After sixteen months of being unemployed, ghosted by recruiters, and told to "Botox" my CV, when I decided, one day to tell my story, no one could have predicted what would happen next.

On the 22nd of June this year, in a moment of exasperation, possibly buoyed by a glass or two of wine, I posted a few "funny" stories on Instagram. Intentionally light-hearted, I knew if they landed badly, they'd be gone in 24 hours. "Anyone else struggling to find work in midlife?" I asked, before naming a few of the companies who'd ghosted my job applications. Not the kind of person to name and shame, I tried to make it all sound like a bit of a jolly joke.

Within an hour, I watched my inbox go ballistic. Woman after woman, all telling the same story. By midnight, unable to keep up with the number of replies, I called it a night and went to bed.

The following morning, my DMs were flooded with around 10,000 stories, all saying the same thing: "Yes, that's me." The notes were so long that many were split across three or four messages. Stories of how they'd applied for hundreds of jobs yet had heard nothing back. Stories of being unfairly dismissed from their roles; of applying for junior positions; of having to rely on food banks to feed their families.

Some of the women's stories were so sad on the nights that followed that I barely slept. Dropping the funny "ha ha" tone along with the "everything's okay" mask I'd worn for over a year.

When I posted a video of myself walking to the job centre, my Instagram feed exploded. My private humiliation had become public property, but I didn't care and in barely anytime at all, I went from being a hermit, unable to afford the train fare from London to Newcastle to see my family, to having drivers at my door taking me to various shoots and appearances.

I didn't mean to start a movement; I didn't set out to become the face of anything. Now, it would seem, I'm responsible for one. In the weeks after my Instagram posts, I was invited to speak on just about every news channel across the globe. By inadvertently blowing the lid off a global scandal, I accidentally uncovered the possibility that the AI used in automated recruitment may have picked up a sexist, ageist bias.

As I gathered evidence to prove it, specialist AI tech lawyers got in touch to secretly share facts "off the record." I had proof I couldn't use, and there I was, in the middle of a global media storm without a manual, an agent or, frankly, a clue.

Ironically, I still had no money to buy myself a posh coffee. Carrying 50,000 women's stories in my hands was far bigger than me.

Amongst the madness, I found steady anchors, one of whom has become a mentor. Lucy Standing, founder of Brave Starts, a social enterprise that helps midlife people re-enter the workforce, suggested I harness the movement by building a community. "You have the voice and the reach." And so, thanks to Lucy, that's how, on very little sleep, no money and a free Canva subscription to design a logo, I set up Her Encore, which is a bit like Mumsnet. But instead of discussing nappies, we swap ideas on how we will fight our way back into the workforce.

A few months on now, and with 2,000 women on the platform, we will campaign for the government to regulate AI in recruitment, and, over the next three years, we intend to dismantle the stereotypes that follow midlife women into every hiring decision.

Apparently, we're overqualified (delivered as "not the right culture fit").

Apparently, we won't adapt.

Apparently, we're too expensive.

Oh, and the best one? Apparently, we'd be bored.

Age is a protected characteristic in law. So is sex. And so, in the same way nobody would dream of rolling their eyes at a colleague because of her race or religion, over the next three years, I plan to make so much noise around ageism that eventually no one will dare roll their eyes when an older woman speaks in a meeting.

Tech shaming us, calling us Karens and Boomers, the eyeroll goes round the table, and nobody thinks twice. Sod that, not when after the stories I've read, the ones about women losing their homes, or how they're drawing down their pensions decades early because they can't afford their mortgage.

Being expected to work until at least 67 doesn't align with being shut out of the workforce. Some of us had children later in life and are still raising them. Take away our earnings now, and the gendered pension gap will be like nothing this country has ever seen before. Facing poverty in retirement was never the plan.

Her Encore will launch an employment charter to help businesses become actively anti-ageist. Joining forces with other campaigners and charities, like here at theALLBRIGHT, we will call for changes to the law to protect older women in the workforce. By building a community platform where women talk openly and find each other, I hope none ever feels as alone as I did.

Next on the agenda is something huge, something I plan to launch next year, something that women in senior leadership positions can get behind so they, too, can help their fellow sisters. Her Encore's greatest strength is the women's stories. No think tank, employer, or brand has what we have. Shared in the right way it’s how we plan to build a case that the government, HR departments, recruiters, and tech companies can't dodge.

It's time for our encore, no matter what everyone else says.

*Stacey will go deeper on this subject - and about more midlife - at Power Years, theALLBRIGHT's flagship day for women in their most influential years. 6 November, Arding & Hobbs. Book your space.