I blame Nasty Nancy (not her real name, as you might have guessed) for me first turning to Botox in my late 30s.
Up until she became my boss, she had been a friend. We’d met through work and she invited me to help her on a new start-up project. The pay was great and the work was going to be fun. What could possibly go wrong? Rather a lot as it turned out.
During my first week, she humiliated me in front of the other staff by telling me I was being ‘too familiar’ with her, to know my place and stop using the shortened version of her name I’d always called her by.
While everyone else got paid every Friday, my time sheets would mysteriously go astray and I’d go weeks without any money. In meetings she’d ridicule my ideas and then take them to her directors and claim credit for them.
The final straw came when she gave me an official warning for taking a day off that she’d agreed to verbally several weeks earlier, then denied.
When I worked there I was unable to sleep, became a nervous wreck and looked so awful people started asking me if I was ill. I felt like I aged five years in six months.
Now, research reveals that may well have been the case. A study published in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences has found that having difficult or unpleasant people in your life accelerates ageing.
These people might be friends, family members or colleagues exhibiting a series of toxic behaviours including hostility, being overly critical, exclusion and belittling.
Claudia Connell’s most recent culling happened last year after she lost 4st on Mounjaro. She had slimmed down from a size 18 to a size 10 and quickly realised that one friend was not happy that her formerly chubby mate was now thinner than her
The report labels these people ‘hasslers’, stating that women tend to have far more ‘hasslers’ in their lives than men. I’ll say!
A big part of that is that while women value friendship far more than men, we are also a bunch of softies more willing to make excuses for other people’s bad behaviour.
The good news is that, as you age, that tolerance disappears and the culling begins!
Collette was my first major cull about 20 years ago. If whingeing was an Olympic sport she’d have more gold medals than Steve Redgrave. Every meet up would result in her bleating on about her misfortunes.
I met her in my 20s when she was a neighbour. By the time I reached 40, I realised she actually led an incredibly privileged life and was just using me to offload on. I’d leave our meetings feeling depressed and wrung-out and could almost feel those frown lines burrowing into my forehead.
If she was still in my life now, and I’d allowed her to moan at me for another 20 years, I’d probably resemble the creature from the crypt.
When it comes to Forgot-My-Purse Polly, she actually ditched me ten years ago. Only now, with hindsight, do I realise the toll she must have taken on my looks.
Every time we went for dinner or drinks and the bill came, she would rummage in her bag only to announce dramatically that she had left her purse at home, leaving me to pay. She’d promise to transfer the money and never did.
I’d tie myself in knots wondering if I should chase her for the cash or whether it would lead to awkwardness.
Every time we went for drinks and the bill came, Polly would announce that she had left her purse at home, leaving me to pay, writes Claudia
It took another friend (a non-hassler) to point out that Polly seemed to forget her purse an awful lot and that she was taking advantage of me. I bit the bullet, asked her to repay me what she owed – and have been ghosted ever since.
Toxic friends like these age us because they make us feel stressed and anxious which, in turn, elevates the biomarkers associated with ageing.
My most recent culling happened last year after I lost 4st on Mounjaro. I slimmed down from a size 18 to a size 10 and quickly realised that one friend was not happy that her formerly chubby mate was now thinner than her.
She would visit me with armfuls of cakes and biscuits and then pretend to be hurt when I said I no longer ate that stuff.
The final straw came when she told me I didn’t suit being thin, that it had changed my personality and that the weight made me look older.
‘I miss your chipmunk cheeks! They were so cute! You look gaunt these days.’
I feel like texting her this study and pointing out that it’s far more likely that it wasn’t the Mounjaro that aged me – it was her non-stop mean-girl jibes.
Like most women I wouldn’t be without my closest female friends. The ones who have my back and uplift me.
As for the Nancys, Collettes and Pollys of this world, good riddance. If I’d binned them years ago, perhaps I wouldn’t have needed to fork out £3,000 having cosmetic surgery on my aged eyes last year.
I no longer have Botox but, if I ever returned to the needle, I may well send that trio of hasslers the bill.
- Names and identifying details have been changed.
