Who exactly am I doing all of this for?

I had a moment recently that made me laugh (possibly not in the hahahhaha way).

I'd finished a spin class, justified the glass of wine I'd planned for later, booked my next hair appointment, realised my nails were overdue, mentally added "buy eye cream" to my shopping list and wondered whether I should finally try that new collagen everyone keeps talking about.

Somewhere between the spin class and the nail salon, I stopped and thought...

Who exactly am I doing all of this for?

A few days later I found myself contemplating a spin class again, this time staring at the door of the gym trying to convince myself to go in. I was exhausted. I'd worked all day, social battery at zero. What I really wanted was to go home, make dinner, pour a glass of wine and sit down without feeling that I should be doing something more productive.

Instead, I sat there negotiating with myself.

I hadn't exercised enough that week. I'd eaten too much over the weekend. I'd feel better afterwards. I should be grateful that I was healthy enough to work out.

Then another thought arrived, and it stopped me in my tracks. Was I going to the spin class because moving my body genuinely makes me feel good? Or because I'd eaten something the night before that I'd decided I should feel guilty about?

That is quite a depressing thought when you stop and examine it.

At what point did moving our bodies become a form of repayment? We eat the cheese, drink the wine, order dessert and immediately begin negotiating with ourselves.

"I'll be good tomorrow."

"I'll work it off."

"I shouldn't have eaten that."

"I've been terrible this week."

Terrible? We didn't rob a bank. We ate a croissant.

So much of what women do in the name of feeling better seems to begin with first making ourselves feel worse. The same thought kept following me beyond the spin class.

We tell ourselves we're getting our hair done because it makes us feel confident. We book the manicure because it's "just a little treat". We buy the skincare, the serums, the facials, the supplements and the products promising to reverse time. Individually, none of these things are a problem. I enjoy many of them myself. Collectively, though, they made me wonder whether we'd confused self-care with self-maintenance.

There's a difference.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised this wasn't really about beauty or fitness at all. They were simply the visible parts of a much bigger story. Because alongside the hair appointments and spin classes sits another list. The one nobody sees.

The invisible list that lives quietly in our heads.

• Remember the birthday.

• Reply to the email.

• Book the dentist.

• Check in on your friend.

• Finish the report.

• Be patient.

• Don't forget the form.

• Smile.

• Keep everyone happy.

• Don't let anyone down.

It never bloody really ends.

We often talk about the pressure society puts on women, and there is truth in that. We are expected to be capable but warm, successful but available, ambitious but never intimidating. We are encouraged to look after ourselves while making sure everyone else is looked after first.

Eventually something shifts. The outside expectations become our own inner voice.

Without anyone saying a word, we tell ourselves we should have achieved more by now. We should be fitter. We should be calmer. We should have replied sooner. We should somehow manage to hold everything together without letting anyone see how heavy it feels.

The hardest part is that this voice doesn't sound cruel.

It sounds responsible.

It sounds like ambition.

It sounds like discipline.

It takes years to realise that sometimes what we're calling drive is actually fear, fear that if we stop achieving, fixing, organising and giving, we might somehow become less valuable.

I wonder if that's why so many women find it difficult to rest? I feel guilty 'resting'. Rest feels unearned. Saying no feels selfish.

Doing nothing feels uncomfortable because we've quietly attached our worth to our usefulness. Yet the women I admire most aren't the ones who appear to have mastered everything. They're the women who have stopped apologising for being human. The women who ask for help. The women who laugh at themselves, leave the dishes until morning, admit they're overwhelmed and understand that perfection is not a destination worth chasing.

I did eventually go into the spin class that day. But I went in differently. I exercised because my body had carried me through another demanding week and deserved kindness rather than punishment. Afterwards, I went home, poured the glass of wine, ate dinner and realised something rather wonderful.

The world hadn't changed. Nobody was keeping score. Maybe that's the question we should ask ourselves more often. If nobody was watching. If nobody was judging. If nobody expected anything from us. What would we still choose?

Because perhaps the greatest pressure we put on ourselves isn't the pressure to look a certain way or achieve a certain amount. Perhaps it's the belief that we have to earn our worth. And maybe the bravest thing we can do is realise that we never did.