It’s been a year since my daughter last saw her father. A year in which I’ve faced him in court too many times. A year in which I’ve also faced her questions, confusion and fear about his absence.

It hasn’t been an easy year for either of us. But I’ve tried so hard to make sure that “daddy” isn’t a dirty word here, and I think I’ve succeeded. His picture is still in her bedroom. She’s happy with it being there. She takes things in and out of her room, and on and off display as she feels like it. Maybe one day she’ll replace that photo with something else. Maybe she won’t. Whatever she decides to do will be fine with me.

Today she was playing in her bedroom and came to me with some toys that she didn’t want anymore and had decided to send to the charity shop. Included was a large cuddly toy she chose with her father while they were out one day. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of this particular toy, or elevate it to some sort of sacred status simply because it came from her father. So I asked questions about a couple of the toys she’d decided to get rid of and whether she was sure. “Yes mummy, I’ve got plenty of Barbies and I don’t need this one.” “Yes mummy, I don’t want this monkey any more.” Decision made. Part of me still feels as though I should be holding onto it for her in the future, in case she wants the sentiment of having something he bought for her. But I’m not about to sentimentalise him, and if she’s ready to let this go, I don’t think she’ll miss it in. She is very clear about what does and doesn’t have value to her, and I’m not about to interfere with that.

Yesterday, we were talking and I mentioned that we are now in a new year, because the year starts in January. Out of nowhere, she looked pensive and said “Perhaps my daddy will turn up this year.” I felt winded. Then she asked me “What do you think mummy? Do you think my daddy will turn up this year?” I floundered, desperately trying to think of the best way to answer. (“I bloody hope not” just wasn’t going to cut it!) I told her I didn’t know, but that if there was going to be a meeting between her and daddy, that it wouldn’t come as a surprise to her: it would be planned, and she’d know about it before it happened – he wasn’t going to just turn up one day out of the blue. She seemed happy enough with that and went back to playing with her mermaids.

I’m only too aware of how unsettling it is to not understand the behaviour of another person, nor to be able to predict it. I can’t imagine trying to cope with this kind of behaviour from one of my parents. I’ve tried this past year to ensure my daughter feels in control of as much of her life as she needs to, because sadly her relationship with her father is totally outside of her control. She’s felt sad, scared of losing me too, angry at me, angry and disillusioned with him, worried about him, and has had moments of self doubt when she’s taken his absence as a reflection on herself, and asked why he doesn’t want her.

One year on, I’m hoping the worst is over. And very recently I’ve noticed something new. A couple of times when we’ve been with my dad, Unni’s called him “daddy”. (This is completely different from when she was previously shortening “grandad” to “dad”.) I stopped and checked that she understood that he was her grandad and not her daddy (or that he was my daddy and not her daddy). Both times, she’s told me “Yes I know that, but I haven’t seen my daddy for a long time so I’m going to call grandad daddy”.

It feels a little like a badge of honour. That she feels “daddy” should be the most prominent male adult in her life, and she no longer recognises her father as that.

She doesn’t call her grandad daddy with any sort of regularity. She calls him grandad, or uses his name, or one of the nicknames she’s devised for him. But just occasionally, she’ll use “daddy” and (probably because I’ve asked her about it a couple of times!) follows up by explaining why she’s called him that.

I’ve no doubt that this will pass. Like everything else, it’s a step in her processing his absence. And her own way of understanding the hierarchy of people in her life.

One year on, and I’m still scared. Scared that he’s going to make me pay for each of those 365 days, and those that follow. But it’s a fear I’ve learned to live with. It doesn’t control me. And I don’t make many concessions to it in my daily life. There are a few, but that’s a compromise I can live with.

I still have nightmares. About him. About the threats he made. About being back in that relationship.

I still get triggered by the most innocuous of things. A certain smell sent my brain reeling recently, and I came closer to panic than I’ve been in years. Fortunately for me, I have a wonderfully supportive partner who responds with compassion and positivity if and when something triggers me. I hate when it happens. It makes me feel weak and I resent the fact that his impact is still making itself felt. But this year I’ve found the strength to recognise and admit that it’s happening. Each trigger gives me an opportunity to plan a strategy for coping, and put it into place. I’m stronger than any damage he’s inflicted. And having seen my daughter through the turmoil of the first year of his absence, and having dealt with the legal side of things, I can now focus on myself a little more. I don’t have to keep papering over the cracks because of more pressing matters that I have to have my game face on for. I’m not afraid to admit that the cracks are there. I know now that I’m not going to fall into them. This past year, I’ve proved that. There are cracks. But slowly and surely, I’m healing them.

One year on, it feels like a lifetime in so many ways. I have a clear recollection from early last year, suddenly realising I was doing things for myself for the first time in a very long time. I was beginning to thrive, and I recognised it. It felt terrifying and overwhelming. But I vowed to continue it. And I’m still thriving. It’s a work in progress. But it’s one I can be proud of.

One year on, we’re happy. Long may that continue.