![]() I walked to the front of the vast living room. They knew it, and I knew it.Īnd then the room quietened and I was introduced. If I smiled at someone, they looked away. I stood alone during the cocktail hour, attempting to blend in with the wallpaper, pretending to be busy on my iPhone. One look from them and I felt, instantly, the way I have felt all my life: inadequate. In my now-creased linen trousers and silky T-shirt, what had looked like relaxed chic in my bedroom mirror now looked anything but.Įverything about these women intimidated me. I walked out of the lift, resisting the urge to turn tail and run home.Ī few women looked over to see who had arrived, sweeping me up and down with their eyes and deciding I wasn’t worthy, before turning back to their friends.Īt least, that was how it felt. The lift doors opened into the apartment’s foyer, where scores of women stood around sipping champagne cocktails, beautifully dressed in tight, floral mini-dresses, all the better to see their yoga-honed bodies, their Hermes Birkin bags hanging like exquisite jewels from their elegant wrists. I had spent so long hiding my true self that I didn’t know, writes JANE GREEN I didn’t want to keep pretending - it was time to discover who I really was. Eighteen months ago, I turned 50 and took stock. ![]()
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