For many of us, the coronavirus pandemic has changed the way we view our front door.

What was once an emblem of privacy has now become a shield of safety, not only against potential burglary, but against a deadly virus.

However, for some, a door that had previously been an escape from the abuse of a violent partner has now become simply another wall.

Since lockdown began, the charity Refuge, which supports victims of domestic violence, has seen a 66 per cent increase in calls to their helpline and a 950 per cent increase in traffic to their website.

Lockdown has meant more time spent indoors for victims with abusive partners. And with almost one in three women experiencing domestic violence at some point in their lifetime, and two women per week being killed in England and Wales alone by a current or ex-partner, Refuge’s services are more vital than ever.

Scrolling through Instagram for a moment of distraction from the overwhelming news over the past couple of months, I became aware of the work of Jenny Smith, a photographer whose Front Door Project has raised more than £17,000 for Refuge since lockdown began.

Jenny, who lost a friend to suicide after years of domestic abuse, saw the unique situation we find ourselves in as an opportunity to capture portraits of families at their front door in return for a donation.

It got me thinking about my own front door and what it symbolises to me. As someone who has suffered with mental illness over the years, sometimes getting through it is all I can think about – after a day filled with crippling anxiety, the desire to come home is all-consuming.

Now, during a prolonged period of extreme loneliness, I’ve often wondered who will be the next person to walk through it, and indeed when.

I realise that whatever my front door has represented to me in the past, or what it means to me in lockdown, I’m fortunate that it has never represented danger

For someone in the depths of depression, leaving the house can be a terrifying prospect too, but staying home for long periods can often make it worse. It’s a cruel catch-22 which can be prevalent in many mental illnesses: the inability to do the thing that makes us feel better.

There have been times during the pandemic that I haven’t left the front door for several days, even though I knew a walk might do me some good. It wasn’t fear of Covid-19 that kept me locked up, but rather my exhaustion from anxiety that made it feel impossible.

Having had mild OCD for the past 10 years, leaving the house can be the most stressful part of the day for my brain. I worry about the gas taps, the light switches, running water.

I check, double check… in fact I check them 30 times before I feel reassured enough to actually go out. If I’m interrupted during my routine, I have to start from scratch. At my ‘worst’, I would FaceTime my long-suffering father so I could have a second pair of eyes to do the checks with me.

The front door was my Everest.

I once checked the handle was locked so many times that it actually fell off. Ironically, that eased my anxiety (which stems from a fear of burglary) as even I couldn’t get into the house.

After years of this, I started taking photos of the things I needed to check, so that I had iron-clad proof that if a break-in or a house fire happened, it wouldn’t be my fault. I have literally thousands of photos on my phone of the iron, the isolator switch for the boiler, every scented candle I own (there are many) and enough shots of the oven knobs, you’d think I had a fetish.

Taking photos of my locked front door became a comfort blanket. As ‘mad’ as it may sound, it was part of a ritual that made me feel like I had some semblance of control over the uncontrollable. It reassured me, and as anyone reading this who has struggled with anxiety will know, reassurance is a precious commodity.

Knowing that those photos are there means I can relax, but believe it or not, I have never once checked the photos later in the day. Not once have I called upon them as evidence against the state of my self-doubt. Just taking them was enough.

When Jenny contacted me to be part of the Front Door Project, I realised that despite having thousands of photos of my front door, I didn’t have a single one with me in it, and I jumped at the chance.

Jenny is a glowing example of a person who has been creative and generous with their time over lockdown, all in the name of a good cause. It was an honour to be photographed by her and to be able to contribute to such a wonderful charity.

Looking at the images, I realise that whatever my front door has represented to me in the past, or what it means to me in lockdown, I’m fortunate that it has never represented danger.

In months to come, the pretty rainbow drawings and the ‘Thank you, NHS’ signs will start to come down, and we will no longer be using our homes as refuges from the virus.

If you are able to, and you have the means, please consider donating to Refuge to help those for whom home can feel like a prison.

To donate to the Front Door Project, visit justgiving.com/fundraising/frontdoorphoto

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