The start.

Where do I begin? I suppose the place to begin is with the end.

Today I ended my marriage.

Overwhelmingly, I feel sad. A deep, dark sadness that weighs down my spirit.  What else can I feel after a thirteen year relationship? After we brought three beautiful children into the world and created our family? With so many happy memories of family days out, birthdays, Christmases,  holidays…

I don’t hate my husband.  I don’t want to hurt him or make his life difficult.  I am not angry with him –  not even frustrated any more.  And I suppose that is the problem; for our marriage anyway. That’s how I know I have made the right decision because it has not been made with anger or bitterness or resentment.  I have made it because I truly believe it is the right decision for all of us.

I cried as he cried.  This man has supported me through the death of family members, through anxieties about work, through insecurities about myself.  He has loved me despite my weight, my temper and my inability to put the dirty washing in the basket. He has always believed in me.  And today I have taken his world away from him. I take no pleasure in his pain; no matter his wrong-doings.

Because, of course, there were problems. But I respect and care for him enough not to intentionally publish them in this blog, no matter how anonymous.  All that I will say, for anyone who is wondering, is that the time has come where I cannot stand anymore arguing.  There is nothing left to say.

So, this blog is not about him or us.

It is about me.  A thirty-six year old mother of three children who is now separated from her husband.

Us to me.

The start.



Moaning Moody Men Day

Is there something I’ve overlooked today? Some sort of masculine celebration? ‘All men be moody, aggressive neanderthals’ day? Or maybe it’s ‘Male appreciation of PMS’ day?

Maybe I just opened my mouth too soon and jinxed everything.

Where to begin…?

My son has had a few low days. He doesn’t know why. Weird because I recently commented how positive he was, talking about college and his future. Then WHAM he’s low. He messages me earlier to say he’d had a row with his father and wanted to leave his Grandad’s birthday early as he was about to cry.

I tried to give him some strategies and advice, but in the end had to go for him. On the way, I was shouted at by a particularly aggressive white van driver because apparently looking at the on coming traffic and not seeing him beckon me out immediately from the opposite direction, is not a good thing.

I arrived to get my son and we had a one sided conversation. He told me he wanted to go to his female best friend’s for TLC. I dropped him off and went home. I messaged him some encouraging words but, having had no reply 20 minutes later, decided to call to check on him. He was fine and was being subjected to a face mask.

I put the phone down and tried to get my mind off my son by reading for a few blogs whilst waiting for Wildcard to call. After 10 minutes and seeing the time, I checked Messenger to find that he’d actually tried to call me twice whilst I was on the phone to my son. I’d had no notifications.

I called him, and cheerily apologised. After all, we have been getting on really well the last few weeks – every call full of laughter and love. Even though it’s Ramadan, bar the first two days, he’s been great – I even told my sister. Yep, spoke too soon.

He was moody. Couldn’t understand why I didn’t call him back sooner if my call to my son was so short. Didn’t believe that I’d had no notifications. Was passive aggressive for the rest of the call, answering in short clipped answers or being surly. And no, I didn’t get my ‘I love you’. But, according to him, he’s ‘not angry.’

He said goodbye – scowling – and I tried to remember that the first week is always the hardest and he’s probably hangry. And, I’m the same when he doesn’t call back straight away, although perhaps not so passive aggressive.

Within 10 minutes, I heard the front door open and my young son had arrived home with his dad in tow.

Of course, my ex was moody. He showed little understanding of our autistic and AdHd diagnosed son’s inability to cope in social circumstances, even though that’s been the case for 10 years plus. I mentioned his low mood but that was ignored also. I commented that he should know he is like this, to be cut off mid-sentence and be told that ‘he could have at least cracked a smile’. When I asked whether being shouted at was ever going to help put a smile on his face, he ended the conversation rudely and walked out.

I was then informed by my youngest that he’d been told by his Dad that he would meet Wildcard ‘over his dead body.’ Apparently my youngest had mentioned the plan to one day watch a film with Wildcard when they finally meet. OK, perhaps saying that at his paternal grandad’s birthday party was not the best idea, but hey – Wildcard and I are nearly on 3.5 years of relationship.

So all in all, a successful day for the male participants of this mock celebratory day.

And me? I await my last call with Wildcard with bated breath and wonder if you can buy armour against hangry surliness.

Mad, mad, mad.

If it wasn’t for the effects of my beta blocker, I’m pretty sure I would be physically feeling more of the anger inside my head at the moment.

Boy, am I mad.

My ex, finally, is in a positive place. Following some weeks off sick with low mood, he has returned to work. The bank has reviewed his pay, so not only is he getting a pay rise, he’s also received one for his positive appraisal and a bonus. If he keeps a clear head, and that is an if, financially he shouldn’t struggle any longer.

Which is great news on a whole lot of levels, particularly as he won’t need to lend money from me every month. Something he has done every month for years.

Yesterday, whilst noting his positive mood, I decided I would tell him about my May trip to see Wildcard. There never is a good time for this conversation, but if he’s in a good mood his reaction is not as extreme. He smirked and made a rather irritating ‘Are you now’ comment. Other than that, his reaction was ok.

I should know better because every time I go, he makes comments. Today, whilst he waited for our son to get ready to come to his house, he talked about his trip to the city yesterday with our daughter. He used some of his bonus to buy her a few things and take her out for dinner. Mainly because he had no money on her birthday. Or any other time for that matter.

That little fact was forgotten of course, when he got his dig in. He commented that I didn’t have to go jetting off, that I could take the kids out instead.

I’m seething.

I’m seething because my money is spent on my children, as a whole, while he contributes next to nothing.

I pay for school lunches and uniform, and after school care. I pay for clothing, pocket money and buses. I pay for birthday parties, presents and Christmas. For many years, I’ve funded his ‘gifts’ to them as he hasn’t had any money and I rarely get it back.

I don’t drink or smoke or gamble. I no longer can afford my fancy face care or makeup, so budget buy. I don’t buy myself clothes unless desperate.

My money is spent on my children, supporting my ex and, when I can, I go to see Wildcard.

Who the hell is he to comment on how I spend my money? How dare he make comments about how I interact with my children! The majority of my money has always gone on my children because he never has any. Yes, when he gets a bonus, he will spend some on them. But it is rare he gets said bonus. The everyday costs of our children are 90% paid for by me. Often, I’ve bought him food shopping or lent him money for food. Meanwhile he’s still smoking and has his nasty little habit.

I am livid.

I know that the comment comes from me going to see Wildcard. If I was going on a trip with one of my sisters or a friend, he would positively encourage it, saying I deserved a break. I am aware this is all linked to me going to my boyfriend.

It’s irrelevant. He has no right to make comments on how I spend my money, or imply that I don’t do enough with my children. Maybe if he pulled his weight as a parent, I’d be able to do more.

Mad, mad, mad.


I’m sat in my car.

I can hear the hiss-tap of the rain as it hits my windows and the occasional gust of wind.

I’m sat in a local beauty spot. Usually you see rolling hills and distant cities. I can just see rain and clouds mostly. UK Spring time apparently started four days ago, and whilst it has been brighter and lighter, winter has not quite given up its hold yet.

The same could be said for me.

On the whole I’m feeling brighter. I like my job and feel more confident and settled than I have in a long time. I’m happy there, for now at least.

Since booking my flights, I’ve felt like my relationship with Wildcard has settled too – thank goodness. Maybe with the pressure off, we’ve both relaxed. We’ve been laughing again, affectionate again. Not that we weren’t before…I guess the undercurrent has gone and not just for me.

My daughter is starting to look better. My son is still having his difficulties but is feeling the positive pull of College.

Winter darkness hasn’t quite disappeared yet. Sometimes inwonder how I will ever find my way out of all this. How will I be truly happy again? What do I want to be happy? Sometimes, it feels like there is now way out and I will continue in this spinning limbo.

I had hoped that the therapy will push me out of the final patch of shadow and into the sunlight. Today though, I’ve been told I will get my therapy in the next 12 weeks. It’s much longer than I had hoped. I can’t seem to find the answers to my worries. Someone to help clear my mind and gain clarity would have really helped. 3+ months waiting for that seems too much.

I have little choice though. I guess I just have to keep going, keep searching for my truth. I refuse to stand still. I refuse to sink. I will cling on to the light, the positives and keep searching.


I wrote the above a few days ago.

It’s Saturday now and I’m cleaning as usual. That’s what I do at weekends, I clean.

It gives me little satisfaction. Although my house looks better for it, and I’ve devised a system that really works with my regular feelings of overwhelm, I can’t stop noticing all the things that need doing: that I haven’t, or can’t do.

I wonder if maybe it is all too much, like some of my relatives think.

As I showered, I contemplated this. I realised something significant. It’s not just fear of failure and rejection that are my triggers. It’s something bigger than that. It’s my fear of not being enough.

This is not a new concept for me: it’s one of my biggest issues with Wildcard, often self imposed. What I realised today is that it is an underlining streak of darkness in all aspects of my life.

I give my all to something or someone, but when I don’t reach what I aspire to, or I don’t get back what I expect, I feel like I’m a failure and or my best is not enough. I’m not enough.

I gave my all to marriage. It failed.

I gave my all to my career. I couldn’t cope anymore and ended it.

I work hard in my home every week. It’s not good enough.

I care and love my kids best I can. They’re still struggling.

I love Wildcard more than I have ever loved another man. Still no commitment.

See what I mean? I give my all, don’t get the returns I expect, so plunge deep into negativity.

I have no idea how to break this cycle.

Out, Ofsted

I’m truly saddened to hear about Ruth Perry.  For any non-UK readers, Ruth was a long standing Headteacher of an ‘Outstanding’ primary school, who committed suicide due to the pressure and unfair practises of Ofsted, the government’s equivalent of the Witch Finder General.. Think along the lines of – they make a judgement before they arrive and look for evidence to fit, ignoring everything else. Her outstanding school was moved to inadequate over one area and elements that could easily remedied. I can only imagine that, realising that despite giving everything to her work, that judgement made her feel she had nothing left to give. It’s an absolute travesty.

I wish I could say I am shocked about a passionate and dedicated teacher committing suicide because of the pressures of the UK education system, but I’m not. I’m surprised that more teachers haven’t reached that level of despair and hopelessness.

I’ve been a teacher for 20 years. I’ve been a leader for 6 of them. I’ve seen the frenzy, panic, and stress caused by Ofsted. I’ve lived through the unfairness and the hopelessness and the disbelief of the unjust practices of our so called ‘majesty’s inspectorate’.

I will say it right now: schools should not be inspected they should be supported. Yes, highly trained experts should visit schools and offer support. They should celebrate the hard work and dedication of the staff who choose this ill-paid, stressful job and guide them to improvements from their vast knowledge of working with other, similar schools. That’s it. That’s what they should do.

But it’s not.

First of all, there’s the political side to this. Each new government wants to prove how terrible the previous one was, and how wonderful they are. So what do they do? They criticise the education system, raise the bar to standards which terrify children and stress teachers (and then blame teachers when that ridiculous bar can’t be reached).

And let’s be honest here, they want schools to fail. They want them to fail so they can be bought off by the highest bidder – the academies. The academies who are paying their CEOs and directors far above what local authority headteachers etc are paid. In the meantime, academy staff are bullied to leave -so the academy can replace with a cheaper version- and SEN support is reduced to minimal. ‘If it’s not in writing, it doesn’t happen’.

So what that means, if the child doesn’t have a legal document called an ‘Educational Health Care Plan’ then the academy won’t offer support. But this is the problem. One, the NHS is also in crisis, which means that are countless children with special education needs waiting four years for an assessment. Two, even with a diagnosis, cash strapped local authorities deny EHCPs to over half of applicants because they can’t afford them. So what you are left with, is undiagnosed children with no support and diagnosed children with limited support. So these children struggle in school, cause disruption and chaos due to the lack of support and unmet needs…and who gets the blame? Yep, teachers.

Of course, even local authority school are struggling financially. Energy costs, food costs etc…and little government support to help. So, they pile the work on the existing staff, mainly because they can’t afford to pay them properly and now, because teachers are leaving in herds.

The workload and expectations are ridiculous. You are expected to work above and beyond. Read that again. You are expected to work above and beyond. Staff who simply do their job – like most other jobs in this world – are looked down upon.

And that’s not only in the remits of a teacher. No, we are expected to deal with all the social and economic issues too. Schools aren’t just about learning. We support families and children through crisis. We donate food and clothing. We offer counselling and health care.

And you know what, most teachers want to support their children. Most teachers are willing to give extra to help the children in their care. But this is what I want you to realise. Ofsted don’t care about that. Academies don’t care about that.

Are teachers paid well? Comparing to some other careers, yes. Compared to what is expected of them, the demand of the job, the stress- absolutely not. I’d love to know how much money is owed to teachers in one month, from all the resources, gifts and donations they fund out their own pocket. But it’s OK, that’s simultaneously expected and ignored.

Ofsted come in for two days and make a judgment on a school. They don’t truly see anything worthwhile. They see a snapshot. Think about that: two days out of three years and that is the judgement on the school. They don’t offer help and guidance. They bully and cause stress. They are cold, unfeeling and immovable. Probably because the judgement was made before they walked through the door.

An Ofsted visit should feel like the local wise man/woman coming. We should feel respect for their wisdom and gratitude for their kindness. We should want to impress them with all that we are doing, and feel relief that we will be supported and guided through the things we are struggling with. Schools should be desperate for ofsted to visit, just for that support alone.

But no. Instead, overworked and stressed education workers are treated with contempt and scrutiny. They are being made to feel that their best isn’t good enough. They are being made to feel that every extra hour they give, going above and beyond what they are paid to do, isn’t good enough. They’re being made to feel that every hoop they are jumping through, still isn’t good enough.

And it isn’t. Because if schools were actually allowed to use the combined professionalism of the staff within, then schools would improve.

If they made decisions based on the needs of the children, not outside pressures and Ofsted threats, they would improve.

If they were well funded and staffed, and staff worked their just hours and no more, things would improve.

If exam pressures disappeared, children would be children and enjoy learning again. And things would improve.

So, as an experienced teacher and parent, let me make this clear. The Government’s handling of education is INADEQUATE. Ofsted are INADEQUATE. And whilst they fail to recognise this, more teachers will leave the profession, less graduates will sign up for the punishment of this career and sadly, more teachers will suffer at the hands of the stress pushed on them. More teachers will take their own life.

To Ruth’s family, I am so sorry for this tragic loss. I’m sure the words of the many parents and children who mourn her are a true testament to the work she did.

Daily prompt: travel

You’re going on a cross-country trip. Airplane, train, bus, car, or bike?

What an apt prompt!

All of these have their benefits and their negatives.

Take plane travel. You can go almost anywhere in the world, relatively quickly. With luck and a window seat, you can see amazing sights of lonely islands, mountains ranges, harbours, villas and forests. But, the stress of security, queuing whilst waiting for hours and hours….booo.

And trains? Well, similarly, you can get some amazing views. I once travelled to Italy from Austria by train and it was spectacular. But, train tickets aren’t cheap and I find trains a little claustrophobic after a while. I’ve never gone in 1st class – maybe that’s what I’m missing.

Cars give you spontaneity. Tired? You can stop. See something wonderful and want a picture? Not a problem. Driving gives you privacy and independence. The downside of course, is the actual driving.

Although, not as labour intensive as a bike. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a Sound of Music style bike ride like anyone else – summer sun, scenery and fresh air. I’m not so keen on a bruised bottom, tired legs and insects flying into my face. No thanks.

And I’m not even going to start on buses. Erm, no.

Daily prompt: anxiety

What makes you most anxious?

As an anxious person, many things make me anxious.

I wonder, as I write this, when did I become an anxious person? What triggered it?

Was I an anxious child? Not that I recall but how do I know? Big life events caused a massive shift for me in the past few years but I would be wrong is I claimed I only started being anxious then. I just dealt with it in a different way.

This is what I know:

I’m anxious when I overthink and I overthink because I’m anxious.

Anxiety = fear.

I often fear failure but it’s something I’m working hard to change. Fear of failure is actually a symptom of low self esteem and confidence.

My biggest fear? Rejection. There’s enough buzz out there for me to accept that this fear of rejection probably- did – came from my childhood. I can see it, clearly. I can see how that issue has plagued me through my adulthood too, even in the immediate aftermath of my father’s death.

And so, for me, I know that my main anxiety is rejection: not being wanted or needed for being me; not feeling that I am enough or worthy or special.

Little steps

My son calls this ‘bipolar weather’. He would be right. I’m sat in my sister’s front garden with the sun blazing down on the bouncy castle. I can feel the heat burning my chest. Less than half an hour ago, as we drove home,  it was raining.

This morning we went to see another college. At 45 minutes, it’s quite a drive. However, it has excellent support for his SEN and more importantly, has a motorsport course from level 1 to degree level. It also has residential facilities and is tucked away in the countryside.

My son has wanted to work with cars since a little boy and has an encyclopedic knowledge of cars and parts and goodness knows what. This could be the making of him. He is positive about his future for the first time in …. well, since he was a small boy.

Little steps.

Last night I booked my flights to see Wildcard. For May. 😄

Whilst on our walk and talk last night, he asked me when I wanted to come, out of the blue. I gave the dates, he said OK. I said- OK you’ll think about it, or OK I can come? You can come, he replied. Despite all my angst and frustration in the past few days, a massive smile spread across my face. Any thoughts of making a point by not going rapidly disappeared. I’m going, I’m happy.


The sky was a bright, bright blue and I felt the promise of spring in the air, finally. It may have been it: the promise of new life and light. It wasn’t though. Moments later, big fat drops of rain descended. I shepherded my son and his friend away from the park and into the car and we began the drive home. Wildcard called and my son answered, and he spoke to him and his friend making them laugh with his joking.

And then it happened. The rainbow appeared, clear and bright and as I approached the last corner before my house it felt like we were driving through the end of it, the haze of colours like a mirage on the edge of my vision. Can that actually happen? I thought. Then it was there again, seemingly over my house.


I’ve had an unsettled couple of days.

Tuesday night, I spent the evening laughing with Wildcard, tears falling down my face like the raindrops of today, but in mirth.

Wednesday morning, when I received my morning call, he kissed me virtually over and over again. I told him, “I want to come in May” just before I said goodbye.

I finally plucked the courage to tell work that I had a medical appointment today. The appointment is actually an assessment call for counselling. I didn’t tell them that. But, having seen how they treat staff with absences or work day requests, I was nervous and perhaps imagined that the leadership team didn’t seem quite so friendly.

And then, Wildcard told me that his brother plans to come for a month now, from mid-June to mid-July and my heart sank further. I didn’t allow myself to think about how hard that month will be, but I did ask of that meant I can’t go in May like suggested. He, of course didn’t know: he hadn’t spoken to his brother specifically and the dates were not confirmed. I tried to tell him my proposed dates but was shut down – he didn’t want to talk about it any more and would let me know once he had spoken to him.

I was glad this was all said over the phone. Huge tears fell and I couldn’t swallow the lump in my throat. He later apologised – knew that he had overstepped. We had a tense conversation. He accused me of demanding an answer to soon, of not understanding that he has to consult all his family before he makes a decision. I told him that if I actually felt like he wanted me there, I may not be so upset. He told me he did, he wanted me there now to kiss and hold me. He made me cry again just thinking about it. My fb friend said that he only said it under pressure and commented that if I didn’t push, he wouldn’t even ask if I was coming.

I cried myself to sleep after realising that if I am not his number one priority now, I never will be and that is why we will never marry.

Yesterday, despite his promise of an answer, he was preoccupied with the late announcement of an important visitor in work. I didn’t ask, obviously.

Today was my telephone appointment. The dam opened. I told them how lost and alone I felt. How I questioned everything in my life but could never find an answer. I told them of my low esteem and confidence and how it was affecting me in my career and my relationship. I talked about the loss of my Dad, my breakdown and my anxiety and overthinking. I told them of my fight to stay out of the darkness but that I needed help to find myself again. She validated my difficulties and acknowledged my fight. I will receive counselling, soon I hope.

A weight lifted over the afternoon.  


At 4.30pm, I left the boys in my daughter’s capable hands and set out to buy a chippy tea. The rainbow was bright and full arc this time. Similarly, on the way back, the rainbow seemed to hover around my house as I drove home and the closer I came, moved silently around my garden and out to the fields my dad used to farm. I felt him near.

Sure, it’s a scientific phenomenon. But I felt my dad near. I felt like he was telling me that everything was OK, he’s still near. I felt like he was telling me that things were going to get brighter now, the change in the air is the start of something new for me too.

I don’t know what will happen in my relationship. I think a part of me believes that it is over, and probably knew this in January.

The rest of me only thinks it’s over if I believe it is. If I give up. As yet, I still don’t have an answer about May.

Maybe in itself, that is an answer.

Today, a female work colleague asked if I was with anyone. I told her briefly about my 3.5 year relationship. She asked if we lived together and I of course said no. A natural assumption – not for Wildcard, of course. In talking, I told her that if it didn’t work out, I would give up on love and I meant it.

For now, I’m going to revel in the light of spring and the magic of my rainbow and hope for better things to come, whatever happens.


I made you my everything.
My love for you breathed life
Into daydreams of us.
I made you my waking thought
And my nightly prayers
And every moment in between.
You were my sunbeam smiles
And my clockwatching waits.
I gave all the love I had known
Then I gave some more.
But love is not endless
When it is alone:
Love begets love.
When I realised
I would never be your all
Your everything
My love


I’m calm – relatively. It’s morning and despite being a Saturday, I woke quite early. I have a fluffy throw around me, have stoked up the fire and made a coffee, and have some lone time to journal.

This morning I woke to thoughts of redecorating, house maintenance and house work. Literally, these were the thoughts that went through my mind.

I’ve let many, many things slide in the past 5 years and although I knew it – and worried about it – I also know I was an expert at ignoring it. I’ve realised recently, like a dawning awareness, just how much my house has grown tired and unloved.

And it is unloved. It holds far too many memories, far too many feelings of guilt. Fear even.

There are times when I’ve made a beautiful garden. There are times I’ve redecorated and redesigned. But they were in a different lifetime, with a different me. I look back on them, shrouded in the mists of memory, and they are like looking at a version of myself that no longer exists.

I’ve been told, so many times, that this house is ‘too much for me’. Whilst a part of me remains indignant, the proof is before me. Repairs remain unfixed, rooms undecorated, garden overgrown. Inside, some rooms are cluttered, carpets need replacing.

When Dad died, I had the finances to do the work but not the will. I didn’t want anything to change, even the leaking tap. Then, feeling alone, I was fearful of getting work done. There have been many times when I have employed someone, only for the work to be shoddy and overpriced. And, with my new found low-esteem and lack of confidence, I’ve not attempted to do anything myself either.

That last point isn’t quite true. For the last eighteen months, I have slowly started to undo the knots of chaos, caused by my depression. (The fact that I’m even calling it depression is a step forward, I think). I’ve refused to give up. I’ve tidied and organised.

It’s an on going battle though. Now I’m working full time again, I have less time and energy to do it. With everything that happened with my children, even daily chores have slipped this last two weeks. This is why I woke to thoughts of housework this morning.

Just over a year ago, I made the decision to return to full time work. I made a plan. With my salary returned to a decent level, I planned how I would renovate my house step by step. I planned how I would get control of my finances and finally cut the apron strings with my ex-husband. I planned how I would prepare for Wildcard to come to me.

A lot has happened since then. I started and left the job. My son’s mental health declined and my daughter’s physical health with it. My finances nosedived again – I have now spent the money I have saved for Wildcard’s move to the UK, just to survive. The world has descended into financial crisis with rising costs for food and fuel and electric. My dreams of Wildcard coming have faded.

This week, the deputy Headteacher at my new school has thanked me for all I’ve done and told me that she will do all she can to keep me there. There’s no guarantee of a job of course, my contract is a maternity cover and they would need to make a new job for me. There’s also no guarantee that it would pay what I deserve.

I have mixed feelings about it. I am happy there. It is convenient, being local, and the hours are good. I’m working with SEN children which I am passionate about. I’m even enjoying the extra work they are giving me, as they are aware of my background and strengths.

But… I don’t know if I want to be sucked back into that world. There are issues with the place, as documented by the high turnover of staff. They won’t be able to offer me a role back to what I am capable of, even if they wanted to. I could apply for other jobs, more appropriate to my experience and earn good money again. A stab of fear tuns through me at the thought. Whilst I’m happy, I know that’s not what I want for the rest of my life. I know that I still yearn to use this old house and land for some good. I know that I want to be my own boss and to do something that I am passionate about.

How can I start something when I have nothing?

I can’t believe that after nearly two years, I’m still in limbo land. I sometimes wonder if some of my desperation for Wildcard is linked to having a sense of purpose, a direction, a partner. When I dreamed of him coming here, I had a focus. I pictured us working on the house together, building a life together.

Maybe part of what I’ve been feeling this year, is recognition that I can’t put that pressure on him (even if he doesn’t know why). This is my life, my career, my house, my responsibility. Whether he comes, or not, those facts won’t change.

We could talk about my terror that he’s going to decide to come and my house isn’t ready but it would be pointless because I don’t think it will happen. And that’s it, isn’t it? I no longer am confident he will come.

I needed to get my head out of cloud 9. All my hopes and dreams were wrapped up in him. Now, I’m sitting in a rundown house and realising that whilst I dreamed, the outside world continued to age and decay.

Unfortunately, whilst this post has helped me admit some home-truths, it hasn’t yet yielded any of the answers I need. I can only hope that with the clarity that’s dawning, answers – a path – are on their way.