The last two things I got from my ex, besides emotional trauma and self-discovery, was a plant and a mug. I called the plant Tyger, after the actor from Outnumbered, and created for him a persona that would remind me of all misguided love interests and I could smile at it fondly with an overly affected maturity. Like Sara Pascoe creating an entire TV show about making a TV show to successfully voice her feelings about love and absent fatherhood. This was cheaper and I don’t have any diagnosed daddy issues. 

I posted a picture of Tyger on Instagram to aid the healing process with a witty caption that was supposed to disguise my pain. It went like this:

“This is Tyger. He’s a professional figure skater who is forever partial to the odd shortbread biscuit. Hard to describe Tyger because he’s always full of surprises. Loves to travel but is always home in time for tea. Watching him evolve is enchanting.” #plantsandpals

I kept Tyger for another year until I grew sick of his stubborn survival. Even though I hated him and purposefully never watered him, he still refused to die. He was forcefully composted for his own good and mine also. I grew into an emotionally intelligent and fiercely honest woman. I didn’t stick around to see what he grew into. 

Heartache took much longer to grow into but I guess that’s the same for writing and producing your own TV show. Nothing good happens quickly. 

I took the mug to a charity shop along with some old clothes I’ve outgrown. Watching me evolve really has been enchanting.