One of my fondest childhood memories is from when I was about six or seven.  I was in Mrs Peters’ class at school; a teacher who was warm, fun, exciting, loving – everything Mum lacked at that time. I loved Mrs Peters with a passion. I loved her wild, wavy red hair, and most of all I loved her vibrancy.

I was a shy little girl, lacking in confidence, and Mrs Peters often took me under her wing and made me feel safe. The best times in her class were Friday afternoons. That time was known as ‘Free Time’, and I looked forward to it all week.

After lunch, Mrs Peters would announce it was free time; we’d go over to the wall where she had put up a circular piece of card with six different coloured sections. We’d each spin the dial and see where it landed. Whatever it landed on was what we would spend the afternoon doing. It could be arts, crafts or music, sand play, water play, painting or free choice. I don’t remember doing the activities; I just remember hoping it would land on free choice. I loved being able to decide what I would spend the afternoon doing, completely my choice. Whenever I landed on free choice, I remember feeling elated, although I don’t recall what I chose to do. I do remember Mrs Peters would sometimes – when it landed on something other than free choice – allow me to do whatever I felt like doing anyway.

Thinking back makes me question this.

It seems so obvious to me now that choice has always been so important in my life, as far back as I can remember. Is this the same for every single person? Does everyone have a driving need to have choices in their life, or was I so desperate for choices because I didn’t have many? I honestly don’t know.

What I do know, though was as I got older, I didn’t seem to have many choices. Until I left home at eighteen, Mum still chose all my clothes for me. We never got a say in what we ate; we ate what we were given. We didn’t make choices as a family very often; we were told what we were doing. Maybe this was a normal 1970s/80s childhood. Things weren’t as they are now. I notice that I sometimes find it hard to make a decision, possibly because I never had to do that as a child; all decisions were made for me.

Strangely, given my need for choice, I went on to fall in love with Tom, a man who made it almost impossible for me to have choices. He decided everything from how the house was decorated to what work we’d have done, to where we ate and even how long I should sleep for.

Isn’t that odd? That I would ‘choose’ to fall in love with a man who took away something that is so important to me.

In the last few days I’ve been questioning why I am so vehemently single. Why I don’t feel lonely. Why I don’t ever long for a man or for love in my life. Why I don’t miss being held, or the sex or the company or anything that comes with a relationship.

I wonder if I fear so strongly my choices being taken away again? Of meeting someone, knowing that in some ways, a lot of ways, I will have to stop thinking of just mine and the kids’ needs and wants, but have to factor in someone else’s too. That could leave my wheel of choice less multi-coloured, and yet I find this so odd because meeting and falling in love ten years ago actually brought about the most wonderful times and feelings I’d ever had in my life. Until it all went so wrong.