Recently I went to the birthday of one of the kindest, most gentle and beautiful girls you are ever likely to know. It was an afternoon tea – just for the girls (and her husband who sobbed during the speech he made to her and made every single woman weep).

The invitation had been sent by email and when I opened it I immediately did what every other woman I know does,  I surveyed the “to” field and worked out who I knew that would be attending. It was an impressive list of guests and I knew a lot of the people.  It always makes it easier walking into a party when you know a lot of the people and so I was psyched.

The party was beautiful (and I am not just saying that because I worry that the host might be reading this) and I arrived just late enough to know that there would be people for me to talk to. I'm still not mad on walking into functions alone.

Funnily enough with all my researching of the guest list I had forgotten to make provisions for the geography of the friendships. 

There were good friends there. Mums whose children are in my son’s class and that I see all the time on the soccer field, at the school gate, over dinner. There were old friends that I was thrilled to see after well, after too long. There were people that I knew well enough to chat to but couldn't determine where our acquaintance was first made and there were people I had never laid eyes on before – it turned out to be a tricky river of people to navigate.

If I spoke to the old friends I worried that I was snubbing the school mums, if I spent all my time talking to the people that I see all the time was I being rude to people I hadn’t seen for ages?  What if I spoke to people I hardly knew?  

I think you can gather that I’m not great at party etiquette and I am what’s colloquially known as NEUROTIC.  Oh and also paranoid.

So I spent my afternoon worrying and eating (the food was totally in neutral territory).  I tried to talk to ALL the people. I tried to be everything that they expected me to be. I think I may have acted a little ditzy, possibly flighty and almost certainly a bit scatty. I came home feeling exhausted and loathe to blame (or even admit to) the kilos of sugar that I consumed.

As I flopped onto the couch and flicked the last remaining cupcake crumbs out of my hair I tried to explain to my husband how tired I was from being at the party. I worried that I was losing my ability to “work a room”.  He reminded me gently, as he always does, about how much energy I expend worrying about what other people think. How it exhausts me when I spend time trying to please everybody and forgetting to be me. And, as he tried not to notice that I actually had blue icing in my left eyebrow, he reminded me that not being true to myself never really works really well for me in the end.

Richard Glover recently wrote a column that says it far better than I ever could, he says in part

“With some people we feel in perpetual shadow; with others, the sunlight seems to angle in and we are aglow.

''What must Warren Whatchamacallit think of me,'' you wonder after yet another night in which you were dull, tongue-tied or anxious, letting the discussion whirl around you without taking part. If only you could explain: ''I'm only like this, Warren, when I'm with you. With other people I can be quite good fun.''

With one friend you feel as if you are quite intelligent, discussing erudite issues of politics or literature. You are witty, insightful; the right phrase springs into your mouth at the right time. The very next night, in the company of someone else, you feel dumb and boring. Anxiety or insecurity grips so strongly that the right word, the witty phrase, can never fight its way through to the surface.

Even worse can be the experience of visiting your parents in the company of a friend. Suddenly your sunny self disappears and you find yourself transformed into the grunting, sullen 15-year-old of 10 years before, locked in a dysfunctional relationship with your mother or father or older sister. On your way out the door, you half-wish your friend would reassure your family: ''You know, when you're not around, he's not like this at all. He's actually quite normal.''

….. Why don't we spend more time with those who bring out our best selves, and less with those who bring a nuclear winter? Perhaps we could all send out the mental note: ''Warren Whatchamacallit, I know I'm booked in for a barbecue with you on Saturday week but suddenly I find that I am busy. I'm off to spend time with people who think I'm fabulous. And guess what? When I'm with them, I mostly prove them right.''

You can (and should) read the article in full here because I think that might just be the best advice I’ve ever read. Now to learn to take it on board.

Do you ever spend time with people who bring you down?  Are you aware of the different personas you bring to different situations? Who are the people who shine light on you?

*It is worth noting that on both times I was lucky enough to meet Richard Glover I did NOT shine. In fact I think I may have just stared at him, giggled and then demanded his photograph in a high pitched squeak (but that’s a post for another day)