Drifting into adulthood, there comes a point where you realise that looking at yourself honestly is both useful and uncomfortable. A bit of self-analysis lets you see your strengths and weaknesses more clearly, and gives you some idea of how other people might see you.

The problem is the mirror doesn’t always behave. It shows the angles you’d rather ignore, the blind spots, the habits that should have been retired years ago. It’s not just about finding fault; it’s about deciding what you’re prepared to live with and what you’re prepared to change, once you finally stand still long enough to look.

My not-exactly-standard life has taught me to let go of as much baggage as I reasonably can, and use the better bits as fuel. On the bad days, positive memories and small wins are what keep any kind of resilience ticking over. It helps to live mostly in the present, face the future with at least a faint sense of optimism, and avoid blaming everyone else when things go wrong. Easier written than done.

And then there’s cringe.

That full-body jolt that makes you want to disappear, or apply for a new identity. The “chronicles of cringe” come free with any life lived at more than half-speed.

You’re walking down the street, feeling vaguely competent, when you see someone you know. They come in for a friendly greeting, and you respond with confidence – to the completely wrong person. Or you misread a room in a meeting, go in with the wrong tone, and get pulled up. Or you wave at someone across the way and realise, halfway through, they’re aiming at the person behind you. Instant urge to evaporate.

The romantic stuff is its own category: the times you tried to impress someone and only succeeded in being a bit of a dill. People say you’ll laugh about it one day. I’m still working my way toward that on a few fronts.

But those moments – the cringes, the late-night “why did I say that?” reruns – are part of the package. They sit alongside the wins. They’re the stories we eventually tell on ourselves when enough time has passed and the stakes have dropped.

Within all that, I try – not always well – to use the past as motivation rather than ammunition. No one likes feeling stupid the same way more than once or twice. The point isn’t to pretend the awkward bits never happened, but to own them. If you can say, “Yes, that was me, and yes, I’d do it differently now,” the cringe has done its job.

Personal growth doesn’t arrive with a certificate. It creeps in through self-awareness, a bit of honesty, and the occasional decision you stop avoiding. By being as straight with ourselves as we can manage – and by not taking ourselves too seriously when we inevitably stuff things up – we give ourselves slightly better options. We make better calls. We leave the door open for a future that’s a touch brighter than what came before.

So when you dip into the cringe vault, try not to slam it shut too quickly. Have a look, wince if you need to, and see what’s worth keeping as a lesson and what can finally be let go. Treat it as a slightly battered badge of honour.

Choose self-development over self-pity where you can. Choose a bit of positivity when it’s available. Remember the quiet luck of having been born in a relatively safe place, with the chance to get things wrong and try again.

And raise a small, private toast to the cringe. It means you were there, you had a go, and you cared enough for it to matter.