I Feel Angry.

I feel angry. At so many things.

When I caught him cheating, I still kept going to work and earning a decent wage. But when I had to report him for what he did, work wasn’t an option anymore. Two days after I reported him, I tried to go back—I sat in my office bubbling with anger while everyone else was giggling about what they’d done over the weekend. To me, nothing was funny. I was sent home and advised to take sick leave while the case was being investigated.

But I hadn’t yet passed my probation. So now I’ve gone eight weeks on SSP. From earning just under £2,000 a month to £550. Yes, I get some benefits, but they don’t come close to covering bills, food, and the things my daughter needs.

I am angry that he put me in this position. Because while it was technically my choice to follow the advice and take sick leave, it should have never been needed in the first place. I was finally on the straight and narrow—with my routine, my money, being able to treat my daughter to nice things. And now, as I write this, I’m figuring out how to make £275 stretch across £250 worth of bills and still have enough left for food.

People say, “Ask us for help,” or, “Use food banks.” And I appreciate it so much, I really do. But it shouldn’t have to be this way. He shouldn’t have made it this way.

I am angry that my daughter has to wonder why she can’t have dessert after dinner because I can’t afford to buy any. I am angry that she asks why our cats eat our leftovers because I can’t afford their food. And I am insufferably angry that my five-year-old knows the phrase: “It’s okay mam, I can do without.” She is five. I wanted a different life for her. I wanted to take her on holidays this year, to buy her nice things, to cook her lovely meals. Not endless gifts, not luxury, just the kind of life where she doesn’t know the taste of going without. And it is his fault that she now knows those words.

I’m almost 25, and I don’t compare my life to others to compete. But this year alone, I’ve watched my daughter’s dad buy a house, marry his wife, and prepare for a new baby. I’ve watched my daughter’s uncle propose and buy his first home. I’ve watched people my age getting married, buying cars, starting families. And I know—of course I know—that social media hides the ugliness behind closed doors. But I am human. I can’t help but wonder… if I had never met him, would I have bought a house by now? Would I have been engaged to someone who actually loved me? Would my daughter be happier?

And then the anger seeps back in again.

Yes—we have a home, a roof over our heads, and the bare essentials in our cupboards. I have friends and family who adore my daughter as much as I do. She is safe, she is loved, and before anything else, I make sure she is fed, clean, and happy. But the anger is still there, bubbling in my stomach. Because this is not how my life should be.

For now, the anger is heavy, it’s sharp, it eats at me. But it also means I care. It means I wanted more—for me, for my daughter. And maybe, just maybe, that anger is the first step toward something better.