On my final day in Sheffield I took myself on a date. I walked to the top of one of the (many) hills and had a coffee, I listened to the city’s songs, wrote and sipped a cocktail. I wrote a list of all my favourite parts of the city, all my favourite nights and places to spend them, and realised I could fill pages and pages. After three years Sheffield and I are friends tied together by history, and in the last 12 months, we’ve reconciled all our differences after heartbreaks and homesickness tried to corner off its best bits. I felt sad to leave ad I already miss the city so dearly, feeling lucky to have had three years full of friends and locals showing me all the best spots. I miss my regular haunts, so I’ll pass them onto you, should you ever find yourself there. Here’s the list...

For Pretty Things…

Moonko – The place to go for the sweetest gifts for yourself or others. If my time had to be summarised, It would be by my ‘girls are strong’ pin, an accessory that adorns so many women around the city. Go in for cards that always seem to say what you need them to, or for a bunch of dried lavender that will sit next to your bed and be the scent of your sleep-filled nights. And say hi to the owner, follow her on Instagram to see passion and hard-work and care as she fights to save trees and teaches you exactly how to look after that plant.

Mooch – For all the things you never knew you needed; a fur coat, a leather tassel vest, silk gloves, a white micro-purse with a beaded handle and classic sportswear. This shop, as with all others on Division Street, is a treasure trove, the home of hours of procrastination shopping.

Vulgar – Where I went when I needed anything from a panic night out outfit or a hug from the women that work there as professional spending enablers and affirmation-providers. The biggest thing I got from Sheffield, apart from a degree, was an intense earring addiction fuelled almost entirely by Vulgar and their giant hoops and plastic fruit. Go here to learn to be a maximalist; a move you certainly won't regret (or go just to admire the statue of a naked man.)

Syd & Mallory – The gatekeeper of Division Street and the patron saint of Sheffield custom kookiness. I spent my first year admiring their star-adored sheer tops, my second lusting after tongue-in-cheek slogan tees, and my third craving diamonte hair clips proclaiming ‘boss’. Everything is improved by the sound of a sewing machine, making more and new things for you to want next week.

Antiques Quarter – The exact place to spend a Sunday dreaming about other Sundays in fancy houses. Wander out to Abbeydale and dip in and out of antique shops admiring painted dressing tables and talk yourself out of buying falling apart old magazines. Best enjoyed with a coffee in hand from Forge and very little money in the bank to avoid temptation.

St. Lukes – Uphill in Broomhill there’s the perfect charity shop, accepting only vintage. Ask me where my burlesque costumes are from and 90% of the time I’ll point you here, because where else can you guarantee will have a white silk slip skirt and classic bullet bra? Only St. Lukes. And you’ll probably also leave with a purse and a hair scarf you don’t need but couldn’t not get.

For Caffeine...

Steamyard- Sit outside in the courtyard. If its hot; get a Mexican coke and a salted caramel brownie. If its hot; get an oat milk mocha and a brioche roll with brie, and a salted caramel brownie. Always the brownie.

Five Rivers- The home of many essays and hours of revisions. Exam season of first year passed in a flash in the corner of this Vietnamese café, shaking from one too many coffees dripped down onto condensed milk and mixing into sugary caffeinated heaven. Go at breakfast and get a fry up, go at lunch and get pho, go mid-afternoon for a banoffee cheesecake that will change your life, then in the evening, get a cocktail. Go at any time of day and expect a great playlist and a smile from the owner as he wanders round his passion project born from travel with his love.

Birdhouse- Each mum visit came with the struggle of where to go, going over the options in the week before and normally always settling here. Tucked away behind The Moor, Birdhouse is extremely wholesome and serves the most incredible tea lattes from their home-mixed teas. It's glorious and comforting and that’s all there really is to it. No doubt you’ll leave with a bag full of tea leaves; my fave is either vanilla chai, dressed well or their peak district mix.

Tamper – For serious caffeine and naughty brownies go to one of the two tampers. Spend hours here with a book. Have an oat mocha, and a cappuccino, and a chai latte when the caffeine gets too much. A firm fave for the city's creatives; I love sitting and eavesdropping on the meetings surrounding me as I eat my black forest brownie and inevitably bump into a friend.

Ambulo- A very new addition to the city but an immediate favourite. Branded an all-day café, Ambulo offer the ultimate indulgence of giving into cravings. Have sticky toffee pubbing at 10am, have a cocktail at 11am, have porridge at 5pm. Anything goes. Their filter coffee is amazing, but their negroni is even better so maybe just give into yourself and have a cocktail.

Alyssum – Up the hill in Crookesmoor, Alyssum serves life-saving brunches and cake to us students. You’d find me here each morning before a burlesque show chowing down on my pre-show ritual of halloumi, you’d find me dragged here by friends and fed cheer up cake after a bad night.

Nice Neighbourhood – The ability to move seamlessly from daytime coffee to late afternoon beer? Win from me. Add in a roof terrace and a less than 5 min walk from all uni buildings? Big win from me. Home to co-working spaces and offices housing some of the most exciting creatives in the city, this is the perfect place to work and then clock off.

For Feasts...

Nottingham House – You either want Notty House with your entire being or not at all. The craving hits and it must be respected. Take a morning to prepare for the severe bloat that will inevitably follow, get a group of friends, a big pile of gossip and a Guinness to see you through. Enjoy the comfort food coma that only a pie and mash can give you.

Cutlery Works- A new fancy edition allowing Sheffield to boast one of the biggest food courts in Europe. Upon first entry, there's too much choice for your own good. Poutine, pho, pies, arancini, bao buns, sushi; everything. If you can find a table, plant yourself there and sit for hours trying as much as you can until someone needs to roll you out. My fave combo is a glass of red from Fin and Bone and some arancini, orrrr a martini royale from the bar and the cheese and chili bites from Ma-Ba. Recover from the meal by wandering across the road to Church to play some classic video games.

Lucky Fox- Lucky fox is my saviour and my downfall. Too many times I’ve been sat by the window slowly sipping a ginger beer and praying that these fries will heal my hangover. And guess what, they always do. Despite being famous for their fried chicken, as a veggie, I still love this place, deeply. Always fresh, always on point, always a friend when you need it.

To Go And Do...

Museums- Sheffield museums are ever-changing and always interesting. I couldn’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent looping around Graves Gallery or being conscious of my heels on the floor in Weston Park. Sheffield cares about its museums, there's always events and talks, local artists do so much for the space, and the recent addition of Ambulo in the cafes have boosted it ten-fold.

Creative Mornings- On the last Friday of each month Creative Mornings Sheffield hosts a talk. They always provide local coffee, a room full of local creatives, and a huge wave of inspo from a local entrepreneur or artist or expert. I've learnt so much attending these events and hearing talks on all sorts from sustainable farming to sleep to the height you should hang pictures in a gallery. They quickly became a highlight of my month as I bounced out of bed ready to go at 8am, knowing I'd leave ready for a day of productivity and fresh ideas. Creative Mornings run worldwide, but although biased, I think the Sheffield one may be the best, hosted in one of the friendliest cities in the world.

Tramlines- Do not buy a ticket. Don't go all the way over to Hillsborough, stay in town. Run from bar to bar seeing band after band. The city is filled with musicians and during tramlines, each one gets its turn. Everywhere somehow creates a stage, even chip shops and barbers. To support the local scene, stay central. You'll see far more acts, have way more fun, and get far drunker downing pints before running off to the next set on your list.

Park Hill- A living museum (at the moment). My favourite piece of Sheffield history is this old council estate, currently standing half renovated into fancy colourful flats and half desolate and crumbling. In the middle, a bridge, reading ‘I love you will u marry me’ written for a woman named Clare. It's tragic and beautiful, an inspiration for so much Sheffield art from prints to songs to entire musicals. Wander up there, read up on it as you sit in South Street Kitchen with a cappuccino and a view.

Meersbrook Park- I spent so much time here in love and I can’t imagine a better place for it. Walk 20 mins out of the centre and you find the most idyllic neighbourhood and a park that gives you a panoramic view of the city framed by two rows of trees. Go early in the morning, get a coffee from Create, then wander further uphill and pet a goat at Heeley City Farm. I dare you to not want to move there by the end of the day.

Botanical gardens- The botanical gardens held my heart. I met new friends there, I wander holding hands there, I was broken up with there, photographed my book there, said I love you there. It's beautiful and lively in every season, full of dogs being walked and people doing yoga, old people having tea and students sat reading. I could spend hours on the bench there, by the big window inside the pavilion right by the cacti. Out of all the haunted places covered in cobwebs of heartbreak, this was the one I worked hardest to reclaim, nothing with that much life should ever feel dead. And now it exists as my favourite place, very few places give me the sense of calm and peace as those yellow bricks and those giant leaves.

You should probably also go to the peaks. I’ll be honest, in my entire time in Sheffield I’ve been less than 5 times and I’ve only done a walk twice. But go to Hathersage, walk if you want, but definitely get waffles as the social club. I’m much more of a city walker, I could walk for hours around town to Abbeydale back round to Ecclesall and up to the big houses of Endcliffe. The peaks are beautiful but go to Meersbrook, go to Crookes Valley, go to Graves. Don’t neglect the city for its borders.

For Drinks...

Gatsby- The taste of a Ginny Hendrix (gin, triple sec, apple juice, cucumber, lemon & mint) is the flavour of so many events; my book launch, catch up lunches, dates, third-year freshers week. I think Gatsby is my favourite place for drinks. It’s so central, got anything you could want plus great music and a theme referencing one of my favourite books. Go in the evening and sit on the cool metal table by candlelight, slowly sip a cocktail before going out out.

Shakespeares- For a classic pub with great beer, go here. The range will stress you out but the friendliness of the crowd will ease you again. Best enjoyed on a sunny afternoon so you can lounge in the beer garden, or when there's a gig on so you can cram yourself into that tiny upstairs room.

Picture House Social- My favourite cocktail menu of the city simply because of its pride. With each cocktail representing a local business, Picture House Social is a hub for the city’s scene. Drink your way through the city (my fave is the swallows and damsons floral gin cocktail), while you boogie, play ping pong and grab a pizza. Bonus points if you do all that while waiting for a gig to start.

Kelham Wine Bar- When you want to feel fancy, go here. Looking over the river in Kelham, enjoy the biggest glass of wine possible huddled under the heat lamps surrounded by fairy lights. I love it here in the winter, it's so beautiful on a dark night and feels like such a little luxury sipping wine and having good conversation. This is a firm fave for date nights and small celebrations, take a loved one and take a blanket.

Dev Cat- Call in halfway through the day, unplanned, just to get an espresso martini.

Recipes For Nights...

Get 2-4-1 cocktails at Ambulo, down them because you cut it too fine or actually plan ahead and have a meal. Go to the Crucible theatre and feel cultured while being slightly tipsy. Wander up to Division Street talking about the show, notice noise coming from Bungalows and Bears and go in for their monthly jazz night. Boogie there for a moment as you talk your friend into a big night. Go to The Washington because it never lets you down, sip a gin and cranberry juice or shot some fireball if you’re talked into it. Say fuck it and go to Leadmill on a Thursday because Club Tropicana is maybe the greatest club night in the world and you end up shouting ‘this is my fave song ever!’ during every intro. Stay out still your feet allow, leave Leadmill and wander back to West Street and go into West Street Live if you’re mental. If not, get chips, go home.

Go to Forum 4pm for casual catch up drinks, get talked into buying last minute tickets for an event. Rush home at 6pm, get ready while watching drag race, pre-drink and be out again at 8 wandering down Division Street in your night-out trainers.

Go to Foodhall for a gig. It’s bring-your-own-booze so pack your tote with tinnies or a water bottle full of your best gin that you panic poured in as you rushed out. Watch your new fave band, then inevitably end up at The Washington again, dancing to blondie like your life depends on it.

Or literally just go to The Washington. Go on the first Monday of the month for their acoustic night, arrive at 8 and stumble out in the early hours. Meet all the regulars and learn to love them deeply until you get a discount on all your drinks. Always dance, even during the questionable song choices. End up there way too often to see Sadly Dan and Life Aquatic and I Set The Sea On Fire and Femur and Black Mamba Fever and Dead Slow Hoot and Lio and Children of the State and more and more and more.

On the first weekend of the month, queue up for Peddler. Save your money and your stomach, do a lap before deciding what you want to eat. Get a beer, wear a baker boy hat and stand outside in the cold by the fire, watch bands or DJs or just people. See the whole city there.

Indulge fully in everything. Go to an Endless Love life drawing class. Go see a burlesque show by either Steel City Sirens or Spectre. Go see a play by SUTCO. Go see a film at Showroom, go to Doc Fest if you’re around then. Go to all the gigs you can, all the local DJ sets, all the talks. Do everything and do it all local and independent.

Sheffield is small and full. It has a beautiful tight-knit community of artists and creators and business owners that adopt everyone that wants in. You can see it on social media as words of encouragement and love bounce from one to another. Everyone knows everyone, and for better or worse, it makes the city fun. It lets you feel a part of it simply by being there and showing up and getting to know people too. The city lets you in, you just have to go out and open the door.

Time sped forward too quickly, and in a blur, I had to say goodbye to my flat, the home I’d built myself over the year. I wanted to cry but I didn’t, and I still can’t really decide why. I either packed all my things in a trance of denial or in a state of acceptance, knowing I’d got exactly what I needed from this place. Part of uni life is not really having a home as you’re torn between your hometown and adopted city, the very word takes on an uncertainty as you have to clarify where you mean. But I didn’t feel that this year, my flat was my home. I got to escape the familiar unsettled feeling as I had a full place to call my own, shared with no one, my things unrestricted to one room. And I know that was such a privilege, I definitely see that now. So few people will ever live alone, moving from their hometown to shared uni houses to a home with a friend or partner, and even fewer people get to live alone during such formative and intense years of their life as I did. So few people will ever get to experience the very particular and whole feeling of home when you alone occupy an entire place; no sharing, no need to consider anyone else’s patterns or tastes, all yours. And so many people would consider the thought of all it a nightmare, I had my moments where I did too.

I moved in in September, and in November I was still begging people to come over. I would make frantic plans with half-friends, desperately cling to the frayed edges of relationships I should’ve let die just because I wanted company. I gave so much energy to filling my own space, partly because I thought I should. I live alone so my house should always be full of friends, right? It should be the base, a place for communion, right? I acted as if I was holding space for others, sat in only one seat on the sofa, reserving the rest for imaginary guests that I slowly stopped inviting. If you told me then I’d be sad to move out, I would have laughed, made some joke about missing the décor and that’s about it. Even in the blog post I wrote about it, you can hear it in my words; reluctance. I was dragging my heels for a long time, still refusing the give over my strongest vice, clinging onto reliance as my flat spoke softly, coaxing me into letting go.

And I did, somewhere between December and now. I closed my door and started staying in more. I invested in a salt lamp and a lot of candles and spiced chai tea leaves. I filled the second sofa with blankets and cushions and baked banana bread for myself on Sundays. I stopped inviting people over and started asking people to leave, politely, as my mind longed for space back. I loved living alone, truly. But more so, I learned so much living alone and in the final months, I became so aware of the education I was getting there. Here are the lessons:

Space is so important...

It sounds so ridiculously obvious but I thought I already knew it. I’ve been chatting shit about interiors for years now, about curating a calming space and fairy lights and blah. But it was more than that this year. I felt so defensive of my home, so scared about it becoming tainted. I moved into it so terrified of Sheffield, but also of myself and my memories as I was desperately trying to claw my way out of heartbreak, so scared it would walk its muddy hooves into my new home. So this year curating my space was more an act of self-preservation and defence, I had to build a fortress.

There’s so much power in space and energy that I never knew before. When you live with other people, there’s a big merge of moods and vibes all coming in and out which can be good or bad depending on the day, but it’s always changing. When you live alone, it’s all you. My flat mirrored me, if I was down it felt like the biggest, loneliest place in the world. It really tested me, challenging my ability to comfort myself. I learnt to start manifesting. If I couldn’t treat myself right, I knew I could treat my space right and eventually it would soak through. In this way, my flat felt made for me. If I woke up struggling, the big window forced light into my room, reflecting a pattern of leaves onto my wall. The morning demanded to be seen, it coaxed me out of bed, gently telling me to make some coffee and do some yoga, crossing its fingers that I’d listen that day. I invested in more than just lighting and blankets. I really considered scents and lines of vision, curating moods rather than aesthetics. During the day I burnt candles with orange oil, massaged lemon oil into my wrists and opened the curtains wide in my living room. It felt bright and big and optimistic. In the evening, I turned on my salt lamp, burnt lavender incense, allowed palo santo smoke hug my bedhead as I said to myself; this is my healing space. And I felt that. I learnt to pull myself from mood to mood, learnt how important it was to consider the energy I was filling my flat with, listen out to all the hints telling me to alter it.

It sounds ridiculous I know. But regardless, whether you believe in sacred wood or aromatherapy or any of that, no one can deny the power of a ritual. No one can deny that we find comfort in habit, in having faith in a routine that works. I built my space around those rituals, around lavender at night and coffee in the morning. The fairy lights and pom poms were just accessories.

Give yourself actual time and space...

The best part of my flat was the fact that no one had been there before. Exes, friends, no one but me and my mum had seen it until I invited people in. As a person with a hyperactive memory, leaving places, clothes, songs all dripping with ghosts, this was the biggest blessing. Healing feels so much harder in a marked space, I know. Sheffield felt impossible, and I think if I had to go back to a place that he’d been to, or that I’d known with someone else, I wouldn’t have been able to pull it back. My flat meant I never had to do that, it allowed me time and space without struggling to out ghosts. There were none there, I only had to focus on myself, cleansing me without worrying about external contamination. Being all mine and memory-less, my flat in Sheffield gave me space from the Sheffield I had known. I could grab back some control over the place and my experience there, choosing who I saw and who I avoided, choosing where I went rather than being caught up in a group decision. I could decide everything there, and allow myself time with no interruption or opinion. When I wanted to, sometimes I would go days and speak to no one. I’d take myself for coffee and write, buy ingredients to cook myself a meal, watch the same films over and over, and decide to sleep at 9pm if I wanted. Having total control over myself and my behaviours, being completely unbothered and uninterrupted was heaven for my healing.

With space, Sheffield came back to me. I could retreat to the neutral land of my home then slowly march forward, reclaiming places one by one as the hands of heartbreak loosened, replaced by my own arms around me. A year later, I feel great. I feel so free and in control of myself. I feel ready to move forward and leave behind all the memories, a feeling I know my flat helped cultivate.

I love me...

While self-love is a huge, life-long journey, I feel it stronger than ever. This year, in the silence of solo living, I’ve gotten to know myself. I’ve seen quirks about myself that I’d never noticed, I’ve talked to myself like a friend offering jokes and comfort and confrontation when needed. I’d laugh with myself because why shouldn’t I. I found a friend in myself, and she always wants to sing along to my music and watch the same TV shows. I felt this new sense of sitting with myself, each night as I would journal, forcing myself to really consider what I felt and why. There was no one else to hide behind, no one else to talk to, so I had to get to know myself, I had to welcome myself in.

I think that’s why a lot of people would be so scared to live alone, all that time with no one but yourself. We don’t want to be left alone with our thoughts, having no option but to listen to the voice in our heads and confront it. But that’s why I did it. I’ve been in relationships my entire teenage life, I’ve been distracting myself from myself for so long that I needed to have no choice. I needed to force myself to hang out with myself for longer than the time it takes to do a face mask and go in the bath. I needed more than the stereotypical self-care night, I needed something intense and radical because my reliance was damaging me. It worked. That’s all I can really say. I now look forward to time alone, seeing myself as a best friend who I genuinely love spending time with. By learning to take care of myself, I see so much value in myself, so many great qualities as I treat myself with patience and care and empathy. I love the joy in me, the life. I love the fun in me that I used to only ever see in the face of another, I love that I know need no one to bring it out. By getting to this point of complete contentment with being alone, I now feel like I can better evaluate my interactions with others. When I love hanging out with myself, why would I give time and energy to hanging out with someone else that doesn’t make me feel as good? When I’ve set a standard of treatment within myself, why would I lower it? Turns out what The Slumflower’s book can’t seem to teach you, living alone can.

It’s wild to me that it took this. It took living alone for me to learn that I am truly complete, needing no one. I’m whole; the simplest, most radical lesson. I’ve spent a whole year alone and I haven’t died of loneliness, instead, I feel the most in control and comforted I ever have. It's sad that I had to actively learn it, to force isolation on myself to be able to see that I never needed anyone to hold my hand. Women especially are rarely given space to be alone, our loneliness isn’t valued but is shut down as a holding period, we’re on the shelf until a new companion. We go from parents to partners, we don’t walk home alone, we stick close to friends. If we spend too long silence or alone, people ask if we’re okay. There’s so much expectation to have a partner, to please others and fit into expectations. We’re treated as a half, waiting for the other side to find us and complete the circle. No. I’m everything. I’m all.

On Valentine's day, I spent the day alone. I went to the library and worked, I took myself shopping and bought myself a gift, I cooked myself homemade pasta and brownies. Tell me where I need a companion?  I sat in my flat, surrounded by candles and comforts, I laughed out-loud to a film, I wrote myself a love letter. I looked after myself, wholly and entirely. There was no empty space, there never was in my flat. It was all mine, filled up by me and my moods and my thoughts. Somewhere along the line, I realised I was the same; whole and content belonging entirely to myself.

Move in with yourself if you can. It’ll change things, it’ll force change on you and make you wonder why you were ever scared of it. Looking back, I wonder why I was so resistant to shutting the door and being alone. Why was I ever scared of myself? When I’m the only person that can guarantee myself full and unconditional love and companionship. Move in with yourself and you’ll learn the limitless loyalty of yourself, learn to cut reliance on anyone when you see the strength of relying on yourself. If you can’t, dedicate more time to yourself. Turn down invites, close your door, talk to yourself. Actually talk, out loud, whisper with yourself and share jokes. Write letters to yourself divulging your deepest feelings and enter into a dialogue. Cook yourself a meal, do not share it. Pour yourself a glass of wine, light candles, romance yourself. Nurture every mood and every feeling with no interruption or pressure to suppress it. Feel your own energy, unaffected and all-consuming. Realise that you need no one to survive, live, thrive, bring you joy, bring you comfort. You have everything you need in yourself, you’re the best housemate you could ever find because you’ve always lived together. Make a best friend out of yourself, and love the time you spend alone.

I miss my flat so deeply. I miss the décor and the fireplaces and the feeling I had each morning and each night as I woke myself up and rocked myself to sleep. But it taught me what I needed, and I hope its new occupiers find what they need there too as I wander onto my next house knowing I’m always at home with myself.