Lots of little steps can take you a long way. Although some of mine are still on tippy toes as I head towards the future, the progress is there all the same.
This week I popped down to the town hall to sort out my council tax. Those of you living alone will know that we get a small discount on the bills.
It's based, I imagine, on the idea that we put less in our bins and generally have a reduced need for local services. For me, queueing up for a chat with a very nice lady was a significant step forward.
When it was my turn I began with: "My son has moved out, been evicted, I suppose, and I can't have him back there - so now it's just me."
Of course she wanted more details, firstly of Matt, since he was on the electoral roll for Madmum's address. And we needed to clear up that he hadn't just gone away for a short while and was coming back. There's no discount for that.
Fortunately I'd come armed with a stack of evidence concerning his departure and began to tip out the contents of my bag.
The council tax lady started to flick through the pile - police letters offering advice after assaults by Matt, a record of him being arrested at Madmum's Cottage, copies of his bail for stealing my credit card, the whole sorry tale with dates to support my claim.
"If you don't mind me asking, how on earth did you go through all this for months on end? It must have broken your heart," said the council lady.
"Well, actually that's just a snapshot of the last few months," I admitted.
"I hung on in there for more than three years. As for a broken heart, it's definitely a bit sore and I reckon it will take longer to heal than some of the real bruises I picked up along the way."
By the end of our session the council tax had been chopped and the discount backdated to the very first time I said: "Enough is enough."
There was a small amount still owed from the months Matt lived with me.
I could choose to have it added to my direct debit and spread over the remaining part of the financial year, or pay by one of the cards he hadn't pinched.
It was an easy choice. "I'll pay right now," I told the lady. "I need to move this on and every bit of paperwork I sort takes me nearer to a settled life."
So I left, adding a receipt and council confirmation of a tax reduction to my bundle of life-changing documents.
Two hours later Matt rang. Could I write a letter confirming his eviction, was the request. He was going down the council because a lovely woman there reckoned she could help him get a cheap flat. Great!
