This month marks the two year anniversary of when I moved from my hometown of Liverpool to London. From Liverpool, along with my hair rollers, I brought with me a northern, heart-on-my-sleeve candidness and an ability to endlessly find humour in most things. Inevitably, I also brought my Scouse accent – something that has never quite left my side.

I speak with the same idioms and intonations as the family and friends I grew up with in Liverpool, meaning that I have a strong emotional attachment to my accent. And yet, since I've been in London, several instances have thrown my relationship with my accent into conflict. When I worked at a glossy fashion magazine I was asked to tone down my accent when I was on camera interviewing people, because "it wasn’t on brand" for their middle to upper class audience. At another publication, working on the fashion desk, my line manager made comments about how "people who speak like you [me]" don't really know much about fashion, and how it surprised him that I had "ended up" in the industry.

Now, I love London, I love living here and I love my London born-and-bred friends, but since I've been in the city, time and time again, my northern accent has landed me in a position where I haven't been taken seriously in the workplace. At this juncture, let me say that while I might not have the sort of British accent you would hear in a Hollywood film featuring Emily Blunt, my voice is clear and I speak articulately and concisely; after all, I'm a writer – words and the English language are one of my passions in life.