I BELIEVE I CAN FLY.....but I didn't at first...

How I wish I could harness self-belief. I would be a millionairess, no a billion... trillionairess, because I could sell case-loads of miniature bottles of it to the human race. You know, we would each only need a tiny amount of it, because a little goes such a long way and too much self-belief can make you think you're the President of FIFA.

We are all born with it - this self-belief – so what happens? Where does it go?  Well, in my case parents/teachers/friends/
boyfriends/bosses (blimey, it seems almost everyone I came into contact with) have had a jolly good go at bashing it out of me. For instance, let me take you back... I am about 5 or 6 years old and in primary school (some names have been changed .....mainly because I can't remember their real ones)

ME excitedly jumping up and down and being very proud of the new hand puppet I had just made out of a brown paper bag (this was the 1960s remember): Miss! Miss! Look at Mr Brownbag! He can dance and talk – do you want him to sing you a song?

MISS GROWBAG Snatches Mr Brownbag and slams him face down on her desk, which really hurts him: TIARA! FOR GOODNESS SAKE - WILL YOU PLEASE SIT DOWN! IF YOU DON'T GET BACK TO YOUR CHAIR RIGHT THIS INSTANT, YOU WILL SPEND THE WHOLE OF PLAYTIME CLEARING UP THE WENDY HOUSE! SIT! DOWN! NOW!!

ME welling up because a) she had shouted at me and I couldn't work out why, and b) I was really proud of Mr Brownbag, he could sing and everything and he had a really big toothy smile and she had just chucked him on her desk without even looking at him: Yes Miss Growbag (in a very small voice)

The biggest spotty dog you ever did see

Of course, I didn't understand timing at the age of 6 years old. I didn't realise that Miss Growbag was having a mare of a day because the class were playing up and the last thing she needed was some skinny kid waving a brown paper bag with a face on it, believing it was the best thing since the Woodentops. The result of this encounter was that I never put myself forward in class again and forever after had school reports that said “needs to participate more in lessons”.

It didn't stop there either. Fast-forward 10 years and we are starting to talk about a possible career.

CAREERS OFFICER: Well, Tiara. I see you have filled out your career options form. It's a little ambitious don't you think?

ME: Umm...No

CAREERS OFFICER: Well, there's not much call for being a Cabaret Artist these days.

Trying to convince the careers lady that this is a suitable job 

ME swinging the chair around and sitting astride it like Christine Keeler…: Maybe, but I know I can do it. It's my dream...

CAREERS OFFICER sighing: This is real life, not dreamworld and you are not Liza Minelli. Liza Minelli is a talented actress, with famous parents; you are Little Miss Tiara from Nowheresville. You would do much better in an office.

ME: But I've got the hat and stockings and everything.....

CAREERS OFFICER: Good, I shall put you down for the Civil Service then.

And so she did.

So, feeling crushed and totally useless, I packed away my outfit  and learned to type and do all the other boring stuff I grew to hate when really, all I wanted to do was believe in my ability......

Skip a couple of years to the end of 6th Form:

ME: I want to go into the theatre. I want do do costume and set design.

MOTHER: Don't be silly. We had all this nonsense when you wanted to be a Cabaret Artist.  What you need  is a proper job with a regular wage until you can manage to find a man that will be daft enough to marry you and then you can cook and clean and have kids.

ME: But I don't want to do that. Look, I've made new designs for Jesus Christ Superstar (it was the 1970s by now)....

FATHER not even looking at my crowd-pleasing creations: That sort of thing is not for the likes of us. There's hardly any jobs like that out there. You'll never get your foot in the door.

So, believing I was just saving myself a lot of heartache in the long run, I walked away without even trying.

And I regret it to this day.

You know, I might have made a lousy Cabaret Artist and I might never have had my designs chosen for the local Amateur Dramatic Society, but I'll never know, because at the time I didn't believe I had a right to even find out.

Thus I promised myself I would be different with my own children; I would never pour water over their dreams, no matter how wild or unattainable they may seem and I have stuck to that - even though I have had to bite my tongue sometimes.

Yet, I look around and still I see the human race bemoaning their own lack of self-belief on the one hand while knocking it out of someone else with the other. And I ask: why do we do it?

So, if some kid comes up to you with a homemade hand-puppet and asks if you would like to hear it sing you a song, please stop and listen. It'll only take a minute but it will make them happy, reinforce their worth and help that little bit of self-belief on it's way.