Eve Myles in 1981 and 2025, sitting at a table full of party foodEve Myles in 1981 and 2025. Later photograph: Pål Hansen/The Guardian. Styling: Andie Redman. Hair and makeup: Bethany Long. Archive image: courtesy of Eve Myles

Born in 1978 in Ystradgynlais, Wales, actor Eve Myles trained at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama before landing her first major role as Ceri Lewis in the BBC Wales drama Belonging, which ran from 2000 to 2009. She became a mainstream name playing Gwen Cooper in Torchwood, the BBC’s Doctor Who spin-off, from 2006 to 2011, and later won acclaim for her lead performance as Faith Howells in the thriller Keeping Faith/Un Bore Mercher. She lives in Cardiff with her husband, the actor Bradley Freegard, and their three daughters. She stars in ITV’s drama series The Hack this autumn.

This photo, taken at my third birthday party, reveals that I was brought up on pork-based foods. For this special occasion, it was sausage rolls and chipolatas on sticks – very posh, and the marker of any good celebration. My mother had obviously gone to town on that icing to hide the atrocity of the sponge cake that was buried under there. I would have been high as a kite after taking one bite.

At this age I was an extrovert, a storyteller and a thief. My parents had to employ a slew of babysitters, because every time one would come over, something would go missing from her bag and she wouldn’t want to come back. It was always the same thing: lipstick. I was obsessed with it, even though I couldn’t even say the word. I’d say “triple click” instead.

My mother would always find it stashed underneath my bed or stuffed inside a pillowcase. I’d pretend that I had no idea what it was, even though I’d have come downstairs, having also stolen eyeshadow and blusher from Mum, and appeared nonchalantly in front of my family fully done up, looking like a clown. Mum would subtly say: “Have you put a little bit of makeup on, Eve?” I would reply: “No, no, nothing at all.”

This went on for a while. Mum would often get a phone call from the teachers at school, saying: “Eve’s gone to use the toilet and come back looking like she’s ready for a night out in Swansea.” Everyone allowed it, so eventually I must have got bored and the fixation did die down. For a long time, I just couldn’t resist the kind of transformation and creativity that makeup gave me. Maybe I was partly inspired by Mum – she was a glamorous woman, and I wanted to be like her. Mainly, I just liked wearing a mask, which is what I now do for a living. It must have been my destiny screaming out.

My parents separated about six months after this was taken, and I was brought up by my mum predominantly. I grew up in a miners’ village, in a community where the door is always open. The entire town looked after each other. It was a luscious place to live – not in a monied, extravagant way, but full of decent, kind people. There was nothing there, just a lovely river, so I found escapism in culture. I remember going to see Starlight Express in London when I was a kid – it was my first experience in the theatre and I felt as if someone had turned on a switch and set me alight. There was this heat from inside out. Mike’s Video Store also fuelled the fire. Mum would get a video out every Friday, and she and I would watch it twice the first night and twice on Saturday. I would watch it twice again on my own on Sunday. I was captivated by the arts and always felt this yearning to see the world outside my village.

The three-year-old me is always tapping me on the shoulder, going: ‘Isn’t this great? Aren’t you lucky?’

I had an amazing teacher at school, an actor called Hazel Williams. One day she said: “Fancy auditioning for the Welsh youth theatre?” I thought it was in a pub, but after some research realised the magnitude of what was on offer. Acting hadn’t been top of the agenda because it seemed so out of reach. I dabbled with wanting to be a speech therapist for a long time, or to go into the police or midwifery. But after a while, the enormity of the dream ended up being frightening – the fear of failing was too much to admit. Luckily, as well as Hazel, Dave Bond from the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama reassured me that, no matter where I came from, I belonged. They both impressed on me the message: “This industry is for anybody. If you work hard, you can stay in it, but you’ve got to respect it.” So that’s what I did because, really, acting was my first love.

I’ve never been a fan of the audition process. If they reworded it to “a workshop” it might feel less intimidating. But, fortunately, I was able to bypass my nerves and I started working as an actor in my second year. It was a blessing in a way, because me and Mum had already talked about our financial situation and we realised that we couldn’t afford to keep me living the student life for the whole of the three years at university. Having an income was brilliant – it meant I was out of my overdraft, I wasn’t constantly owing rent, and I could buy books. An opportunity at the Royal Shakespeare Company arrived, then everything changed when I met Russell T Davies. He gave me the role of Gwyneth in Doctor Who and then wrote Gwen Cooper for me in Torchwood. It was as if my whole world opened up.

I had a good start in my career, but I wish I’d known that whatever I thought my imperfections were, I should celebrate them rather than try to change them. I wasn’t the typical telly leading lady and I got told that early on in my career after auditions. But now I realise all of my idiosyncrasies are exactly what makes me different and authentic. I worry there’s a struggle in this industry for perfection. All the way through my 20s, I was frightened of getting things wrong and had so many comments from people in the industry that would affect me, a lot of it focused on looks.

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I’m still not the typical leading lady, but I get to play some good ones. Tough people. I’m not a fan of confrontation and am far more gentle than the characters I tend to play. Often they take a while to shed, like Fran in [BBC drama] The Guest. She’s seven different people in one scene – powerful, scary, cutting, childlike, adolescent, vulnerable, then back into an assassin. At the end of a day of filming, I would come to the kitchen island and stare into space until Brad put a big fat glass of red wine in front of me and told me to cut it out and have a bath.

Running helps me to decompress from the intensity of a character; plus, there’s nothing like having a 15-, 11- and three-year-old at home to pull you back into the present. From the outside, I’m often trying to appear in control, but I’m kicking like hell under the surface.

Despite the juggle of family and work, I will never not be ecstatically happy with my lot. That’s because the three-year-old me is always tapping me on the shoulder, going: “Isn’t this great? Aren’t you lucky? Don’t take it for granted and try to enjoy every second of it.” I work with people who inspire me, and I’ll never not be profoundly grateful that I get to put a mask on every day. Thankfully, now it’s considered a career, not a crime.