be shit at it initially.

Be shit at it.

You might change your mind, start again, get it wrong, look ridiculous or discover the dream you spent years chasing isn’t actually the dream you want anymore.

That’s allowed too.

And I would finish exactly around her original ending, because it’s fabulous:

I spent a lot of my life thinking there would eventually be an age where I’d arrive.

That one day I’d finally know exactly who I was and what I was doing.

I don’t think that age exists.

And thank fuck for that.

Because I’m in my forties and I feel like I’m only just getting started.

You don’t have to know exactly where the next step leads.

Sometimes you just have to choose yourself and see what happens next.