The stories we don't tell

39 years ago, I turned two, in a little council house in North London. 

It was semi-detached on the corner of the estate. No one bothered to pick up the crisp packets or cans that passers-by threw over the hedge into our front garden, so it always looked a state. Inside the house wasn’t much better.

Nicotine stained the grey paisley wallpaper, the carpets were warn, yellowing net curtains covered the small windows, and a small bulbous black and white TV with a metal hanger for an aerial sat in the corner of the living room. I shared the house with my mum and dad, my moody little brother, who had the cutest pout going, and our two cats (Ginny and Brandy).

When we had mates over, we’d eat our dinner (oven chips, beans, Findus crispy pancakes) on a plank of wood across the sofa, while we watched the telly. All of our friends thought this was next-level cool.

Was it a good childhood overall? I don’t know for sure, because my memories are few, but it definitely wasn’t all puppies and rainbows, and my early teenage years saw some traumatic events that never quite left me. 

After an awkward transition to semi-adult, I happily launched into a world of Rage Against the Machine, Nirvana and recreational drugs at 15. My mates from school and I would bunk off to hang out with public school boys in a Hampstead Graveyard. At weekends we'd all go to Camden dressed like we couldn't afford new clothes (handy). 

I left school at 16 with four GCSEs (the only four I took, which is a 100% pass rate), and my first job was in a leather shop in Camden. My boss was an idiot. “You must wear high heels and no sitting down! Go get coffee”. 

I left, and tried my hand as a painter and decorator, with a dodgy bloke who got me to pretend to be a budding interior designer. After an altercation with my boss, in which my boyfriend (a better looking but nastier version of Frank Bruno) forced him to pay me what I was owed, I went to college to do a BTEC in Film and Media.  

When I passed, I was told the qualification wasn’t worth the paper it was written on as far as universities were concerned, and the idea was to take on an unpaid internship somewhere. I was like, WTF? (In the days before WTF existed) Who’s gonna pay the rent? 

Back to the drawing board. 

After a couple of years of raving by weekend and temping by week, with assignments including Public Relations Assistant at the Ministry of Defence in Whitehall, where we smoked at our desks whilst listening to the radio, I got a ‘Job for Life’ as a Personal Assistant for the local Council at 22. My dad was like “My work here is done”. 

“My work here is done”. 

Whilst my accent, gender and age weren’t on my side when it came to stepping into a management role, they did get me a space in the boardroom (under the guise of note taking) and that’s where I started to learn how people play politics. 

Then I fixed myself up. I got the right attitude, stopped partying, moved in with a bunch of girls I found on the internet, and I applied for the council’s leadership programme, which, along with some incredible mentors, catapulted me out of the Council and into a role as Head of PR and Communications.

Up I stepped onto the first rung of the ladder to freedom! I loved that job. So many firsts. First time managing a team. First time working with Americans. First mistake in print. First time preparing Vice Presidents for the Select Committee. First time misquoted by the Daily Mail.

It was exciting, it was a challenge, and it was a new world.

Let me ask you a question

?                Where is your family home?

?                What did you do for A-levels? 

?                Where did you go to university?

?                What does your dad do? 

?                And your mum?

?                Where do you go on family holidays?

?                Won’t your parents help with your house deposit?

These might just sound like simple questions, and it’s probably obvious (hopefully, anyway) that there’s no shame in the answers whatever they are, but when you’ve surfaced into a world where everyone else has very different answers, it can be painful and confusing. 

The time before

It’s taken me many years to stop judging myself or my parents for where we come from. It’s taken me this long to stop being angry, to stop feeling resentful, and to start being proud. 

Life has never been straightforward or easy to negotiate. Until I learnt to have no regrets, I was full of them. In the past I suffered from (painfully) low self-esteem, which showed up in the way I allowed myself to be treated, and the way I treated others.  And (thanks to the therapy I can afford these days) I know that part of that is because we didn’t have the perfect childhood. 

But, who’s fault is that? The fact is, not only did our parents grow up with the added difficulties of children’s homes and catholic boys’ schools, but they grew up in a time before. 

A time before depression wasn’t a personal tailing. Before abandonment wasn’t your own fault. Before self-help books. Before we talked about feelings. Before we talked about sexual abuse. A time before we started to close the prejudice gaps. 

Whatever their class or creed, our parents were brought up in a time far less safe than ours. And we have been brought up in a time less safe than that of future generations will be. The access to the information and insights we have these days gives much more strength... and far less excuses.

The new narrative

These days, I’m proud of being a council estate girl, with a cheeky brother, and cool, rebellious parents that brought us up proper good, with the right ethics and freedom to make our own choices. 

These days, I think twice before judging someone for being too chavvy, too poor, too addicted, too mouthy, too religious, too different, or even too rich. 

Because we’re ALL just doing what we can with what we’ve been given. 

Surely our differences are our strengths, not our weaknesses. We all got to wherever we are today by working through struggles that were unique to each of us, but we were never alone in the struggle. 

I believe that we're closer to seeing the change we need to see in this world than you might think. But we need to do the inner work first. If we can tell the stories we don't tell, be honest about how we feel, and start to trust ourselves, then change will come.

Whatever your stories are, I hope you can tell them proudly.