This much I know: Mary Portas, 65

I felt different as a kid: fourth out of five in an Irish Catholic family. I was an extrovert tomboy playing out with my brothers and had no interest in dolls. I’d be up with my mother at 6am with extraordinary amounts of energy; always up to something and probably a pain in the ass.

Mum died when I was 16. It was like the lights turned off in my life. Mum was strong, clever and funny; the matriarch of her whole family. She played the violin, could talk about any poet, and had so much sage advice. It went from her always being home to what felt like a living hell. That summer three of my siblings left, so the house felt empty, dark and smelled different. None of us wanted to be there.

I’ve never done therapy. There was none in the 1970s when you were in grief. My headmistress called me into her office and said, “We’re really sorry but just know that we’re here.” That was it.

If I’d taken my place at RADA, I don’t know how my life would be. I didn’t because my dad died two years after mum, and left us nothing. I’ve made my own stage with the work that I do.

Working at Harvey Nichols changed me. At times it was magical; flying off to Paris or New York. It wasn’t the fashion but the alchemy – different expressions of creativity – that my mad Gemini brain loved. I was in the right space on the right road, and deeply excited.

There is no greater love than the one for your kids. I found becoming a mum overwhelming. I remember saying to myself, “Why did I do this?” I wasn’t sure I was able to manage. But it made me understand what true love is. I’d do anything for them.

My brother Lawrence is the biological dad of my youngest. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. My ex-wife was 40 at the time while I was 52. If I was going to have another child, I wanted to feel connected in the bloodline. It was such a gift to me.

When anything’s not in frequency, I move on. You can’t change people, I’ve learnt, from both my marriages. Hold on to the beauty of what you did have. Both those relationships helped me arrive where I am, and I’m grateful.

Politicians unimpressed me while I worked with David Cameron. Our society is built around growth and money, not the needs of people. It breaks my heart. We need to create infrastructures of security within our lives; great communities, high streets and places people can gather. Spend locally, the money stays local.

The Catholic Church did nothing for me. I’d listen to a male priest droning on, see the altar boys, this patriarchal power, and wanted to be up there myself. Then I had to get into the equivalent of a wardrobe and confess to some young priest I hadn’t helped mum with the washing up.

Knowing you can stand alone is a powerful feeling. It’s not about loneliness or not needing love, but being able to walk this world on my own and provide for myself has made me feel strong and confident. My daughter calls me the lone wolf.

My wardrobe is smaller now. I spent years thinking you had to go out in something that looked new. Society told us that, and I was part of it. Reusing and reselling, and being conscious of what you’re wearing, is the new sexy.

Mary is speaking at Marlborough LitFest on 28 September marlboroughlitfest.org. Her new book "I Shop, Therefore I Am" is out 2 October, published by Canongate.