Being opinionated has always been the defining element of my personality. I am sometimes described as ‘scary’ but really I’m just passionate about pretty much everything (I’ve been known to ‘passionately not give a shit’ on occasion), have a massively overdeveloped sense of fairness and like to talk.
At school, a combination of having all the opinions in the world, being a huge swot and needing to be the best at everything didn’t make me particularly popular (I know: shocking). If I’m totally honest, I didn’t particularly mind not having many friends. Mates weren’t really the point of school for me. I used to watch some of the other people in my year – who clearly used school mainly as a social opportunity, spending their time gossiping on low walls between classrooms and giggling over a cigarette behind the gym block – and think, ‘WOT?’
I loved learning for learning’s sake. I was never that person in class who said ‘But Miss, how is this relevant to life?’ It wouldn’t have even occurred to me to ask that question. Everything interested me. I always had my nose in a book, even when I was walking around, which often meant I bumped into things, like a total tit. I was the one who used to request extra homework. I’m sure you have someone who does this in your year (and you probably hate them, which is totally understandable. If I wasn’t me, I would have hated me).
I am testament to the fact that, if you just carry on being yourself, eventually you will become cool. The people that used to tease me at school for being ‘weird’ have since got in touch on Facebook, telling me they’ve read something I’ve written or seen me on TV and want to congratulate me on inspiring them with my opinions. What was, for so long, the thing that marked me out as being ‘different’ is now what I do for a living.
There was, however, a significant period of time when I wasn’t myself and those were the worst years of my life. Shortly after starting university, I simultaneously discovered sexual attention and 50p shots of vodka. I lost my way, making a hugely ill-advised leap into modelling, abandoning my love of writing, books and being opinionated to instead sit in nightclubs, looking pretty on the arm of a bloke who couldn’t even remember my name, let alone bring himself to respect me. Like a lot of people, I bought into the idea that, if I could only be ‘beautiful’ (which I had interpreted as being as thin as possible), life would be easier and I would be better, happier and more successful.
I became someone I didn’t recognise or like. I was superficial, vacuous, attention-seeking – drama followed me wherever I went. I punished myself for not having the willpower to starve myself or to fit in with the ‘in crowd’ but, more than that, I hated myself for even wanting those things in the first place. I made myself sick, drank until I blacked out, exercised until I felt faint – anything that would make me forget, at least temporarily, that I was squandering my potential in the pursuit of something that didn’t exist.
Eight years after leaving school, I had no job, no money, no friends and nothing to show for my life. This is despite having been a straight-A student, which just goes to show that exams aren’t everything.
I realised that school shouldn’t just be about academia or getting qualifications – an education should prepare you for life. After recovering from the eating disorder I’d sacrificed almost a decade to, I created The Self-Esteem Team, a group consisting of myself and two of my favourite people in the world: Grace Barrett and Nadia Mendoza (aka Nadz). We visit schools and teach young people about the things that are really vital to your success and happiness – things like maintaining good mental health, having a positive relationship with your body and knowing and liking who you are.
I realise, of course, that you are probably reading this thinking, ‘Well, if she had an eating disorder and ended up writing for Cosmo, they can’t be that bad.’ I want you to beat that thought to death. Extinguish it forever from your mind. I was very lucky that I was able, with the support of my friends and family, to pull myself back from the edge of the precipice. Millions of people waste their lives, spend all their days in painful misery, get caught in a cycle of endless hospitalisations or even die because of eating disorders.
But more than that, I missed out on so much – years of my life I can never claim back. I know being a teenager can be really frustrating a lot of the time (because, in many cases, you actually do know better than the adult you’re arguing with but they get to win anyway) but there’s also more than a nugget of truth in the idea that these are the best years of your life. You are finding out who you are and that’s an incredibly exciting and important journey.
You are destined during these years to make friends with the most interesting people you will ever meet, have conversations that will blow your mind, fall in love and have your heart broken for the first time (it won’t actually kill you, even though it will definitely feel like it), maybe travel, study something that properly interests you or earn your first pay cheque (it’s an amazing feeling). That’s what your teens and early twenties are for. I spent mine with my head in a toilet.
It’s that thought that gets me out of bed to travel to far-flung corners of the UK at 4am on a cold winter’s morning to deliver a class while attempting to meet my column deadline by furiously bashing at my laptop on the train journey. If that class helps at least one person, that’s one person who might not make the kinds of mistakes I did and will be empowered to achieve the most amazing feat of all: being happy.
GRACE
Hello! I’m Grace and I grew up as an eczema-ridden, mixed-race freak (freaky because in the 1990s in Stoke-on-Trent there were next to no people ‘of colour’ – in my school, my brother and I made up the lion’s share). My mum had to make the decision to shave my head because I’d pulled great lumps of hair out while scratching my scalp in the night (yum) and I was wrapped in bandages a lot of the time due to the skin condition. I also had a speech impediment (that made me pronounce my name ‘Gwayth’) and feet that turned inwards. Oddly enough, these differences never really made me a target for bullies but I did feel agonisingly alone and hyper aware of every confused look thrown in my direction, which added to my feelings of isolation.
I always knew that I would be a performer and, in my head, that meant becoming someone who had perfect skin, long flowing locks and loads of people around just like me, which would help me fit in. I didn’t think about how I’d get there or the stuff in between, I just assumed that it would happen.
So when I left the Midlands to start my career as a London-based singer and entered one of the most judgemental industries on earth, still covered in eczema, with incredibly un-flowing locks and not a single girl in the audition room who looked like me, I was forced to find a bit of self-esteem. I very quickly learned the balance between confidence and arrogance and the importance of knowing your weaknesses, asking for help and that sometimes you really do have to fake it until you feel it. I’m happy to say that I think I nearly have that balance right.
While travelling around the world with bands (musicians by the way, despite their brilliance, ego, talent and bravado, collectively have the lowest self-esteem of any group of people I’ve ever met), I’ve picked up some tips, as well as the unshakeable knowledge that beauty is bullshit. Every country has a different definition of what beauty means, which essentially makes it a moo point (‘it’s like a cow’s opinion: it doesn’t matter’ – Joey Tribbiani, ladies and gents) and confidence is rare yet golden – because those that really have it light up the room – and my life along with it.
So now, as one third of The Self-Esteem Team, I’m touring again. This time, around schools to share some of the wisdom and tips that I’ve learned and to show people