By Eve Bell

I’m writing this on the first night after the clocks have gone back.

When it is dark at 5pm.

It’s the time when I stop doing things at night and I declare my hibernation is beginning.

Fairy lights, PJs at 5pm and cosy nights in.

And I have always said it is my favourite thing to be cosy.

But tonight I saw a tweet that stopped me in tracks.

And I wondered.

Is loving being cosy a story I have told myself for the past 30 years?

Is the true story that I am scared of going out in the dark?

Which I am and pretty much always have been.

I can count on one hand the number of times I have been out on my own where I had to go back to the car or get on public transport by myself.

And when I have been in this position, I have spoken to my husband on the phone the whole way home.

I just don’t put myself in that position if I can help it.

I hibernate. I say no to invitations.

It’s only recently since the murder of Sarah Everard by a policeman, that I have been questioning the stories I have been telling myself.

I’m not the biggest fan of candles and cosy.

I’m scared of being out on my own at night.

And have been since I can remember.

Not even flinching when my mum gave me a rape alarm as a teenager.

It says a lot that I have conditioned myself to be ok with that.

My daughter will be entering her teenage years next year.

And it will be soon time to tell her that she will need to be careful

To give her a checklist of things to watch out for.

I feel rage.

While I sit and type this in my PJs under fairy lights.

Photo by lilartsy on Unsplash