Delivering newspapers as a teenager, I would devour the front pages at a time they were full of lies about the pace in which Sadam Hussein could use weapons of mass destruction.
Watching the news at home with my family, I remember seeing the leader of the Liberal Democrats Charles Kennedy explaining at a protest why he opposed the war, and I knew I opposed it as well.
It was a formative moment, an introduction to anxiety over international affairs and a desire to make them better.
As I got older and went to university this passion for politics only intensified as I realised I was far better at lamenting problems I could not fix than talking to girls.
Politics was not merely an interest, it along with football dominated my every waking thought.
I then became a journalist working in the courts, but always with the goal of one day becoming a political reporter and working in parliament.
Working at a tabloid, I volunteered for anything remotely politically adjacent in a bid to convince them it was worthy of coverage and further my chances of getting to Westminster.
It was an uphill battle with political conferences being something I could attend if I didn’t expense food, and Westminster exclusives something I genuinely saw scrapped for pictures of squirrels on jet skis.
But I got to political journalism because I wanted it, and took jobs I disagreed with to get me here.
Working in parliament is something I still feel privileged over, feeling the weight of its history.
Even now I don’t understand how people aren’t interested in politics, this sweeping vehicle for change that shapes so much of their lives.
Seeing “moderate” or “apolitical” on a dating app to me is more of a red flag than actual bad behaviour, suggesting they don’t care about others.
But now I worry it’s beginning to lose its allure and I need to treat it solely as a job.
In my few years here, I have been sexually harassed, heard of MPs and journalists doing the same without it being reported, and learned enough gross stories to fill a paper back to front.
Westminster is not a safe place, nor is it a particularly nice one, with older men exploiting power dynamics to sleep or pester women not remotely age appropriate.
These are hearsay or direct from the source, and as a result things I cannot report.
Then there is the policy, with Britain facing a cost-of-living crisis and climate emergency and no rush from the party of government to address either.
I am tired, so tired of writing about awful events and not being able to legally write about worse ones, and see no sign of hope in sight.
There is a housing crisis, inflation, strikers wanting a fair wage are treated as the enemy and food banks are turning people away.
Despite my reverence for working here, seeing how the sausage is made has turned me off.
A new Prime Minister brings new priorities, and hopefully happier things to write about with higher safety measures.
I love politics and wish this place was better, until it is I’ll have to learn to just compartmentalise and switch off.