Three years ago, I stood in the middle of Heathrow Terminal 5 with a roll of silver duct tape and a deep sense of personal shame. My ‘indestructible’ polycarbonate carry-on—which I won’t name yet, but you can guess—had split right down the seam because a gate agent decided to treat it like a shot put. …
Last Tuesday, I spent three hours sitting in my car in my own driveway because I couldn’t face going inside. It wasn’t that my house was messy or my family was annoying—though both were true—it was just that I needed a wall that wasn’t my wall. I needed a shower where the handle didn’t jiggle. …
