Kindness

In a childhood shrouded in silence, shifting narratives, and unpredictable adult moods, moments of true, unburdened safety were rare. But when I look back at my infant years in Hertfordshire, one figure stands out like a beacon against the fog.

She lived opposite us a retired, active woman who was an artist. Unlike the other friends my mother made throughout my life, this neighbor was different. I don't ever remember her coming over to drink or sit for endless cups of coffee. She maintained a gentle, quiet boundary, but she saw me. And in her own quiet way, she offered a hand.

She offered to look after me, and for a brief period before I started primary school, she would take me to an outdoor swimming pool.

I don't remember the exact conversations we had on those trips, but I remember how I felt: I was never scared around her. I looked forward to those swimming lessons with a quiet excitement. For an hour or two, I was just a child in the water learning to swim.

Stepping into her home was like entering a completely different world. It was filled with beautiful artwork she had created. There was no heavy smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the air. On her wall hung a photo that fascinated me: her daughter in her graduation gown. She would speak about her daughter with a warmth and pride that felt entirely foreign yet deeply awe-inspiring to me. Looking at that photo, I was amazed. It was my very first glimpse of what it looked like for a mother to celebrate her child’s education and future.