I didn’t start out as a proper Jeremy Corbyn supporter. During the 2015 Labour leadership contest, I was deeply frustrated at the options available. Though I’ve always sat on the left of the party (I first joined when I was at university, after a friend convinced me Ed Miliband represented a break with the New Labour era) I bought into the idea that under Jeremy Corbyn, the party wouldn’t be electorally viable. Unfortunately, the other three candidates were far from inspiring. To varying extents, they espoused the sort of stigmatising, anti-welfare rhetoric that seemed a betrayal of core Labour values. At a time when the party needed to be bold and stand up for what is right, they seemed too willing to capitulate and accept the Conservatives’ austerity logic.

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Because of this, when it began to look like Corbyn might win I couldn’t help getting a little excited. Though I was too pessimistic to publicly back him, a part of me started to wonder, what if? What if the conventional wisdom was wrong and it really was possible to win a general election from the left? What if the tide of hope that was sweeping the party could be replicated at a national level? Friends who’d never been interested in party politics posted on social media that they’d joined Labour to vote for Corbyn. The enthusiasm was infectious, and though the “sensible” part of my brain still insisted it couldn’t work, I found that I was actively rooting for him. When he won the leadership, I felt more politically optimistic than I had in a good long while.

But I came back down to earth with a bang. It feels unnecessary to recount everything that happened over the next year or so – but from the perspective of a Labour supporter, it’s fair to say that it didn’t go well. In the spirit of Christmas I want to try to avoid apportioning blame in a way that reopens old wounds, but I personally believe there are several reasons for the struggles the party initially faced under Corbyn’s leadership. By the time of the 2016 leadership challenge, almost every committed Labour supporter I knew was in a state of despair – no matter what faction of the party they belonged to. A few kept their hopes up – how I scoffed at their naivety.

By the start of this year, I’d gone through several stages of grieving for the Labour party, oscillating between denial, anger, bargaining and grief. I blamed Corbyn and his team for the teething difficulties early on, and thought they’d blown their chance to set a positive media narrative. I blamed hostile Labour MPs for briefing against him, and certain journalists for treating him more harshly than they might have other leaders. I blamed myself, and felt an irrational personal responsibility to come up with a plan that would heal seemingly irreparable rifts.

Though I personally agreed with most of what Corbyn said, I thought the party would never properly unite behind him – so I tried to figure out who might be a replacement that would satisfy members across the spectrum. I felt frustrated at Corbyn supporters for refusing to accept that their project was a failure.

When the snap election was called, I felt sick. I’d been dreading it but was hoping Theresa May might be too cautious. The previous December, Diane Abbott was widely mocked for claiming that Labour would catch up with the Tories within a year. In April, the party was trailing in the polls by 17 points.

Closing that gap seemed an impossible task. I tried to use what platform I had to motivate other Labour members to go out and campaign – and to encourage voters, particularly younger voters, to register in time – but I have to admit I was expecting disaster. When some polling companies started predicting a closer result, based on significantly increased youth turnout, I didn’t dare to believe.

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But Abbott was right and I was wrong – as was almost every other political commentator. Party preference is way more volatile than most of us had assumed. And attempting to inspire non-voters isn’t a doomed strategy. Significantly, being written off by most of the mainstream media doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s game over – perhaps because increasing numbers of people now get their news from other sources. Labour might still have lost, but only by a narrow margin. The Conservatives are now dependent on the DUP for their wafer-thin majority.

I’ve changed my mind about Jeremy Corbyn’s electoral viability – but it goes further than that. I’ve fundamentally lost faith in political experts. By that, I don’t mean I entirely reject the utility of specialist knowledge – I still pore over polling as much as ever and follow the work of several political scientists – but I’m more inclined to listen to my gut than I was before. I also try to listen more closely to people on the ground in different parts of the country, who might pick up on things the London-based media largely missed in both the Brexit vote and the last election. Nothing is as certain as I’d previously believed. That’s scary, because it makes every decision a risk. But it also means there’s always hope.

• Abi Wilkinson is a freelance journalist