I’m a Scottish bastard. I grew up in a village in Fife but was born in the Scottish Borders to working class parents. My father worked in textile mills and my mother held various secretarial positions. They grew up in Glasgow council estates and left school at 16.
I was run over by a truck when I was five. I broke my leg, broke my pelvis, crushed my femoral artery and tore a nerve. I was stuck to the pavement. When the paramedics arrived and asked how I was feeling, I said, “Fine, thank you”: that was what I had been trained to say. Looking back now, with my own child, I’m surprised my parents didn’t wrap me in cotton wool after that.
Twenty years later, I was in another hospital bed after breaking my back in three places by jumping headfirst through a window frame on command while I was away with the Territorial Army. I thought to myself for a moment, “What an idiot. This is the second time.” I had to wear a back brace for three months.
Knowledge is not same as intelligence – and confidence is not a skill. It took me ages to figure out that other people were no better than me; that the loudest person in the room is not necessarily the smartest.
Doing journalism felt frustrating. It was a privilege to ask the questions that people wanted answered, but I reached a point where it was no longer enough to just watch what was happening. I wanted to change things. When I left the BBC, my mother was shocked that I had given up a good job in retirement to try to get elected as a Tory.
I managed to do it clinical depression my whole adult life. When I was leading the Scottish Conservatives I made a conscious decision to talk about it. Part of my depression was survivor’s guilt, because of the suicide of a friend. It would have really helped me, when I was first diagnosed, to see people in the public eye willing to talk openly about such experiences. I thought my condition would be very debilitating, that I would never get a proper job and that people would think I was mad.
I came out very late, in my mid to late 20s. I didn’t like myself for a long time and struggled to reconcile my faith with my sexuality. It wasn’t until my mid 30s that I came to a calmer, less restless place.
I want to pass on what I have taught my five year old son in life and help build his resilience. I want him to feel safe in himself, to know that you can find something difficult but do it anyway. And I want him to always know that he is loved.
An ex described me like a Labrador that has to be let out every day. And that is true. I absolutely do. Going to bed physically tired – instead of tired from the office or mentally – makes me happy.
People’s opinion Outside of my immediate family, it doesn’t matter as much to me now. Now that I’ve been in the public eye for 15 years, I pay less attention to people calling you names on the internet. I think part of it is getting older: learning to trust yourself more.
I have a fear of heights. I get a jolt, a wobble in my stomach. It’s gotten worse as I get older. But I still climb a ladder. I think it’s good – important, even – to force yourself to do things you’re afraid of.
The Sky News podcast Electoral Dysfunction, presented by Ruth Davidson and Beth Rigby, is available every Friday on all podcast platforms