Today I want you to write the moment you decide not to hire someone to do a job.

I’ve been renovating my house, or rather decorating it. And that offers an option: pay someone or do it myself. I have self-esteem issues of thinking of myself as someone who can’t do these types of things. But in my year of remaking myself I’ve come to trust my gut. And well, ADHD means you can hyperfocus and learn new tasks, so I have tiled my porch (vinyl stick-ons, mind) and painted my living room (albeit just two walls so far).

You pick up the brush. You accept the wobble of your hand, the paint kissing the skirting board, the drip you’ll leave to dry like a small confession. Let it be reclamation. Let it be yours.

Write in two currents; the child you were speaking to the adult you are, and the adult answering back. Keep it present tense. Let them watch each other.

Include at least three concrete details of the room: the thrum of the roller, a radio in another room, the ladder bruise on the wall, a smear on your wrist, paint splotches on your favourite jeans.

Somewhere, place the line: “This is mine. This is me. I did this.”

If painting isn’t your image, swap it for tiling a wall, fixing a hinge, learning a small repair, staying sober through the evening. The work is the same: slow, imperfect, brave.

End with proof that holds: a drying wall. A not-quite-straight edge you decide to keep. The room breathing with your colour.

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