You can hold your head up high.

There comes a time in every life when there’s a story to tell. Some will listen, most won’t. That’s fine, I’m not looking for attention from the entire world, just from people that matter to me and those I can affect in a positive way.

I’ve spent years trying to deal with massive self-esteem problems and mild depression.

I’m far from the only one. We all feel that at some time or other, don’t we? In fact, I’m convinced that business owners’ number one problem isn’t marketing and sales, it’s self-belief.

I wanted to explore that in a personal way. So I set out the emotions of my life. People found value in that.

I was crushed.

When my father told a 9-year old me that I’d never be a train driver because by the time I’d was old enough, trains wouldn’t need drivers.

I was confused.

When my father had a nervous breakdown after a heart attack and destroyed the hero image I had of him.

I was amazed.

When I hit University and the existence of knowledge that changed my world. Kid in a candy store doesn’t begin to cover it.

My horizons expanded.

When I got to France and discovered another way to look at things through a language that became a second skin. And to run away from my past.

I went back on the straight and narrow.

When I turned up in London to work on the railways, just like three generations before me had done. And didn’t realise I was following my path, not someone else’s.

I was stupid.

When I sabotaged a perfectly good career because I thought I wanted to go back to France. Bad move, it felt like I was committing an act of betrayal.

I got depressed.

When my personal life all went tits up and I thought no-one cared. My marriage broke down, my daughter was there but no longer there. I lost a job. I didn’t handle it well.

I’d had enough.

When I realised I was sick of eating frozen burgers. I was pretty desperate, depressed and going nowhere. Deciding to become a translator was probably the first step on the road that lead me to some kind of sense of purpose in my life because it finally gave me a bit of money.

I was delighted.

When I got my first translation job and got paid. Then got another one from the same client. And others.

I got better.

When I started specialising. There are two types of translator (or any other type of business if it comes to that), the specialist and the hungry.

I was elated.

When the love of my life turned up again. I moved back to the home country and — I married her, dear reader.

I was in denial.

When I was diagnosed with type II diabetes. The result of too much beer and too many peanuts. Just because they give you the pills, it doesn’t mean you can just carry on as before. I didn’t heed the warnings.

I was terrified.

When I first went networking and hugged the walls for two years. Once I even tried to avoid doing a 40-second presentation. I wasn’t the only one.

I felt healthier.

When I started kicking the booze five years later and started dropping some weight.

I was finally happy.

Let’s get one thing out of the way. I’m a late starter.

It’s 2018, I’ll be 60 this year. I’ll say it because you may be thinking it, I took a very long time to get myself sorted out!

I’ve had a number of jobs over the years, mainly in travel and then as a jobbing freelancer, first a translator and then a copywriter. At first I thought I was independent, but in reality I’d bought myself a job, and an insecure one at that.

Until a switch was flicked in my brain.

I realised that if you can do the job, you’re qualified. Let no-one tell you otherwise.

Do you ever feel that, as a business owner, you’re not good enough to do what you do? That you’ve been faking it all this time and one day you’re going to get found out?

Or when you meet other people, they’re more successful, they’re happier than you, they’re “better” than you?

Forget those thoughts. You’ve been through the mill. You paid your dues. You’re good enough. You can hold your head up high.