Freedom is something I’ve been chasing for as long as I can remember.
As a young child, I wandered far beyond the boundaries my parents expected. I’d disappear on long walks, exploring places I wasn’t supposed to go. Then Mum sent me to Sunday School. I still remember the huge statue of Christ on the crucifix — it frightened me. I walked home. Mum was called, and she told me off. I was really young, but the memory is still sharp.
Early Restlessness
As a teenager, that restlessness grew into rebellion. I ran away from home thirty‑two times — always searching for a life that felt like it belonged to me. It wasn’t glamorous. I hitchhiked, put myself in danger, and left Mum not knowing where I was. My friends said I was mean to her. They were probably right. But inside my teenage mind, I was aching for something I couldn’t name. I wanted my dad back.
After he died of cancer, something in me broke. I refused school. I refused rules. I refused everything. Mum tried everything she could — the deputy headmistress from Braunton School, then a policewoman named Linda — but I wouldn’t get out of bed. I was grieving, angry, and lost. I blamed God. Mum called me a heathen when I said there was no God. In my young mind, a loving God wouldn’t have taken my dad. I don’t see it that way anymore, but that was my truth then.
Grief, Depression, and Early Mental Health Struggles
Mum took me to the doctor because I was so distressed. He gave me something to help me sleep — I never knew what it was, but it worked. Later in life, in New Zealand, I finally received proper psychiatric care through Waimarino, with a social worker named Rita and a psychiatrist whose name I still can’t spell. I didn’t trust my psychologist, and I wasn’t the only one. Vera from CADS told me many clients felt the same.
Being Taken Into Care
Back in my teenage years, after running away so many times, a social worker named Mr Spicer came to collect me at lunchtime one day. I was taken into care.
Luscombe House Children’s Home was my first placement — three months of observation and assessment. We weren’t allowed out of the grounds. We had to earn privileges like going to the shop across the road with a staff member. We were allowed two food dislikes and four cigarettes a day if we’d smoked before arriving. It was strict, structured, and nothing like home.
Foster Homes and More Running
Later, I was placed with foster parents — first in South Molton, then in Ilfracombe. The Ilfracombe home had other foster children. I remember a girl named Veronica who liked to play with matches. It scared me, and I told my foster mother. I don’t know what happened to Veronica after that.
I ran away again and was returned to Luscombe House as a kind of punishment. The foster parent daughter ran away too, and I was labelled a bad influence. I didn’t go back. Mum didn’t like that foster mother anyway.
I remember her getting on the bus at Knowle one day, giving me a cuddle. She missed me. She loved me. But she couldn’t control me. I was drowning in grief, sadness, and depression. I used to look for my dad in crowds. I had no closure — I wasn’t allowed to go to his funeral.
Looking back now, I can see the early signs of bipolar disorder in those years. My care records — which I obtained decades later — describe me coming in “high” after going out. At the time, no one understood what was happening inside me.
Understanding the Past
From fourteen to seventeen, I moved between rules, systems, and other people’s expectations. I lived in children’s homes, foster homes, and temporary placements. I was always running — from pain, from grief, from myself.
Now, with distance and maturity, I see the other side of that story. My running didn’t just affect me. It weighed heavily on Mum, who was already struggling with her own grief and mental health. What I once saw as a fight for freedom was also a story of pain, love, and unintended consequences.
What Freedom Means Now
Today, I carry those years not as a life sentence but as a foundation. My journey from Luscombe House to foster homes, from running away to finally leaving care at seventeen, has shaped my understanding of freedom. It isn’t escape. It’s healing. It’s self‑acceptance. It’s the courage to break cycles without breaking ourselves or the people we love.
I now live in New Zealand, where I moved in 1998. A different environment. A chance to rebuild. And it has changed my life in ways I never could have imagined.