LIZ JONES: What was the point of the Myla thongs, being waxed, getting my nails polished and my hair dyed? I've come to a shocking realisation

‘Do you think you are capable of feeling joy?’

The question has been posed by my new therapist, Bianca Best, who has just written a bestseller, Big Impact Without Burnout. The book talks about boundaries, managing anxiety and how women, especially, stretch themselves too thin.

Me: ‘No.’

Bianca: ‘Have you ever felt joy?’

I tell her only fleetingly. Yes, watching my two horses play is uplifting, but always tinged with worry: don’t pull a tendon or lose a shoe! Waiting to meet the German, sat in a Soho bar, dressed up, make-up on, I’m in my happy place, but again it’s tinged with anxiety: will he cancel, will he fancy me, will he pay for dinner, will he again leave my hotel room at 1am? (Turns out all the worries were justified.)

In the first of our hour-long sessions, as well as telling me I need to have at least a few hours each day when I am not on call, on deadline, working, she says something that resonates. I am seeing her on Zoom and she has make-up on, a floaty dress. I have no make-up on, am wearing a sweater with holes that I also slept in as I’m too scared to put the heating on. My sweatpants are always falling down as I now weigh under seven and a half stone. She looks at me and she says, ‘Not dressing properly is appalling for your mental health.’

‘Do you think you are capable of feeling joy?’ The question has been posed by my new therapist, Bianca Best, who has just written a bestseller, writes LIZ JONES

I know this is true. Problem is, living alone, often going for days without seeing another soul, I’ve begun to think, ‘What’s the point?’

Living in London, I would wash my hair and put on make-up every single day. I loved clothes, given my job back then was to write about fashion. I had every issue of Vogue dating back to 1977. But the past year has floored me. I learned that sitting at a bar in a see-through black lace Prada skirt and sheer linen Navygrey top, shod by Louboutin, my little Prada bag (nearly 25 years old, still like new) a mascot at my side, simply wasn’t enough. Do men find that look intimidating or do they not even notice?

I should be dressing for myself. When I first moved to the country I lived in jodhpurs and wellies, a Dries Van Noten pinstripe blazer left over from London (soon chewed by Gracie, who had a button fetish), a vintage Barbour jacket. But since I gave up riding, jodhpurs seem stupid – a painful reminder of when I fell off Swirly and broke my ribs. I feel I don’t know who I am any more. No longer the girl-about-town fashionista. No longer the horse woman. No longer even a dog person, as the girls are too old for walks, Teddy too difficult. I’m no longer even datable, given what happened recently: the rejection, the trolling. I doubt I will ever have sex again (the effort I put in is herculean for so little return; remember I wrote here I waited until he was in a different room to climax, Nicole Kidman Babygirl fashion). So what’s the point of Myla thongs, being waxed, nails polished, hair dyed?

I’ve been working at my allotment, part of my plan to eat more and save money, and the recent photo of David Beckham gardening while wearing snowy white sneakers made me snort with laughter. I was literally covered in mud, stung by nettles, nails broken, hair a bird’s nest, surrounded by old feed bags Nic and I had stuffed with horse manure. I realised how far the world of Instagram and TikTok is from the reality of gardening, of living the rural life: the willow trugs, the pristine tools, the posing with armfuls of blooms. It’s all a big, fat lie.

But I agree with Bianca. I must pull up my socks. And I start by throwing out any socks with holes. Saggy underwear and knickers Teddy has chewed. My ONE sweater with holes at the elbow. I need a new look, a new identity, a new me for the next phase of my life.

First things first, I log on to Aesop to order shampoo and conditioner. The website tells me the last time I ordered a product: one year ago! It doesn’t even know my new address! Oh my god! I’ve really lost myself. With Bianca’s help, I’m going to change. Literally. Right now.