My daughter, having waiting 6 months for a property, has been shown (and accepted) a flat. She has 4 days to move out between picking the keys up yesterday and having to be out of where she is now on Monday. It’s all go, and there’s almost no time to think. It’s completely unfurnished, not even carpets, though she is getting some help with that.

But, this is her own place. A locked front door. Privacy. Responsibility. And it’s all hers.

She’ll be able to make it hers, paint it, decorate it, move things around… she’s going to have so much fun! The immediate issues are the white goods, and a bed, everything else can happen in time.

I am super proud of her. To have got to where she is now from where she was then, even just 2 years ago, is remarkable. She’s remarkable. I’m excited for her, and having to keep that in check as she needs to do this for herself, no matter how much I want to go running over and help her with everything. She’s growing up, and I’m having to let her. I don’t feel ready.

I feel sad, in a way, that this huge milestone is indicative of change. I’ve never been good with change, though I’m learning to be, and it’s exciting and new and fantastic. But it’s also tinged with sadness at the journey it’s taken her to get here. How very hard things have been for her. How brave and resilient she has had to become. How her dark humour hides her pain, when we talk about her past, her father and his deliberate absence, her poor mental health in her teens, and the hurdles she’s had to get through in order to be who she is today. It makes me sad for her that it’s been so hard on her, but I am so proud of who she is today. The young adult she is now. I’d list her qualities but we’d be here all day, suffice it to say she is an excellent human and I love her so, so much.

And she is a young adult. No longer a child in need of constant guidance. I hope the navigation panel I’ve taught to her over the years will steer her in the right direction, even though her journey is likely to take many detours and hit numerous bumps along the road. I trust I’ve taught her well enough to navigate her path with kindness, determination, and resilience.

I’ll always be here, whenever she needs me, for whatever guidance and support I can continue to offer her. She knows that, she always will. To continue the naval metaphor, I am no longer her captain, but a port she can rest in during stormy weather. The rest of her path is hers, and she is so ready for it.