Grief is, and remains, the most complex emotion I've ever dealt with. It rarely appears when you expect it to.

On 7 June 2014, my darling mum took her last breath and said goodbye to the world. In the six years since, I've worked hard to live my life around the undeniably huge, gaping hole left in it. Growing up in your 20s without your mum is really hard, and it's sometimes impossible to ignore all the fragments and splintered bits of life she's left behind. But I've tried, and for the most part I have managed to shape something of a successful life without her in it. I just really wish she was in it.

When she first passed away, I didn't really "grieve". I was 21. I had so much going on. I'd had to postpone my dissertation and several other final year degree submissions, so I threw myself into getting those done and getting my 2:1 (which I did). Then I moved to London, started trying to get a job, drank a lot, partied a lot... in honesty, there just wasn't really the time to grieve back then.

I'd spent the weeks after her passing in semi-isolation at home with my family, working and writing every day – in many senses a parallel setup to how we've lived in lockdown. But I lacked the self care and initiative to make sure I made time to grieve. Flowers arrived at our doorstep; cards came in the post; we were truly surrounded by fuss and flapping and worry. It would've been the perfect time to grieve, but I just didn't.

Grief has, instead, trickled in at totally random points of the last almost-seven years. I've broken down on the top deck of buses on the way home from work, for seemingly no reason. I've collapsed into unexplainable tears while shopping for Christmas cards. I've gone through periods of drinking too much, too regularly – only now connecting these with unresolved feelings of anger around my loss. There have been times where I've eaten next to nothing for weeks on end – rationing my meals as if I was rationing my emotions. Even now, an advert or a photo of a daughter and a mother can trigger me.

And weirdly, now: coronavirus.

I don't really know when it started, I just knew I felt a bit shit. It was back in the early days of daily press conferences, clapping on Thursdays, wine on Fridays, and making overcomplicated drawn out meals on Saturdays. There wasn't much to do, and I finally had more space to feel.

I was really struggling.

It was the kind of raw, consuming grief you expect to feel in the early days of a loss. The type where you start to have vivid dreams about them again; where another day without them feels utterly pointless.

But with it came so many questions: what would she think of this situation? Would she be coping ok? And the pointless scenarios in my head: what if she was alive and had the cancer now, and couldn't have her treatment? What if she died now and I couldn't have been there to say goodbye to her?

The biggest question of all: is it selfish of me to feel this way when people actually are losing loved ones, right now, this minute, this day?

I don't really know the answer still. But what I do now is it's not weird that I've felt this way. For 14 long months now, I've been aware of how many people in the country have died each day. How many families lost their mum, dad, brother, sister. The more I think about it, the less weird it is that so much talk of death would have caused me to start grieving again.

I've got strategies that help me deal with it. Sometimes that's flicking through photo albums of her, or talking to Ram about some of the funny memories I have, or listening to her favourite songs. Other times it's lying in the bath until I'm pruney letting my thoughts whirr around my head, or getting dressed up just to mooch around the house so I feel a bit more "me". Often it's actually just letting myself feel what I'm feeling. A skill it's taken me just short of seven years to master.

Nothing ever prepares you for the moment of your life you never think will happen: the day you have to see your parent's body, not breathing, and say goodbye for the last time. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I know now how lucky I was to get that opportunity.

Whenever I feel frustrated about all the restrictions on my life right now, I take myself back to that hospice and give myself a big dose of perspective.

If "being bored" is really the biggest problem the pandemic brings to my life, I'm incredibly lucky.

This is my sixth week at home. Six weeks of keeping a social distance. Holing up in my north London flat with my boyfriend, a stack of books, mindfulness colouring book and a 1000-piece puzzle (depicting Tower Bridge, natch) for company. 

It's been a weird time, but for me it's been a very privileged time. I live a stone's throw from the Lea Valley park, Walthamstow Wetlands and beautiful River Lee canal walks – so fitting in an hour's walk before work every morning has been both easy and joyful. I've become an uncharacteristically calm person now I don't have to commute twice every day. I have a private balcony that catches sunshine from 3-6pm every day (prime cocktail time) and my building has a roof garden. I (thankfully) still have a job and as it stands am being paid my full pay. I've got food. We've got a spare room, heaps of dumbbells and our own "gym" setup. I've got everything I need in my own home to live very comfortably and use this period as an opportunity to slow down, spend precious quality time with my partner, and just enjoy what we've got. Not everyone is so lucky. You can be assured I count my many blessings every single day.

But one thing I'm missing that I really miss right now... MY FAVOURITE DISHES.

I've made it quite clear that one of the things I love most about London is the food. City living has so many shit sides – the cost of rent, number of tourists, horrific commuting situation, and having to pay £10 for a g&t. But the bad has always outweighed the good for me – namely the lifestyle I get to lead. And having some of the world's best food on my doorstep is one of the biggest parts of the lifestyle I love so much.

Lockdown has (obviously) stolen the opportunity to go out for food. Some of London's best and my most favourite restaurants are really really struggling now. Many have chosen not to offer takeaway services to protect their staff – a necessary but crushing choice to make. 

For now the only option I've got on my already bad Deliveroo is Pizza Go-Go, and – no disrespect – but I think I'll be holding off for now. Saving my pennies for the dishes I really miss.

I'm dreaming of a no. 4 pizza at Franco Manca – those oozing pools of ricotta, offset by salty, crispy roasted ham and delicate chunks of mushroom. I ask for a little extra tomato on the base, and always always order a pot of indulgent Colston Bassett stilton dip to dunk those heavenly, doughy crusts into. I'm craving Nando's chilli-spiked macho peas – best consumed alongside salty halloumi and butterfly chicken (lemon and herb if you must know). 

I miss the lunch break luxury of a Pret popcorn bar. A crunchy concoction of rice krispies and popcorn, glued together using condensed milk and creamy white chocolate. I'd die for a lunch bowl from Ahi Poké – I build my own on a black rice base, always topping with ahi tuna in sriracha mayo, and garnishing with edamame, crispy onions, carrots, charred sweetcorn and seaweed roasted cashew nuts.

I'd devour a bowl of Camino's arroz negro – with the creamiest aioli on top and just the right amount of cuttlefish chunks hidden in the rice. See also Dishoom's fragrant black daal. Rich; creamy (it's cooked for 24 hours)... and those lentils actually melt in your mouth. Continuing along indulgent lines, I could cry at the thought of Flat Iron creamed spinach. I've never tasted better.

And what about London's cheese?! I can never forget the brie with truffled mascarpone at The Cheese Bar. Cheese sandwiched between cheese sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen. And it probably is. But it tasted incredible – perfectly accompanied by those pickled grapes and crackers. I've sampled plenty of London's burrata dishes, but I've never found a better one than at Sodo in Walthamstow. One swift knife cut sends ricotta oozing all over the plate – but mopping it up with the soft, garlicky sourdough is a joy. 

It's not just food I miss. A creamy but punchy Grind espresso martini would be heaven. I've tried many times over the last six weeks to make my own. But as has been proven (and my boyfriend will testify), I really do have all the gear (cocktail set, coffee liqueur, vodka, Grind's own bloody ground coffee) but unfortunately no idea. Hell, I even miss my Friday morning coffee at Planet Organic – a frothy latte with deliciously sweet hazelnut mylk.

Then there's desserts. Babka at The Good Egg – preferably chocolate or salted caramel, but I'll take whatever's in. Although an incredibly rare treat, a few scoops in a waffle cone from Udderlicious in Islington would be the perfect antidote to a long day working in my living room. But nothing tops my beloved Konditor & Cook – namely their salted caramel brownie. It's moist and melty, with an incredible drizzle of luscious caramel on top. Try as you might, you'll never be able to find – or make – a better one. 

London: I'll be back soon. And when I am, you bet I'll be spending most of my time eating my way around my favourite restaurants again. Chances are they'll probably be needing me as much as I need them.

Hold on and stay strong.