When I turned nineteen, my parents forgot my birthday—until my dad handed me the keys to his dusty old Triumph. I spent a year restoring it, only for him to demand it back once it was running. I pretended to agree, then took him to court with proof it was a gift. The judge ruled in my favor, and the bike came home.
But it wasn’t just about the motorcycle—it was about reclaiming something he’d always tried to control.
I later shared my story online and was invited to volunteer at a youth workshop teaching kids to rebuild bikes. Helping them fix engines—and themselves—helped me do the same.
Eventually, I donated the Triumph. It raised £18,000 for the program. That’s when I realized: sometimes what you restore isn’t a machine, but your own sense of worth.
