Today Im 33, but I still remember with embarrassment what I did when I was 18, nearly 19.
I was studying at university and life was comfortable.
We werent wealthy, but we wanted for nothing.
My mum was a maths teacher at the local secondary school, and my dad worked as a dentist.
Our home was always steady, stocked with food, and kept in good order.
We had a cleaner who came round, so my only real responsibility was to keep my bedroom tidy and focus on my studies.
From a young age, Id got used to the idea that my only job was to get good marks and avoid causing trouble.
At uni, I had a boyfriend for over a year.
He was quiet, came from similar circumstances to mine, worked hard at his course, politemy parents thought the world of him.
We went to the cinema, shared a bit of ice cream, strolled through the city parks.
It was all steady, predictable, no drama.
Back then, I didnt realise that sort of stability was such a privilege.
One night at a coursemates house party, I met someone else.
He arrived on a motorbike, dressed completely differently, loud, laughing at everything, didnt bother with university, worked in a local garage.
From that evening, he started seeking me out.
Messages, waiting for me outside the campus gates, telling me I was far too lovely to be with boring types.
I started sneaking out with him, lying to my boyfriend, my parents, my friends.
Life with the mechanic was all rushrides on the bike, pints at the crammed pub, blasting music, wild dashes through side streets.
I felt alive, changed, rebellious.
Only a few months later, he asked if Id move in with him.
I couldnt bring myself to break up with the good boyfriendI had no idea how to deal with the falloutbut I agreed to leave anyway.
One evening, I packed my things, slipped out without my parents noticing, left a note, and walked away.
I headed over to his place, where he lived with his parents.
Thats when reality set in.
The house was small, messy, stiflingly hot.
Instead of getting up for lectures, suddenly I was up making breakfast, sweeping, scrubbing floors, cleaning the bathroom, washing clothes by hand.
My culinary repertoire stretched no further than rice and a few fried sausages.
His mum would give me the cold shoulder if tea was too plain; his dad grouched about everything.
I used to cry in the bathroom, feeling utterly useless.
I ended up dropping out of universitythere was no money for bus fare, no time to study.
He started to change.
At the garage, hed down pints every day, because of the heat, and vanish at weekends with his mates.
Hed roll in drunk, shout at me, grumble the house wasnt spotless, accuse me of not knowing how to be a proper woman.
He said I was spoilt, useless, claimed my parents had raised me to be feeble.
I felt absolutely trapped.
I had no money, no education, nowhere to go.
Day after day passed, and my mind drifted to the life Id left: my clean room, my cosy bed, my notebooks, my mum checking if Id eaten, my dad giving me lifts.
I thought about the boyfriend Id abandonedhow gentle he was, how he looked out for me.
I couldnt comprehend why Id traded it all away.
One day, I made up my mind.
I didnt tell a soul.
They sent me to the cheap supermarket about half an hour away on footthey knew I always dawdled.
I left with an empty shopping bag, walked a couple of streets then, instead of turning towards the shop, I caught a bus back to my parents.
My hands shook the whole way, terrified how theyd react.
When I arrived, my mum opened the door.
She was speechless for a few momentsand then she just burst into tears.
Me too.
It had been nearly ten months since theyd heard from me.
My dad came out, hugged me silently.
That night, I slept in my own bedclean, safe, no shouting, no fear.
I could never win the good lad backhed moved on.
But I got my family back.
I returned to university.
I started learning again.
And I finally faced a hard truth: I wasnt unhappy before.
My life wasnt dull.
It was secure.
I was the one who couldnt appreciate the good until Id lived through the bad.
