I spent some time reading diaries I’d written so long ago when Josh was born, and I realised what a good mum I was.

Considering I was only seventeen when I had him, and given how difficult the circumstances were with my mum and dad, then later with Danny, and being a single parent, I did a really good job. I know there were times, when Josh was a bit older, that I will always regret. Times I lost my patience with him, and times I just got it so wrong, but overall, I was okay. I was better than okay, actually.

I feel really proud of how I raised him because I could have done a far worse job. I could have left him with my parents to go out with friends or out at night, but I never did. I could have neglected his needs for my own youthful needs, but I didn’t do that either. I gave him a home, all that he physically needed and all the love and emotional care that a child needs too. I don’t know why it’s taken me twenty-two years to realise this, but I’m immensely proud of myself for the way I’ve raised my children – with love, kindness, understanding, fun and laughter. My children are happy, kind, polite and caring individuals, and it’s from parenting my children – alone for most of the last twenty-two years – that I can feel my self-esteem starting to grow.

It takes a great deal for me to be able to feel proud of myself for anything; such is the fear that I’m too full of myself or that it would be construed as arrogance or big-headedness, but I know I’m a really good mum, and I know my children are all happy and feel unconditionally loved.

From this truth, I feel the foundations of my self-esteem could begin to develop. It’s okay for me to recognise that I’m good at something despite all of the years of other people telling me that’s not acceptable, or worse, that I’m not good at anything. They’re all wrong. I know that now.