Jane, 46, communications manager

I’m 46. When I was a kid, and people used to say that they couldn’t remember how old they were, I never believed them, thinking: how can you not remember? But it’s true. Often, when asked, I can’t remember my age. I’m in my mid-40s, I’m getting old – that’s what I remember.

Being in your 40s, to me, feels like nearing the last rung on the ladder before being declared officially old, but just not quite there yet. I feel like I’m hovering close to the point when it’s no longer acceptable to shop in H&M, wear heels, lip gloss, above the knee skirts or, most importantly, dye my hair. Embracing my grey locks will be a seminal moment, which I’m not quite ready to face and I’m increasingly obsessed with analysing how other women deal with this challenge.

There isn’t a distinct period in my life when I was happiest, as life seems to have been a continuum of highs and lows. I also think the mind plays tricks on you where happiness is concerned. If I had to give an answer, it would be living in Hong Kong working nights as a waitress – getting paid to drink tequila shots and have fun in a club where people’s sole focus was to have a good time.

The advice I would give my younger self is to think about the things you might regret and do something about them, before it’s too late. And focus on having good posture, as it’s invaluable.

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