There’s an undeniable allure to a woman who possesses knowledge, not just the kind that wins pub quizzes (though, if you need a partner who can name every actress from Downton Abbey while casually dropping references to obscure Greek philosophers, I’m your woman), but the kind of intelligence that lingers in conversation, woven seamlessly into the fabric of thoughtful discussion. It’s the quiet confidence of someone who seeks understanding beyond the surface, whose curiosity is insatiable, and whose presence commands attention not through volume, but through substance.

Darling, let’s get one thing straight: there is nothing more captivating than a woman who speaks with wisdom and grace. It’s not your Instagram likes or your flawless eyeliner that make you unforgettable, it’s the way your mind engages, the conversations you ignite, and the depth of insight you bring to the table. Yes, your curls may have their own personality, but the most radiant thing in any room is a woman who knows her mind and isn’t afraid to use it for good.

My mother has always had a knack for saying something that feels like an insult in the moment, but reveals itself as a truth you’ll end up clinging to later. One of her favourites: “The reason they’re called relationships, darling, is because people need to be able to relate to you.” It’s the kind of phrase that lands softly but sticks like a splinter, because I know exactly what she means, and I also know she’s right.

I used to think the most vulnerable thing a woman could do in public was cry on the Tube. I was wrong. It’s dining alone, at a proper restaurant, with heavy silverware and white linen that seems to stare right back at you. There’s a particular kind of silence that arrives when you sit by yourself at a candlelit table and politely decline the second menu. It’s not loneliness, exactly. It’s exposure. There’s no one to fill the gaps in conversation, no one to toast with, no one to whisper to when the couple next to you begins a lovers’ quarrel over shared scallops.

You know what really gets under my skin? When people look at where I am now and say, “Wow, you’re so lucky.” Like I just stumbled into success like some romantic comedy cliché who accidentally falls into a billionaire’s arms. Honey, if luck had anything to do with it, I’d be winning the lottery and sipping fresh-pressed juice on a private island by now.

But the truth? The truth is far messier, and so much richer.

Ladies, we have to be realistic. We’re adults now. You and you alone are responsible for your emotional intelligence. It’s no longer about who hurt you, or who made you feel this way, its about what YOU can do to fix YOUR problems. Life in your 20s is like being handed a blank page and a dozen pens, with everyone shouting different things you "should" write down. It’s exhilarating, overwhelming, and, if we're being honest, messy. Somewhere in this chaos, I’ve realised one thing: emotional intelligence isn’t just a skill, it’s survival. And while those wounds are real, one must remind themselves of God’s Word where He sees our pain (Psalm 34:18).