Confidence is a funny thing.

Often the people that seem the most outwardly confident are actually the ones who, on the inside, feel a bit of an impostor.

Pre-Sonny Jim, I’m pretty sure I fell into this category.

I bagged a job on a national newspaper at 20 years old and seemingly held my own in a tabloid news room for the next seven years.

I was a cheerleader for a bit and had no problem dancing at football stadiums in hotpants.

I even had a couple of modelling jobs – where I was totally happy to pose in just some underwear.

And yet.

I think I spent most of the time feeling like I’d somehow blagged my way into a party I wasn’t supposed to be at. That people would suddenly decide that they’d messed up by picking me.

In a weird way it kind of helped my career. Because I never really felt like I belonged, I worked harder than almost everyone else. Learned faster. Said yes to every new opportunity.

But since becoming a mummy, I’ve discovered a different kind of inner confidence.

My body might not be quite as it was. But I don’t really care. Motherhood is a whole new world, but I’m no longer the people pleaser I once was.

I’m no baby expert, but when it comes to my boy, I truly believe I know best and back myself in a way I have done with nothing else.

It seems I can make tough decisions and not torture myself over if I did the right thing. I no longer have any qualms saying no to things, if I don’t they are right for my boy.

I’m more self-assured, and more comfortable in my own skin. My hair might be tied up in a scruffy top knot more often than it should and my lipstick might keep drying out in my make-up bag, but when Sonny Jim pats my cheek I know in his eyes (for the time being) I’m actually fine, just the way I am.