I was a size 16 and wore tights in summer – losing six stone transformed the way I dress

When I was younger, being “big” was not aspirational. These were the days before social media, so finding a role model was limited to celebrity culture and magazine coverage. It was fairly hard to find someone who looked like me in the fabulous fashion world I had always romanticised the idea of being a part of.

In my mid-20s I was a size 16 and I avoided gym classes because the towels were the size of a postage stamp. None of the mannequins in shops looked like me, and I always had a shirt tied around my waist because I didn’t want cellulite to show through my leggings. I never wanted to attract attention to what I was wearing. I hid at the back in photographs. I wore tights in summer and horrible cardigans with tops or dresses that didn’t have sleeves.

In 2012, when I started my public relations business, the sample size was a UK 6 or 8. Clothing brands didn’t carry a wide range of sizes, and shop assistants made me feel self-conscious. Eating at fashion events was frowned upon; being busy and tired was aspirational. Losing weight after a breakup was celebrated and skipping meals was praised.

In other words, it was clear to me that I didn’t fit in, and my desire to be petite became all-encompassing. I wanted to be small – both in terms of what I asked for and the physical space I took up in the world. I thought I should have fewer opinions, get on with things quietly, not attract attention.

While I managed to start and grow a successful PR agency, I started to resent how many opportunities I felt I was missing out on. I also wondered if losing weight would make me anti-feminist; questioned whether I would be betraying the younger version of myself who wanted to make it without conforming to societal “norms”.

It’s difficult to pinpoint a specific time when everything changed, because the journey to showing up for myself took nearly seven years. Yet something altered that allowed me to realise it didn’t need to be this difficult.

I spent a year with a personal trainer (a luxury, I know) before trying hypnotherapy, which was hugely successful. In the five years that followed, I lost more than 6st, finally exploring, addressing and accepting my relationship with self-esteem, food, performative work and self-loathing. A truly toxic cocktail.

I came off social media for the best part of that first year. I didn’t want to invite scrutiny, and I found the lack of comparison helpful. In fact, it made me apply it to other areas of my life, including my relationships and work.

I didn’t like the well-intended but wince-inducing comments: “You look so much better!” – what would 18-year-old me have thought? I grew up in an environment where women, in particular, were not kind to themselves. Scrutiny of my appearance was frequent and framed as the key to success.

But while becoming a healthier, happier person, I discovered how to be nicer to myself, too; the voices in my head began to quieten. I didn’t follow people who made me feel bad. Instead, I learnt to understand that sometimes someone doesn’t want to date you – and it’s not because you’re not the right size for the world. I learnt that it is the sum of our differences that keeps life interesting, and that having the courage to change a situation should it no longer serve you is truly a gift.

I began this journey thinking about my weight. Now, I think about my health, my skin, my desire to wear clothes that make me feel strong and safe and happy. I think about the experiences I am able to be part of and the people I get to meet.

The confidence I have gained over the past seven years has enabled me to wear clothes I never would have imagined wearing; I don’t see flaws anymore.

An important part of my journey to living smarter – the philosophy I write about in my new book of the same name – has been to establish definitions that are owned by me. So often I was holding myself to the standards of others, which ultimately meant that I denied myself personal satisfaction.

For example, your definition of fashion might be to fit into a sample size.; mine might be wearing something I feel sensational in. If I judge myself against the definition you have set, I will forever be a failure. Another example relates to work-life balance. Balance for me might be working in a job I love, fitting in sessions at the gym and having a nanny. Balance for you might be a part-time role with flexible hours and being at home with your children more. The choices are different – neither is better than the other and they are non-comparable.

That said, I did spend more than 12 years talking myself down – a trait that’s common in people who feel burnt out and desperate to achieve. Research agrees that the way we talk to ourselves matters, so I decided to be my own best friend. I’d wink at myself in the mirror and watch Girls when I’d had a bad day at work. In short, I became my own hype woman. After all, if we are what we repeatedly say to ourselves, positivity and kindness are habits that are worth cultivating.

As I became more confident, I started dressing for myself, too. I was never able to wear denim before – jeans cut into my tummy – and I wore a halterneck bikini top because it was more comfortable than a bra. I wore only what was safe and what would cover me up.

Now, I wear the clothes of the woman I want to be – double denim, tailored suits, trousers and a crisp T-shirt. Before losing weight, I found planning my wardrobe difficult. It was out of the question that I could borrow something from a friend on holiday if my mood changed; I didn’t go on a proper holiday until I was 30.

Today, I love planning outfits. I feel inspired and excited; I don’t look at trends and resign myself to failure. I love accessories and jewellery, and focus on getting the basics right. I closed the gap between the life I want and the life I have, and, fundamentally, I understand what I want my impact to be.

I sometimes feel regret for the time I’ve wasted – the parties I missed, the holidays I didn’t go on, the dates I didn’t have the confidence to attend. I feel sad when I think of the dread I would feel before a pool party, or having to wear the dress that fits rather than the one I loved.

I don’t sit with these thoughts for long, though. There’s a peace that comes with knowing you’re showing up for yourself – and wearing whatever you want in the process.

Smarter: 10 Lessons for a More Productive and Less Stressed Life (£18.99, Little Brown Book Group) is out now