Another week, another train. I’m so thankful to be young enough to have my tickets paid for – I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for mum if she had to fork this out every month, let alone every week.

I check the time again; it’s now 10:24 a.m. – two minutes since I last checked. I’ve been making this trip every week for a month, now, and I’m still endlessly worried about somehow missing the train, or boarding the wrong one. With a deep breath, I tell myself to calm down and remind myself there’s still 11 minutes until my train’s arrival.

The conductor blows the whistle before closing all the doors, and I relax in my seat – fortunate enough this week to snag myself a place by a table. I comfortably lay my laptop upon the table and decide which DVD I’m in the mood to watch today; ‘time to give Terminator a go’, I think as I try to recall how long ago my friend gave me a copy of the cinematic classic. The journey to Paddington station is usually an hour and a half, so I’ll have to finish the last 20ish minutes of it on the way back home tonight.

Upon arrival I follow the same trail I’ve memorised for myself; go through the large doors to the food court and grab a ‘meal deal’ from the Sainsbury’s Local; make my way back out into the main station and follow the steps down into the Underground; follow forward and grab the train on the brown line of the map to Baker Street; change over to the grey line and travel to Swiss Cottage; it’s a simple walk up the street to The Laurels from there.

It’s comforting to see some of the same faces every week as we share our feelings and stories through our transitions; though we may not be going through the exact same thing, we can all understand the underlying feeling of discomfort we must each face every day.

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