One girl came up to me - I remember it so vividly - she said, "You're not fit to model socks." It crushed me. But at the same time, it made me unbelievably determined to prove everybody wrong and prove to myself that I could live an incredible life.

Having children, you have so much more structure in your life. The open-endedness of being a single woman is gone, you know? It's sort of like, from 1 P.M. to 3 P.M. the kids are going to take a nap, so now I have time to sit down and write the lyrics, or once they're put to bed, I have a few hours to focus on those things. I need that. It's a very strange process, really - I can never predict what's going to happen. It always feels uncomfortable and awkward.

There comes a point where certain things are becoming my Achilles heel; you know when you start repeating yourself and saying the same anecdotes over and over again you start slowly hating yourself.

I'm surrounded by freaks. Am I weirder than the rest of them? Ultimately I've learned to pride myself on being quirky.

Not to get too depressing, I've always been a slight whirling dervish in my life. I've always been at once a very spritely and energetic hilarious lady, but at the same time there is an equal dark side that's as comparable to the jovial - constantly walking on the high wire trying to figure out who to be each day.

I was afraid of being judged too harshly. But I'd let those fears overwhelm me for far too long.

As a model I had a lot of success when I was 17 and 18 years old. It was before social media, before the world was what the world is, but even then it was terrifying, to be 18 years old and people knowing who you are, and I was this personality who was completely devoid of who I actually was. It was almost like being a manufactured boy band. You're sort of like a wind up doll; they wind you up and put you on the runway or something like that.