2003

In 2003, over the Christmas period, I found myself inexplicably homeless. Inexplicable because I had been with my then partner for the best part of a decade, we lived together, I was 5 months pregnant with our second child, and couldn't conceive a situation whereby we would split. Ever.


He had chosen my pregnancy as the perfect time to conduct an affair. With someone who would have been in primary school when we first met.

The discovery was painful, but the lies that surrounded his deception were so much worse. That was what really destroyed me, that I could have been with someone for so long and yet they could so casually and effectively pick me to pieces.

When I asked him how he would feel if the same were done to my replacement, the cruelty that he had shown towards me was forgotten, and the pain that showed on his face was genuine and obvious. He would never want her to hurt like I was. He did not care that I was in such a horrific situation. His one concession to my discomfort was that I "couldn't even have a drink as I was pregnant". His concern was with his new partner and how they could be together.

Of course I tried to bargain with him. I cajoled him. I begged him. He said he would call it off with her. I spoke about getting a flat in another location; he said get it and then I will come later. He hadn't split with her. He never intended to come with me. It was all lip service, and his concern was to preserve his "rights" and those of his family, rather than treating me and his unborn child with even a modicum of respect. I would still have given anything to stay with him, even though I knew I didn't love him and hadn't for years, even though I was with him only because I was scared of being alone, even though I knew he could never commit to me or our son.

I knew that he had slowly destroyed who and what I was and what I stood for. Under his control, with his constant passive aggression directed at me, with his verbal jibes, I became someone I disliked and didn't want to be. I had been just as emotionally violent and manipulative towards him. We were destroying each other in bitterness and unpleasantness.

It was a horrible Christmas, where I went from one sofa to another, with no one really wanting me to stay with them seeing ad I was so pregnant and frankly really quite mental.

I tried to find somewhere to stay, but no one wanted to take me, the baby and the cat, and I couldn't leave my girl behind. I was desperate, and sinking into a heavy depression.

In the meantime I paid my share of rent, co habited with him for a time as he brought her back to our flat and I cried myself to sleep. More sofas followed, and I thought I was going mad.

I never considered for a moment making him leave our flat - as I chose to make myself homeless, regardless of the intolerability if my situation, I wasn't entitled to any assistance or help. I was, quite literally, screwed. There was no choice but to help myself, and take a dingy, cold, unheated second floor flat above a shop, where the tenant downstairs dealt drugs an ha constant parties, where the people next door banged the metal gate underneath my flat's bedroom, where I would cry myself to sleep every night without fail.

I was lonely, I was terrified and I wanted to die. I used to plan how I could do it, and the only thing that kept me grasping on to reality was the fact that I refused to be beaten, because as someone I know pointed out to me a few months back, I am an obstinate and stubborn sow.

I was homeless for a time, but I was fortunate enough that I could afford to find myself somewhere to live. Admittedly it was grotty, but it was mine, I had the key to the door and no one could get in an out without my permission. I was lucky to be safe. I was lucky to have a job. I was lucky to not only be about to meet my future, but to be giving birth to my future and have something tangible and real.

And on those nights that I sobbed, on those nights when re baby wouldn’t stop crying, on the days when I had to decide which days I would eat that week, I never forgot that we had a roof over our head, The Boy always had what he needed but most importantly that we were safe. I remember, when The Boy was a month or so old, seeing a programme about kids that lived from rubbish tips, who had no parents, only each other, where the head of the group was 7 years old. I held my boy close to me and wept. It was the first time that I held him without fear, the first time that I kissed him because it suddenly struck me that everything I was doing was going through the motions with him. I knew then that, regardless of how bad things may get, always, always we would have each other, and that despite my insanity would never change.

It's a sad fact that many others are not this lucky. They will spend Christmas in situations that any decent human being would not find to be tolerable conditions.

These will be people from all walks of society, from all genders, and from all familial structures.

There is something you can do. You could start caring a bit more about everything and everyone around you. You could notice the dude you see every morning on the way to work, bring him a sandwich or just say hello. You could motivate yourself to buy the Big Issue. You could donate to Shelter, you could donate to Crisis, you could go help at a soup kitchen. You could donate to charities that help re-house long term homeless people. You could give your money. You could give your sandwich. You could give your time.

Most importantly, you could give a damn, and see how very, very lucky you are that it isn't you.

Operation Christmas Child 2009

One of my main identifiers is my status as a parent. When I was pregnant with The Boy, nobody warned me. Nobody warned me that, quite insidiously, this little person would come to dominate my thoughts, my actions, and would influence me in all that I did. Since having him, I genuinely want to be the best person I can be. I want to make sure that I never do anything that he can't respect, nothing that will embarrass him. I want to make the world a better place for him to live in, and I'll do what I can to make that happen.

Whilst pregnant with The Boy, I found myself unexpectedly single. I was in a strange situation where I was funding two places to live as I was still in a joint tenancy lease as well as having my own place, I was trying to buy items for the impending arrival of my child, and I was striving to keep as rational a mind as possible.

After I had The Boy, I had very little money. I was struggling to balance things fiscally, and ensuring that the money coming in covered what was going out, without the financial contribution of his biological father, or additional government help other than child benefit. It was a frightening time, one made more so by the very real concern that, if I fucked this up, it would have very grave consequences.

Despite this, have no doubt that the good of the situation far outweighed the bad. For the lack of money, we had an abundance of love and fun, and that, for me, went a long way to compensate for the material things we couldn't afford.

Money keeps you secure, keeps you fed, keeps you accommodated, but life is very long without fun.

The first Christmas The Boy and I spent together was a terrifying time. As a child, we had Christmas' were we didn't have presents, and I didn't want this to happen to my child. It wasn't the idea of the presents, or lack of, that concerned me. It was the fear that he would think that I didn't care - that no one cared for him.

I could afford one gift (a small bear, that he still has, that cost £1 from Adams). It wasn't much, but we had each other, we had a flat, we had food and we had love. I made decorations, prepared and hoped that it would be okay.

In the lead up to Christmas, something amazing happened. My darling friends deluged me with presents for The Boy. It meant so much to me that he wouldn't know the confusion of not getting anything, and it meant more that this was understood as my concern rather than a desire for things for him.

Things improved for us, greatly, and in subsequent years there was more available money. As this happened, I was determined to put something back. The first year, I contributed a present to Help a London Child, and bought small presents for local children who would have otherwise been in The Boy's situation. This increased over time. I still do this (along with stockings for local children), but I wanted to let you know about Operation Christmas Child.

Operation Christmas Child is a way to send presents to children who are living under almost unimaginable conditions. These kids live in a way that none of us will ever have to endure.

All you need to do is fill a shoebox with presents, for which there are suggestions, which you give to your local drop off point.

Could you imagine the joy of getting a shoebox of presents, when you have never received anything before? The happiness of a few things that were just for you? It is unimaginable to us to not have that. It is inconceivable to me that any person should be denied that, especially a child.

And yes - this blog is overly sentimental, it's anecdotal, it plays on the most unfair of emotional blackmails - but you could do this. You could change a child's life. Imagine.

Operation Christmas Child will be collecting boxes until November 18th 2009. You can get additional information at http://www.operationchristmaschild.org.uk/pages/what-OCC