I step out of the shower and begin my usual routine. I fully dry myself in the bathroom, then put on my dressing gown and button it up all the way. I peek into the living room to make sure Bonnie is safe in front of the TV, then go to my room, lock the door and get dressed. I’ve done this every morning for as long as I can remember.

But today, I push myself into something new. It’s time.

I unlock my door. And I take off my dressing gown. I am wearing just my knickers and bra. Even when I am alone, I hate being unclothed. Just standing outside my bedroom this way is making my heart race. I go downstairs. The fear of the front door bursting open, people on the street seeing me. My stick-thin body, the fur. I keep going.

I get to the living room door. I see the top of Bonnie’s head; she is still engrossed in Peppa Pig. I remind myself that she is my daughter. She has already seen it. She deserves to know the truth about her own mother. The more I hide myself, the more I will teach her to hide herself. I know the dangers of that.

Deep breath. Be brave.

With as much confidence as I can muster, I walk across the living room, in front of the sofa. Bonnie barely looks up, so I do it again. I am parading in front of her in my underwear, my body hair is at its maximum. By this afternoon, it will be gone, I finally made an appointment. But it will grow back, and I can’t hide anymore.

I stand directly in front of the TV.

‘Mummy, you’re in my way,’ she says, not even looking at me. She leans to the left to see the TV around me. It makes me laugh. I do a silly dance. Still, she doesn’t look. I put my hands in the air and wiggle them around, I make silly faces, pulling the sides of my mouth wide open and sticking my tongue out. I turn around, stick out my hairy bottom, wiggle it from side to side.

Eventually Bonnie looks at me. ‘Mummy, why are you doing that?’

I tell her I don’t know, just because. But of course, my reasons are epic. I am doing this because I can’t be afraid of myself anymore. Because I am ready to be liberated from the jail I have been in since school. Because I want my daughter to know that to fear yourself is a form of torture, and that to walk confidently in just your underwear, in the confines of your own house, without wanting to cry, is an experience that all women should be able to take for granted.

I have proved my point, and I am proud of myself. Enough for one day.