When I was nineteen and in my first year of university, my housemates cornered me in the kitchen one day, and explained that they didn’t want to live with me in second year. I had a counsellor at the time, M, and he said “that must have hurt.” “No,” I said, “Why would I be hurt?” “How could you not be?” he asked. Years later I realised he was right:it had hurt a lot, but at the time I was either unwilling or unable to admit that, protecting myself from what I really felt. I think I did that a lot back then. I think sometimes I still do. I think maybe everybody does.