As a child I always felt weird inside, like something was out of place. Little did I know that it was me who needed to find her place.

After my crisis, everyone became more supportive and realised I was vulnerable. I learnt how to cope better by expressing myself when I felt too much pressure instead of pretending I was invincible. For me, it was the beginning of the realisation that I don’t have to sound like Aretha or anyone else. I just have to sound like me.

It was those conversations at the Rape Crisis Centre that gave me a clearer understanding of the impact of trauma, and how it’s possible to not be treated as a powerless victim. I don’t want to be pitied. I’m very uncomfortable with that. I want options and opportunity, and I want to be listened to and respected. I don’t want anyone to do all that for me because then I’ll never learn how to do it for myself. Songwriting is very cathartic and provides a method for doing that. In those days, I couldn’t find the words in conversation to express how I felt, but strangely I could sing them.

Back then, a shaven-headed black girl was seen as quite radical and made some people uncomfortable, but I also realised the thing I’d been trying to run away from was what people liked about me the most – that I was uncompromising with my look. If you try to conform, I concluded, you’re taking away your own power, putting your best asset away in a box, so instead I decided to accentuate and love my differences.

So, after all the positive things that I had come to believe about myself, like being open and political about my sexuality, I suddenly found myself having to be guarded about my life. I tried to get round it by convincing myself I was just being economical with the truth, but you get yourself into trouble pretending to be single when you’re not.