My first love was Andrew Benfield. I met him in church youth group when I was 17. I knew we were friends, what I didn’t know was that Andrew didn’t believe a boy and a girl could be just friends, so I guess he’d already set his sights on me. I was completely oblivious and my self esteem was so fragile I didn’t imagine anyone could like me in that way. Despite his intentions, he was far too afraid to ask me out, so eventually I asked him.

I was at sixth form college, he was already working. He drove a brand new, sporty car. He showered me with gifts. He seemed so much more grown up than me. He appeared so self assured, although I realise now it was all bravado. He actually believed he and his family were somehow special, untouchable even, ‘because we’re Benfields’. He actually was incredibly insecure. And he was disabled with a terminal heart defect.

We were married two years later, roughly at the end of the 6 months – 2 years life expectancy his consultant had given him. For me, at least, it didn’t take long for the cracks to appear. I was so young and had no idea how an adult relationship should look. I knew my parents were pretty dysfunctional so I looked to my in-laws, not understanding how my father in law was actually a controlling bully. He was very clever, generally appeared jovial and charming. And it seemed Andrew learned a lot from his father.

I loved him, and stayed with him despite a lack of intimacy, despite always being made to feel like I was too much, or not enough. Having no financial autonomy. Being told what to wear and how to style my hair. Having to account for where I’d been and who I’d been with. Never being able to resolve conflict, because he couldn’t accept his point of view could ever be wrong. Constantly being criticised and undermined. Laughed at. I just kept quiet, kept my head down, bit my tongue. For twenty years, eighteen and a half of them married.

I didn’t leave because I didn’t believe I could survive alone. And certainly no one else would ever love me. That’s what I’d been drip fed over years. My spirit was broken. And we were still attending a church that frowned on divorce big time.

The absolute redeeming feature of being married to Andrew, was the arrival of our incredible son ten years into the marriage. How the heck we managed to conceive a child given the rarity of any sexy time is still beyond me. But being a father changed Andrew for the better. He still hid his insecurities behind controlling behaviour, but not so much. And he was a great hands on dad.

When Andrew died aged 40 and well meaning people told me God needed him, I’m afraid my response was, “More than his 8 year old son did?” Christopher always had his daddy at home with him and the loss absolutely destroyed him. They had doted on each other.

It would be great to say my first love was a ‘happy ever after’ sort of love story, but life’s not always like that. It is as it is.