Bridget Jones, Guilty Pleasures And The Audacity to Be Ourselves

I have always loved Bridget Jones. I’ve felt an undeniable kinship with her since I read the first book. But somewhere along the way, I started keeping that love quiet. I let an intellectual type snigger at the idea of such a low-level chick flick, and, just like that, I began treating my love for Bridget as a guilty pleasure. Something to be hidden. Something to be ‘less than’.  

I took myself to a Saturday matinee of the latest film. As expected, I laughed until my stomach hurt and cried in that profound, cathartic way that only a really good, ridiculous, feel-everything kind of film can. But there was something else, this time something more significant.  

A realisation hit me like a truck moments into the film.  

The reason I love Bridget so much is that…

I am Bridget Jones. 

I have always been the one who says the wrong thing, turns up late, gets stressed, and misses the joke entirely. I have always been the woman standing slightly out of sync with everyone else, trying to laugh along so it doesn’t sting quite as much. I have spent a lifetime being acutely, painfully aware of my differences. When you grow up knowing that your brain doesn’t quite work like everyone else’s, you learn to read people. You become a master of micro-expressions. And when you see that look - the one that says you’re the punchline - you have two choices:  

1. Laugh with them.  

2. Let it ruin you.  

And so, like Bridget, I laughed. I played the fool, the entertainment, the loveable mess. But inside? Inside, I desperately wanted to be better. To be one of the “perfect” girls. You know the ones - the ones who glide through life in heels effortlessly, who turn up on time with perfect hair, ironed clothes and their shit together. The ones who juggle work, life, kids, socialising, and exercise like it’s nothing. 

And the more I didn’t fit in, the more I retreated. I stopped putting myself out there because no one could reject me if I stayed home. Problem solved, right?

All that did was make me more isolated and introverted, leaving my confidence in absolute shambles.   

But here’s what Bridget has taught me, what I should have known all along:  

It’s okay to be different.

It’s more than okay. It’s bloody powerful.  

Here’s what happens when you finally stop trying to be what the world expects:  

You start doing things for you.  

And for me? That thing is Melyr.  

Melyr is the beginning of my new life—the one I’ve been waiting for. But I knew I needed to be ready for it, to embrace it, and to enjoy every moment and opportunity that it would bring. 

The joy I feel every time a customer writes a review or someone sends a message telling me how much they love MY BRAND is genuinely overwhelming. I have hundreds of new friends all over the UK, but they’re choosing me now.  

At last, I am proud.

I am Proud of my achievements, proud of my journey, and proud that I have built something that empowers other women to feel their best.  

So, no. I will not feel guilty about loving Bridget Jones.  

I will not apologise for being different.  

I will not shrink myself to fit into a world that was never made for me.  

I will own it. 

Because, like Bridget, I may be messy, late, and constantly blurt out the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time - I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.  

So here’s to the imperfect women, the beautifully chaotic, the audaciously themselves.  

May we be them.  

May we raise them.  

And may we never again hide a guilty pleasure that makes us so happy!