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Author: Amy Royle

  • The Friday Everything Broke

    The Friday Everything Broke

    One year on, a moment of reflection:

    A week before, my coercive control case had been dropped.

    Not quietly. Not kindly. I had gone from being the victim in the crime they had arrested him for, to a member of the public. A reclassification so deliberate, so calculated, that I knew exactly what it meant. You cannot be a victim in one crime and a member of the public in another. I knew that. They knew I knew that.

    I had already watched them pour their energy into charging the only officer who had actually tried to do his job. The corruption wasn’t a suspicion anymore. It was obvious. Unapologetic. And the man — the one who would later put my child at risk, who had used DARVO tactics from the very beginning, who had twisted every truth until I questioned my own — walked away. No consequences. Nothing.

    And then I went to work.

    I don’t know what finally broke it open that Friday. Maybe it was the accumulation. Maybe it was the silence after the verdict. Maybe it was simply that my body had been holding too much for too long and finally said no more.

    I collapsed. I ended up doing my own ECG on the floor. My colleagues — people who had only ever seen me composed, capable, holding the line — saw me break for the first time.

    I am not ashamed of that moment. I never will be.

    But I won’t pretend it didn’t happen. Because understanding what led to it matters. And a lot has changed since then.

    NAAVoices was not created from certainty, but from lived experience and professional insight. As I migrate earlier work from the original platform, this post has been reviewed and approved for transfer. It remains true to its original context, with only minor clarity edits where needed. Some moments do not require rewriting to remain honest.

    Understanding Despair: Breaking the Misconceptions

    I was anxious coming back after Friday.

    Not the usual kind of anxious — the kind that sits heavy in your chest, replaying every moment, every word, every crack that showed. I have spent years perfecting the front. The composed, capable version of me that walks into a room and holds it together. Friday, that version didn’t show up.

    And I’m still processing that.

    PTSD doesn’t announce itself politely. It doesn’t wait for a convenient moment. It pulls you under, and sometimes — no matter how much work you’ve done, how many tools you have, how many times you’ve survived it before — it pulls you under in front of people.

    Re-traumatisation is brutal. It’s not just remembering. It’s reliving — your nervous system convinced, all over again, that you are back in the worst of it. The despair that follows isn’t weakness. It’s overload. It’s your mind and body hitting a wall they didn’t see coming.

    I spent so much of the weekend worrying about my colleagues. What they saw. What they thought. Whether they’d look at me differently. My darkest days usually produce productivity — not me on my knees, refusing help, doing my own ECG. I hope they know that moment didn’t define me. I hope they understood they were seeing something real, not something broken beyond repair.

    Because here’s what I want people to understand about despair — the things nobody talks about honestly:

    It is not weakness. It is one of the most human things you will ever feel. Everyone has a limit. Reaching yours doesn’t make you less; it makes you human.

    It is not permanent. In the depths of it, it feels like it will never lift. It does. It has before. It will again.

    It is not the same as depression. Despair is a response — raw, overwhelming, situational. Depression is a condition. Conflating the two helps no one.

    Isolating won’t protect you. It feels safer to disappear when you’re in it. Connection is uncomfortable when you’re raw. But it’s also the thing that pulls you back.

    It isn’t unproductive. Some of my most important self-realisations have come from the wreckage of a really bad day. Despair forces honesty in a way nothing else does.

    You don’t have to fight it. Sometimes the bravest thing is to let yourself feel it, name it, and wait for it to pass rather than white-knuckling through.

    I’m sharing this not because I have it figured out, but because I know I’m not the only one who has sat somewhere quiet after a really public moment of pain, wondering if they’ve changed how people see them forever.

    You haven’t. And neither have I.

    My Lived Experience: A Personal Journey Through Trauma and Recovery
    Accountability & Experience: My West Mercia Police Story
    Accountability & Experience: My West Mercia Police Story
  • Finding Silence in the Midst of Overload: Navigating Safety and Trauma

    Finding Silence in the Midst of Overload: Navigating Safety and Trauma

    NAAVoices was not created from certainty, but from lived experience and professional insight. As I migrate earlier work from the original platform, this post has been reviewed and approved for transfer. It remains true to its original context, with only minor clarity edits where needed. Some moments do not require rewriting to remain honest.

    Home is supposed to be the place where you can finally breathe. But for many of us who carry the weight of trauma, especially after a relationship with a narcissist, that quiet can feel anything but peaceful. Instead of rest, the silence can bring something harder: the space for our fears and memories to get louder.

    If that resonates with you, please know,  you are not alone, and what you’re feeling makes complete sense.

    When Your Body Won’t Switch Off

    Living with hyper-vigilance is exhausting in a way that’s hard to put into words. Your nervous system is constantly on duty, scanning for danger, bracing for the next blow, even when the threat is long gone. A creak on the stairs, a door slamming somewhere down the street, a certain tone of voice: things that seem small to others can feel enormous when your body has learned to stay on high alert.

    If you have children, there may be moments of genuine warmth that cut through the noise, their laughter, their small hands in yours. But as they grow into teenagers, the stakes can feel even higher. The need to protect them, to hold it all together, can sit heavy on your chest. You’re not just managing your own healing. You’re trying to be present for them, too.

    What PTSD Can Look Like Day to Day

    Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it’s just a heaviness you can’t shake. A memory that surfaces out of nowhere and takes the rest of the day with it. A feeling that you’re somehow failing, even when others can plainly see how hard you’re trying.

    PTSD can make it genuinely difficult to acknowledge good things, achievements, moments of joy, and progress. When the mind is still caught in survival mode, the positives can feel distant and unreal, while the fear feels very close and very loud.

    And if someone is still trying to manipulate or control your life, through legal proceedings, through the children, through mutual connections, that ongoing stress can make it feel almost impossible to heal. You’re trying to rebuild while the ground keeps shifting beneath you.

    Finding Something to Hold Onto

    On the harder days, even the smallest anchor can make a real difference. Something that brings you back to yourself, back to the present moment, back to the knowledge that you are still here, still standing. Here are a few things that many survivors have found genuinely helpful:

    • Grounding and mindfulness. When anxiety spikes, try to anchor yourself in the present, feel the weight of your feet on the floor, notice five things you can see, and take three slow, deliberate breaths. These aren’t clichés; they work because they redirect your nervous system away from threat mode.
    • A space that’s just yours. Whether it’s a corner of a room, a favourite chair, or a drawer full of things that comfort you, having a physical space that feels safe can be surprisingly powerful.
    • Journaling. Getting thoughts out of your head and onto paper can bring real relief. It doesn’t need to be eloquent. Even jotting down one small win from the day, anything at all, can gently shift your perspective over time.
    • Talking to someone who gets it. Whether that’s a friend, a support group, or a therapist, sharing your experience with someone who understands can lift an enormous weight. You don’t have to carry this alone.
    • Recognising your own resilience. This one can feel almost impossible on bad days, but it matters: you are still here. You have navigated things that would have floored most people. That is nothing. That is everything.

    Moving Forward, One Day at a Time

    There will be days when the past feels closer than the present. Days when the progress you’ve made feels invisible. That’s okay. Healing from trauma isn’t a straight line, and it doesn’t run on anyone else’s timeline.

    The silence that once felt threatening can, slowly and with time, become something gentler. A place to rest. A place to breathe. A place where you get to decide what comes next, on your terms.

    You are reclaiming your story. And that matters more than you might realise right now.

    You are not alone, and you never have to be.

    If you’re struggling, please reach out to a mental health professional or a domestic abuse support service in your area. You deserve support.

    My Lived Experience: A Personal Journey Through Trauma and Recovery
  • ADHD, RSD and Coercive Control: A Survivor’s Guide to Understanding and Awareness

    ADHD, RSD and Coercive Control: A Survivor’s Guide to Understanding and Awareness

    In July 2023 I was diagnosed with Combined Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. For the first time in my life, everything made sense. I had never realised that the constant internal restlessness I lived with was hyperactivity. I did not know it could present this way, but it is common in women and girls.

    I had not planned to start medication. The clinician used a simple comparison that stayed with me. If I were deficient in B12, would I take supplements? Of course I would. ADHD involves differences in dopamine regulation in parts of the brain such as the substantia nigra, ventral tegmental area and hypothalamus. Yet I hesitated, believing I had managed for 34 years without any medication. I worried medication would dull the parts of me that made me driven. I did not want to feel numb or altered.

    Looking back, I wish I had understood this sooner. I had not been myself for a long time. The impact of coercive control had stripped away many of the traits I once valued in myself.

    Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria

    The clinician who assessed me also believed I experienced rejection sensitivity dysphoria. After researching it, so much of my life suddenly aligned. My childhood, my friendships, my fear of criticism and the intense emotional pain triggered by perceived rejection all made sense.

    Understanding RSD helped me recognise why I felt so compelled to help someone who was harming me, why I feared losing him, and why the emotional impact of his behaviour was so severe. It is not weakness. It is a recognised pattern linked to neurodivergence.

    When Abuse Is Dismissed

    On 21 December 2023, a police officer with more than 25 years of service told me, “Some relationships are just bad, not all are abusive.” It was the second time he failed to act on a disclosure, despite a documented history of controlling behaviour.

    This is the reality many victims face. Coercive control is often invisible to those who do not understand it. Dismissal from professionals can be devastating.

    Understanding Coercive Control

    Professor Evan Stark describes coercive control as being taken hostage. The victim becomes captive in an unreal world created by the abuser, trapped in confusion, contradiction and fear.

    Emotional abuse is not always shouting or threats. It can be sarcasm, dismissiveness, character attacks, subtle put downs and constant button pushing. It often stems from the abuser’s insecurities and their need to create a hierarchy where they are always right and you are always beneath them.

    Gaslighting Tactics Survivors Should Know

    Gaslighting is one of the most damaging tools of coercive control. Survivors often recognise the behaviours long before they have the language for them.

    Common tactics include:

    • Blatant lies told with confidence to destabilise your sense of truth
    • Denial even when presented with evidence
    • Using what matters most to you as ammunition
    • Gradual erosion of your confidence over time
    • Occasional praise to keep you off balance
    • Creating confusion so you rely on them for clarity
    • Projection, accusing you of what they are doing
    • Turning others against you to isolate you
    • Questioning your sanity to undermine your credibility
    • Claiming everyone else is lying so they become your only “truth”

    Recognising these tactics is essential for breaking the cycle.

    Socioeconomic Disadvantage

    Socioeconomic disadvantage significantly affects mental health outcomes. Children growing up in disadvantaged households are two to three times more likely to develop mental health disorders. When low socioeconomic status persists, the lifetime risk increases further. Improvements in household income and stability can reduce this risk, showing how strongly parental circumstances shape a child’s mental health (Misirliyan et al., 2023).

    Resilience in Children

    Resilience is shaped by a child’s personal qualities, their relationships and the wider systems around them. Children adapt best when their environments are safe, predictable and supportive. The focus should be on improving the child’s environment rather than expecting the child to become more resilient in the face of adversity (Misirliyan et al., 2023).

    A Personal Reflection on Diagnosis and Stigma

    When my son was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of five, I began researching everything I could. I did not expect to see myself reflected in the information. By the time I reached 32, I felt overwhelmed by different aspects of my life, particularly my home environment. I went to my GP hoping she would look beyond the surface.

    Before she prescribed antidepressants, I explained that I did not believe I was experiencing depression. I suspected undiagnosed ADHD. The stigma I had carried for years disappeared the moment she responded with understanding. She referred me to an adult ADHD service, and for the first time I felt seen.

    Years later, my diagnosis has strengthened my belief that correct identification of neurodiversity or mental health conditions is essential for appropriate support. Too many adults hide their struggles until everything collapses. If we recognised these challenges earlier in childhood, we could create a far more positive future.

    Embracing Neurodiversity

    Children thrive when they are understood. When we reassure them that there is nothing wrong with them, and that their differences are simply part of who they are, we help them build identity rooted in strength rather than shame.

    Some of the world’s most talented artists, musicians, authors and innovators are neurodivergent. Their challenges would be far less daunting if society accepted that difference is not deficiency.

    Embracing neurodiversity enriches our communities, workplaces and culture. Recognising different ways of thinking enhances creativity and innovation. Seeing conditions such as autism, ADHD and dyslexia as natural variations encourages acceptance and supports advocacy for the strengths associated with neurodivergence (Doyle, 2020).

    This shift is reflected in the growing number of specialist services and programmes designed to support neurodiverse individuals (LeFevre‑Levy et al., 2023). Advocates and thought leaders continue to drive this change, reinforcing neurodiversity as an essential aspect of human diversity (Johnson and Ahluwalia, 2024).

    Different is not less.

    Research and Evidence

    Research from the Evidence‑Based Practice Unit at University College London highlights the importance of school interventions. Community interventions are also crucial. These efforts improve mental health outcomes for children and young people (UCL, 2023).

    A systematic review by University College London found a clear association between academic pressure and adolescent mental health problems. These problems include anxiety and depression. This reinforces the need for public health approaches that address academic stress (Stearea et al., 2023).

    A scoping review exploring how children and young people perceive mental health emphasises the importance of developing a shared language. When children understand the difference between everyday challenges and issues that require support, outcomes improve significantly (Beckman et al., 2023).

    Research from the Evidence-Based Practice Unit at UCL highlights important factors. School and community interventions play a vital role. They help improve mental health outcomes for children and young people. Their findings suggest that targeted interventions can significantly reduce mental health issues and promote well-being (UCL, 2023).

    Domestic Abuse

    Domestic abuse is a mental health risk for both maternal depression and infant and child mental health. Abuse may contribute to toxic stress syndrome. This can lead to anxiety, depression, and long-term difficulties in handling stress and relationships. Abuse may first occur or intensify during pregnancy, further exacerbating these risks (Misirliyan et al., 2023).

    Embracing neurodiversity.

    Viewing conditions such as autism, ADHD, and dyslexia as natural variations rather than deficits fosters societal acceptance. It encourages advocacy for the positive aspects of neurodiversity, particularly within professional settings (Doyle, 2020).

    This shift is evident in the growing number of specialised services and programs designed to support neurodiverse individuals, promoting their well-being and enabling them to contribute meaningfully to society (LeFevre-Levy et al., 2023).

    The ongoing efforts of thought leaders and advocates play a crucial role in driving this change, reinforcing the importance of recognising neurodiversity as an essential aspect of human diversity (Johnson & Ahluwalia, 2024).

    Different is NOT less.

  • When the Police Came Knocking: A Personal Journey Through Fear and Recovery

    When the Police Came Knocking: A Personal Journey Through Fear and Recovery

    NAAVoices was not created from certainty, but from lived experience and professional insight. As I migrate earlier work from the original platform, this post has been reviewed and approved for transfer. It remains true to its original context, with only minor clarity edits where needed. Some moments do not require rewriting to remain honest.

    Content Warning: This post discusses domestic abuse, child safeguarding concerns, police misconduct, trauma responses, and emotional distress. Please take care while reading and step away if needed. Support resources are listed on our Help & Guidance page.

    29 December 2024 — 11.45pm

    “I don’t want to be labelled as resilient or strong, nor do I want to bear the weight of those expectations. I simply want to be myself — to live freely, unshackled by the burdens of the past and the control others seek to impose on my future.”

    I finally managed to get up off the floor. Shaking and crying. Feeling the weight of everything that had happened.

    The emotional turmoil had been overwhelming. I took a deep breath, trying to regain some control.

    Just when I thought I might find a moment of peace, there was an unexpected knock at the door.

    At first, I hesitated. Thought it might be another delivery — so many Temu orders arriving before Christmas.

    But the uncertainty had me on edge. I always check through the peephole now. It was dark outside. Impossible to see who was there.

    After a moment of internal debate, I opened the door just a crack.

    Standing there was a police officer.

    My heart sank.

    When Police Arrive at Your Door

    I could barely form words. The panic rose within me.

    The officer asked about CCTV footage and mentioned a crash. A wave of anxiety washed over me.

    This CCTV had been installed to protect my children and me — a safeguard in a year already riddled with trauma. Yet the very presence of police — an authority I’d come to associate with harm rather than safety — sent me spiralling.

    I struggled to speak. My voice stuttered through my response. I managed to tell him I had PTSD linked to my experiences with the police. And still, at that moment, I found myself apologising.

    Sorry for my condition.

    Sorry that I couldn’t help.

    Why was I saying sorry?

    I didn’t recognise this officer. Yet here I was, feeling the need to explain my pain and fear, as if I owed him an apology for the damage done to my neuroplasticity by a colleague from the same station.

    The Panic Attack

    When I finally closed the door, I sank to my knees.

    Gasping. The tears released. The shaking returned. The familiar onset of a panic attack.

    It was as if my body was trying to process a flood of emotions that had been building for over a year.

    Once I managed to settle, I sat on the floor and let my thoughts swirl. I knew I had to articulate what had just happened. It was all I had left after a year of feeling trapped in my own mind.

    Why I Keep Speaking Out

    I realise the importance of speaking out.

    My experiences are valid. Sharing them is a crucial step towards healing.

    I still have a long way to go. But acknowledging my feelings and confronting the past is a step in the right direction. The journey to reclaim my voice and my peace is fraught with challenges. I know that.

    But each moment of honesty brings me closer to understanding. Closer to healing.

    The Ongoing Corruption

    Then I sat down to work on my website. A million thoughts racing through my mind.

    I needed answers about how information had been leaked to my ex. How he’d been able to provide specifics to his barrister that falsely represented witness statements I knew to be factually inaccurate.

    How had he always been a step ahead?

    It doesn’t take much to connect the dots. But with everything else going on, it’s no surprise there’s more corruption.

    After being given the details of two other officers to contact, I couldn’t face it.

    I was already on my knees answering the door to a police officer about the CCTV. When I checked — the bloody CCTV wasn’t even plugged in.

    Due to the haunting memories, I had to move out of the main bedroom where it’s located.

    The teenager clearly thought the Xbox was a priority.

    I’ve been awake all night, running through it all.

    I Just Want My Life Back

    I haven’t felt such intense trauma for a long time.

    I did ring the CMHT line to talk it through.

    I just want my life back.

    I don’t want to fear the police. I don’t want to spend nights on end reading guidance — hoping it will prevent situations like this from happening to others.

    The police haven’t adhered to anything with me and my children.

    If I were to contact them now, I would not want to relive what I’ve been through with officers 20 and 21.

    I just want to live my life again. Free from control.

    I know that sharing my story is just one piece of that puzzle.

    If you’ve experienced something similar — know that you’re not alone. And it’s okay to seek help.

    Accountability & Experience: My West Mercia Police Story
    My Lived Experience: A Personal Journey Through Trauma and Recovery

  • Big Hearts: A Four-Year-Old, a Stranger, and a 60-Mile Round Trip

    Big Hearts: A Four-Year-Old, a Stranger, and a 60-Mile Round Trip

    Today, my youngest and I ventured into Telford shopping centre for a bit of shopping. As we made our way to the car park pay station near Primark, we encountered a gentleman sitting on the floor, drawing with a tin out for donations.

    I rarely carry cash — only my card — but seeing him there, I immediately checked. My little one asked about his drawings. Children have a unique way of seeing the world, and my son sees no harm in others.

    Over the past year, I’ve realised that despite what others may project about who I am, he has been shielded from the true events and the behaviours of others. He has always been my priority, and I have protected him from the harsh reality that not everyone is kind, considerate of others’ wellbeing, or capable of causing harm.

    This year has truly highlighted how hard life can be, and what I would have given to change even one aspect of what was happening. Life can take unexpected turns, making it difficult for some to find a way out of their circumstances.

    We met ‘Sketch,’ who shared a bit of his story with us. He had been through a lot, especially during COVID when he ended up in intensive care. His life took a downward turn from there. He had even written his experiences in a book but felt his handwriting wasn’t good enough to share.

    That hit close to home. When I wrote over 40,000 words about the abuse I had endured, no one listened or cared. A police officer told me I didn’t even need to provide a statement. Journaling became the thing that helped me find closure and process what had happened. Sitting there with Sketch, I realised how many of us feel that our lives and experiences simply don’t matter to others.

    It’s something I’ve made it a point to change — at work and in my daily life. I let people know that they do matter, that their stories matter. That need to affirm others perhaps stems from my intense desire to protect my children and fight for them, despite my ex manipulating others the way he had manipulated me for years.

    Listening to people’s stories is vital, because so many endure hardships in silence.

    It’s not realistic to help every person you come across, especially financially, but I felt for him. He had commented on his handwriting, and I knew that converting it into text was something I could do without much effort — something that might actually help him. I offered to do it if he ever decided to share his story and gave him my website email address.

    Sketch shared his journey of finding solace in drawing, a heartfelt way he copes with his challenges. As my little one carefully looked through Sketch’s pictures, he eagerly searched his bag for a drawing he wanted to share with him.

    I felt compelled to ask Sketch if I could write about him in my blog, highlighting the importance of instilling kindness and empathy in my children. To my joy, he agreed to a photo.

    Initially, he appeared a bit reserved, but by the time we left, a warm smile lit up his face. It was a beautiful reminder of the connection we can create through understanding and compassion.

    On the way back to the car, my son said something that melted my heart: “Mummy, I have a big heart, like you.” This brought tears to my eyes, especially after a teacher recently told me he was like his older brothers. I was incredibly proud to hear that.

    Before the youngest’s dad came into my life, my older boys were amazing kids who saw no harm in others and cared unconditionally about the people around them. Ten years ago, my middle son, at the same age my little one is now, had asked to buy water for a homeless man we encountered on the street. Sadly, they have since witnessed and experienced the harm that others can cause, and that is something I will never forgive myself for.

    Just a year ago, my little one was struggling with his emotions while living in an environment I wouldn’t wish on anyone. He rarely showed me much empathy. One of his ‘long’ memories with his dad is of him shouting at me because he wanted to play with his toys in the room I was cleaning. For a three-year-old to have that as a ‘happy long’ memory speaks volumes about the kind of behaviour he saw as acceptable. But today, he demonstrated profound empathy and understanding, showing how far he’s come.

    Once back in the car, I rummaged through our belongings to find something for Sketch. I found an old jumper of my teenage son’s and my little one’s drawing pad. I turned around, and my little one eagerly grabbed a toy train to give as well.

    As we returned to find Sketch, my son expressed his pride in being kind, suggesting we give him his pennies from his bag. It’s unsettling what he remembers — like how an act of kindness wasn’t the norm. He said, “Daddy has a bad heart. I don’t want to shout at you.” I reassured him that he indeed has a big heart, one capable of kindness and love.

    When we found Sketch again, my son proudly showed him the elephant he had drawn in the sketch pad, declaring it was for him. He also playfully pointed out his “dirty hands” — a charming reminder that, at four years old, such things are just part of life. The train was a gift for Sketch to play with while he wasn’t drawing.

    We chatted on our way back to the car, and just as we were leaving, Sketch ran after us with stickers he had found, eager to share them with my son. It was a little reminder that those who have so little often give what they can — not just in material possessions, but in time, energy, and effort, often to their own detriment.

    In the car, my little one suggested we get Sketch a house and some dinner.

    We returned after running our errands, only to find that he had left the car park.

    Today, I felt a swell of pride for my young man, but also for myself. I’ve chosen not to let the actions of others deter my desire to help those in need. Life may throw challenges our way, but moments like these remind us of the power of kindness and the importance of teaching our children to care for others.

    Since arriving home, my little one has put together a bag of things all on his own: popcorn, which he insisted on cooking himself, baby wipes for Sketch’s dirty hands after drawing, and snacks. But the most beautiful part is that he has drawn and cut out about a million hearts, colouring them in for Sketch.

    It looks like we’ll be making another 60-mile round trip tomorrow. Because I want this boy to know that even if we can’t find Sketch in the same spot, the effort, care, and compassion he has shown at the age of four is beyond anything many others would or could show. And I am unbelievably proud of him.

    Shout out to Sketch: Your resilience and creativity are truly inspiring. Despite all you’ve been through, you’ve shown that there is still room for kindness and generosity. It’s a powerful reminder for us all to care for one another and not judge others, because we never know where life might take us.

  • The Cost of Speaking Truth: A Year That Changed Everything

    The Cost of Speaking Truth: A Year That Changed Everything

    NAAVoices was not created from certainty, but from lived experience and professional insight. As I migrate earlier work from the original platform, this post has been reviewed and approved for transfer. It remains true to its original context, with only minor clarity edits where needed. Some moments do not require rewriting to remain honest.

    Accountability & Experience: My West Mercia Police Story

    December 27, 2024

    I found myself thinking about the past year this morning, and what might come next. It’s been nearly seven months since Professional Standards and Anti‑Corruption turned up at my workplace. I had no idea what was coming, and I certainly didn’t expect my life to be turned upside down all over again.

    It only strengthened my belief that the police are anything but incorruptible.

    West Mercia Police took my voice, dismissed my reality, and violated the sanctity of the abuse we had endured. They stripped me of everything, driving me to the precipice of survival.

    But when you’ve endured the wrath of the devil and watched officers meant to protect instead protect him, leaking confidential information to further his power, you stop fearing anything.

    This isn’t just my story. It’s a pattern of systemic negligence, a failure of duty, a breach of safeguarding, and a disregard for the rights enshrined in our laws and professional codes. I’m still here, not because I was supported, but because I had children to protect.

    The Beginning of the End

    The First Report – November 21st, 2023

    I spent eighteen days, from November 21st to December 9th, 2023, waiting for PC Timothy Rolls to contact me after disclosing 4½ years of coercive controlling behaviour, harassment, fraud, drug cultivation, and assault. But worst of all, I’d disclosed child abuse and common assault inflicted on my child. At that point, I knew only what had happened to my 11-year-old.

    That night, following his advice, I filled in court applications detailing what had been disclosed. I should have recognised the incompetence when he forgot to take the laptop and I had to go downstairs in the middle of the night for him to return and collect it.

    I believed him when he said I wouldn’t need to give a statement because I’d told him everything. My 11-year-old believed it too. My family believed it.

    But I heard nothing.

    What I Got Instead of Justice

    Just advice. Advice on contact centres. Stories about what he would have done if he’d attended certain incidents:

    March 7th, 2023: When my 2½-year-old had to be collected and my ex was passed out drunk, head on the chair. He’d been trusted with his child for the first time since June 2022, just a few hours after nursery. The child was naked, running around the house with doors open, when the family arrived to retrieve them. PC Rolls said he would have arrested him for “endangering a minor.”

    Earlier incident: When I sped home from work because my ex was passed out with our 10-month-old, both covered in what I thought was faeces (it was chocolate). My 8-year-old had picked the baby up out of the road and cared for their sibling while I raced from work.

    Two well-documented incidents. But they apparently didn’t need acting on. Nor did the 60+ texts and emails sent that day alone, with threats that I was “taking his life.”

    The Character Assassination Begins

    Instead of investigating the abuse, PC Rolls brought up my history: an incident from 6+ years ago with my ex-husband when our eldest autistic son refused to leave school with him. School had called me, and when I arrived, my ex’s girlfriend screamed at me in the playground, witnessed by teachers who called the police.

    Yet this playground incident was somehow relevant to compare my character, while I sat disclosing abuse in a nursing uniform, not having slept all night, knowing I couldn’t let my patients down because I was the only nurse in all day. I went to work despite being homeless with three kids, having just disclosed abuse.

    There was no reference to the multiple documented histories on West Mercia’s files that linked to coercive control. Five incidents, if I remember correctly.

    The Summary That Says Everything

    To summarise what I disclosed on November 21st, 2023:

    • 4½ years of coercive controlling behaviour
    • Child abuse (multiple children)
    • Harassment
    • Fraud
    • Drug distribution and cultivation (with text messages as evidence)
    • Historic child abuse
    • Common assault

    What I received: advice on contact centres and an email two days later with a crime reference number for “a domestic.”

    Unlike my ex, I had NO criminal record, no experience dealing with the police on this front, except when he threatened suicide every five minutes and vanished, or drink-drove, or disappeared, or refused to hand my baby over when drunk.

    I HEARD NOTHING!

    Homelessness and Desperation

    December 2023: Living the Nightmare

    By December 7th, I had:

    • A non-molestation order application in place
    • Referrals to MARAC
    • Three homeless children

    Meanwhile, the perpetrator pleaded his sob story, and everyone around him fell for it, despite years of washing their hands of him, not wanting him back, knowing him.

    My three children are STILL being supported for what he put them through. At that time, they were:

    • Petrified
    • Carrying screwdrivers to school
    • Not sleeping
    • Living in fear

    I had NO IDEA that nothing was being done. IDVAs and solicitors constantly asked for updates on the police case. I had no update because I was still waiting.

    The Financial Abuse No One Mentions

    Money was everything to him, or rather, faking who he was. He hadn’t paid a penny toward our house in four years. My contributions: £160,000. His: £41,000.

    Throughout 2023 alone, I was coerced into spending £13,700 on his demands, not counting the three years before or the two cars I bought him outright, or the fancy watch I found on my credit card statement. I didn’t even know I’d paid for that one. Not to mention thousands of his debts I paid off.

    He still can’t pay child maintenance on time, despite using it as a manipulation tool to blackmail me into staying. “£7 a fucking week,” he repeated when I begged him to go. I didn’t want his money: £7 per week! I spent more than that on his junk food each day.

    The Second Report and False Hope

    December 7th, 2023 – Trying Again

    While at work, one of my two IDVAs phoned: “Enough is enough, report it again!”

    I did. This time to a young, inexperienced officer, PC Lewis Finch. Maybe, I thought, just one rotten egg in the bunch.

    PC Finch seemed nice. Over the next two weeks, my faith started to grow. He came out again, got forms signed for the abuse of my child. My 11-year-old disclosed everything for the second time to a police officer. We headed to the station to sign the forms.

    The case was reopened on December 10th, 2023. THIS WAS THE SECOND REPORT OF THE SAME ABUSE. THE FIRST WAS ALREADY CRIME-REFERENCED WITH COERCIVE CONTROL.

    PC Rolls had done nothing. He’d NFA’d it (no further action, closed), with no reference to the child abuse disclosed, no reference to anything. NO DASH risk assessment completed for our family. No referral to organisations meant to help and support my children and me.

    The Evidence I Handed Over

    Within 10 days, I sent PC Finch:

    • Hundreds of documents
    • Videos
    • Audio recordings
    • Statements provided to family court by family members
    • Statements written and witnessed by my children’s teachers

    December 21st, 2023 – When Hope Died

    PC Rolls arrived on my doorstep with PC Finch. He was the young officer’s police mentor.

    That’s when the lies got worse.

    There was “no evidence” in six months of text messages and WhatsApps. That’s the ONLY evidence CPS will consider, I was told. Another Father’s Rights speech. Advice on drug hair strand testing.

    PC Finch looked up at PC Rolls, then at the floor, before confirming the lie.

    Doing Their Job for Them

    The PTSD Reality

    The thing about surviving daily with PTSD is that I relive every single detail:

    • Every interaction with every officer
    • How they were sitting
    • Where their hands were
    • The positioning of their feet
    • The look on their faces, their eyes
    • The way they spoke, how they moved
    • Words they used
    • The feelings I felt
    • The movements in them
    • The collapse on the floor after

    I’m haunted by it.

    Creating My Own Investigation

    By January 2024, after PC Rolls said “there’s a difference between a bad relationship and abuse,” I began my own investigation.

    NO SHIT!

    I wouldn’t wish narcissistic abuse on anyone, but I think it often happens: You live through it, and tell me that’s just a bad relationship.

    You’ll be threatened with suicide if you dare say anything against them. You live with constant psychological torment, fear of going home daily, knowing you have to get to your kids but petrified of what’s to come.

    My 77-Page Investigation

    I had my reality and life invalidated by people supposedly meant to protect me. I couldn’t sleep or eat, losing multiple stones over two months. I spent every night doing it myself. No one had investigated. I had to know whether they were right or if what I’d lived was abuse.

    The timelining happened, resulting in a 77-page statement on coercive controlling behaviour. I learnt everything about CPS guidance, legislation that the following officers didn’t even know existed.

    I HAD TO, because I had to understand the “why.”

    I printed all the evidence I’d sent PC Finch from the day we met. I went through four years of WhatsApp messages between us (he had four different phones, making it difficult). I highlighted different colours for each category of abuse and timeline-d everything from the beginning.

    What I Cross-Referenced

    My statement was cross-referenced with:

    • WhatsApp chats between his family and me
    • Messages between my family members about their concerns
    • Messages from his ex’s family to my family (despite not knowing me) warning them very early on
    • Audio recordings
    • Documents and images
    • Bank statements
    • Emails
    • Police call-outs from the past
    • Medical history: after 34 years with no mental health history, I’d seen my GP about stress at home
    • An 18-month cardiac history starting after rushing home to find him passed out with the kids
    • Parts of his medical history confirm some things (not all, that was to come)

    The Continued Betrayal

    By Late January 2024

    I’d faced five breaches of the non-molestation order. Not acted on.

    PC Rolls took it upon himself to give my nursery manager the third Father’s Rights speech, quoting information that was ONLY shared with my ex and me.

    PC Finch – The Betrayal That Broke Me

    This broke me. I’d trusted this young officer. I could see early on that he was likely young and had subtle traits reminding me of myself and my eldest son.

    But even he hadn’t reported the child abuse to my middle son. By this point, the kids were sleeping with hammers. Friends, family, and I were removing knives and hammers from their rooms. They were scared. Both had been referred for mental health support.

    HE DIDN’T EVEN RECORD IT, despite my coercive control case being “insufficient evidence” in six months of texts and WhatsApps (which is incorrect), and I wasn’t allowed to provide a statement.

    But my son deserved so much more.

    January 10th, 2024 – The Subject Access Revelation

    I spoke to the NSPCC about the other children. They told me I had to chase it or they would step in. So I did. I was informed that the additional information would be passed to CID.

    The SUBJECT ACCESS REQUEST proved mass neglect of duty:

    PC FINCH DOCUMENTED CHILD ABUSE AND HANDED IT OVER 3 MINUTES AFTER EMAILING ME, INFORMING ME HE WOULD SEND THE ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

    January 10th, 2024. A traumatised 11-year-old waited all that time for NOTHING. The crime had NEVER been passed on. Every day, he asked when his ABE (interview) would be.

    November 21st, 2023, I reported that! NO ONE had investigated anything from disclosure for an 11-year-old!

    These officers have kids. I wouldn’t wish the pain of looking into a child’s eyes filled with fear yet refusing to show weakness because they’ve been traumatised for so long. Then there’s the 13-year-old who cut his wrists not long before finally getting help, believing he’d be safe once police were involved and their abuser arrested.

    This was done to my children. Innocent kids who’d done nothing wrong.

    Fighting Through Hell

    The Daily Battle

    I fought with every ounce of strength I had left. Colleagues and friends became increasingly worried, but I couldn’t find words to share my torment. I was:

    • Overwhelmed
    • Barely functioning as a parent
    • Feeling like I was drowning in a constant fight-or-flight
    • Living a reality I didn’t want and couldn’t understand

    The very people meant to protect me were continuing the hell I’d found strength to escape. I was bombarded with harassment. My child went missing while police officers attended, then made comments, making it clear they’d met my ex.

    I was drowning in debt from items he’d stolen, selling my kids’ toys and everything I owned to pay off the finance on items he stole. I had to focus on understanding it all while trying to keep my life together.

    Why I Couldn’t Give Up

    There were many days I almost gave up. But I couldn’t. The kids deserved more. They’d already lost 4½ years.

    4½ years I was denied being a mum, not only to the two who practically lived in their rooms but also to the beautiful child he “owned.”

    What they lived through: I never wanted them to feel as I had.

    MY CHILDREN did NOT deserve to live through this.

    The Arrest That Shouldn’t Have Happened

    Seven months ago, a situation turned my life upside down once again. A sergeant, who was falsely accused, along with me as a victim, is still awaiting a decision about charges. The arrival of anti-corruption and professional standards at my workplace to investigate anonymous reports surrounding his conduct made a significant impact.

    How he was arrested, a well-respected officer who’d dedicated over 38 years to the police, is beyond me. He was punished for seemingly trying to fix the problems his colleagues caused.

    False Reports and Familiar Patterns

    Five months before meeting him, I’d had a similar experience when false reports were made against my nursing registration. Fortunately, those reports were deemed malicious and recognised for what they were: an attempt to discredit my character. However, my standing and reputation for caring for others suppressed my ex’s need to cause further harm, and the situation was resolved.

    “Witch Hunt”: The Words That Echoed

    The day the sergeant was arrested, a colleague with connections in the police—thankfully not from the same force—reached out to a friend to explain what had happened. One of the first words out of her friend’s mouth was “witch hunt.”

    Another Officer, Another Letdown

    As the investigation into coercive control progressed, my case was handed over to another West Mercia police officer—the fifth one I was supposed to trust to investigate what had allegedly happened on four previous occasions. My current officer didn’t even inform me about this transfer, which added to my uncertainty.

    This change occurred just a day before I was forced to take sick leave to protect not only my mental health but also that of my children and my nursing registration.

    Silence, Avoidance, and Escalating Anxiety

    The investigating officer didn’t keep me informed or even pass over 3 of the crimes my ex had been bailed for, which only made my anxiety worse.

    Losing My Safe Space

    Although my patients and workplace had provided me with a much-needed sanctuary, and the ability to protect and help others felt like my only escape from the hell I was living in—both at the hands of my ex and the police—it all became too overwhelming.

    The safety of my children and myself was being jeopardised, and I no longer felt secure in my own town. This fear made it impossible for me to even drive into town, let alone shop or take my friends out.

    The Fear That Never Left

    The fear I continue to experience surrounding the police officer who should have been arrested for his actions is profound.

    Leaks, Lies, and Legal Consequences

    As the months passed, I lost count of how many officers I spoke to, and leaks continued, leading to serious consequences. One incident involved a police officer giving false information to my ex, which was then used in family court. The court accepted the information without hesitation, underscoring the extent of the manipulation, mainly because it could have originated only from the police.

    Despite the diligent efforts of one of the few remaining individuals with a sense of integrity to uncover the source of the leak, progress soon stagnated once again.

    Civilian Statement Taker: A Flawed Process

    It was later revealed that the officer named in the report was actually a civilian statement taker, tasked with gathering witness accounts. If the information presented to family court was indeed accurate, it raises serious concerns regarding the credibility of his statements.

    The witnesses, who’d observed the abuse for many years, failed to include crucial details that were ultimately used to weaken the protective measures for my children. This discrepancy not only questions the integrity of the process but also highlights the urgent need for a thorough re-evaluation of the evidence presented.

    Meeting the Sergeant: A Turning Point

    The day I met the sergeant, he came to discuss my conduct complaint after his PC tried to intimidate a witness and breached my human rights by disclosing confidential information and failing to act on criminal offences. Coincidentally, in the process he’d also tried to intimidate a competitor of his wife’s business.

    This, along with other incidents, breached the code of ethics and policing, and discriminated against my protective factors under the Equality Act.

    No Respect Left for the Uniform

    The sergeant wasn’t just met with my complaint; he was met with my four years of abuse. This time, I had no respect for the uniform, given the previous harm inflicted on me. With my sister beside me, I confronted him with brutal honesty about his PC’s actions.

    Now, I dread to think what PC ****’s wife endures at home, seeing similarities between him and my ex.

    Control, Manipulation, and the Junior Officer

    As the year continued, and the police seemed to protect this officer, I firmly believe he was the source of the anonymous complaints about the sergeant. He likely asserted control over his junior, who became my second investigating officer.

    I know that young officer lied to my face, but what upset me more was seeing him unable to answer my question without looking at his mentor, eventually staring at the floor whilst providing a false answer. I don’t blame him for what followed or the discoveries from the subject access, as I believe he was vulnerable to the controlling nature of the man who caused all this.

    This Was Never About Me

    This was never about me; it was about my children, teaching them that I would protect and advocate for them just as I do for my patients. Victims like me were put at risk because the focus wasn’t on protecting the victim but the accused.

    After enduring twelve months of stress, I became increasingly sure that those who hadn’t caused harm would be blamed. Given the lack of answers and the protection of PC ****, I imagine if the sergeant is charged, he’ll be one person providing a statement for the prosecution.

    However, heaven and earth will need to move before anyone keeps me off the stand for the defence, even if that means standing outside and shouting this from the top of my lungs or handing out Book 2. The first three chapters are a testimony to what that officer put me through, and that was just the start, before I knew he’d acted with such malice.

    Misconduct, Malice, and the Attempt to Shift Blame

    I’d already experienced one of the officers attempting to divert the original conduct complaint regarding the officer who’d failed in his duty, acted with malice, and caused unprecedented harm to the children and me by providing fathers’ rights speeches, breaching confidentiality and in my opinion and on review of the CPS guidance surrounding Misconduct in Public Office, used his position of power to inflict harm to a victim.

    It became increasingly clear that everything I’d endured and all the failures in disclosure were about to be blamed on this officer. This was the reality on the morning I raised the conduct complaint after PC **** acted with malice for the third time!

    Twelve Months On: The Damage Is Done

    I don’t know if he’s safe, well, still sane, or as damaged as I’ve been by the same people. However, what I do know is that 12 months on, the damage is irreparable. The sick and disturbing accusations he’s faced are beyond humane.

    For someone who didn’t commit the suggested crime, it’s deeply troubling when there’s a clear trail of corruption within the force. Clearly, advocating for others and doing one’s job is frowned upon.

    If Doing Your Job Is Criminal, Arrest Me Too

    If treating someone of equal rank and mindset fairly and causing them no harm is considered criminal, then they need to arrest not only me but also multiple others who’ve simply done their jobs.

    Unlike other aspects of the multidisciplinary team (MDT) I work with, where there’s a clear distinction, I viewed him as a professional. If I’d ever perceived his uniform as his identity, I would have been having panic attacks and shaking in a corner or possibly fainting under the table, much like I do whenever the police are mentioned, including at my workplace.

    Finding Solace in Nature

    Amidst the overwhelming harm and feelings of being unsafe in my town, I often sought refuge in nature. In the midst of chaos, the outdoors became my sanctuary.

    Feeling trapped at home and haunted by memories, I found peace in the natural world. My son and I would watch the sun rise and set, allowing the beauty of nature to calm us. It was during these moments that I realised how much I needed that sense of peace to cope with everything.

    It wasn’t until I started my master’s programme and learnt about different therapies, including the “Walk and Talk” initiative in Sheffield, that I understood why I was drawn to nature. Whilst I often wanted to talk and get support, I also needed grounding. Nature provided that for me.

    Whenever I felt anxious, I would escape outside to clear my mind. Traditional therapies usually rely on structured settings and professionals to help, but nature’s always available and free. It offers a space for reflection and growth, which has proved essential to my healing journey.

    As I continue to deal with the challenges of my past and the uncertainty of my future, I am thankful for the calm that nature provides, reminding me of my inner strength and resilience.

    Looking Forward

    This year has been a year of betrayal, systemic failure, and profound loss. But it has also been a year of survival, of learning that I am stronger than the forces that tried to break me.

    The police didn’t even document or record the abuse, leaving my children to suffer for months after disclosure. I won’t allow their pain to be repeated. I won’t accept that I failed them.

    My best friend was right: it’s not like it used to be. They’re all corrupt.

    But that is a story for another night.

  • Coercive Control Dismissed as a Bad Relationship

    Coercive Control Dismissed as a Bad Relationship

    The Harm of Misunderstanding Risk, Trauma and Neurodivergence

    Originally written: 17 December 2024
    Transferred to NAAVoices as part of the Two Years On series

    This post was originally written on 17 December 2024, while I was still trying to understand why one sentence had caused such harm.

    On 21 December 2023, after disclosing years of abuse and safeguarding concerns, I was told by an experienced police officer:

    “Some relationships are just bad, not all are abusive.”

    At the time, I knew that sentence was wrong. I knew it did not reflect what I had lived through. I knew it did not reflect what my children had lived through.

    What I understand more clearly now is why it stayed with me.

    It was not just an insensitive comment. It reflected a failure to recognise risk.

    When coercive control is reduced to “relationship conflict”, professionals can miss the pattern. They can miss the imbalance of power. They can miss the fear. They can miss the children living inside that fear. They can miss the fact that a victim who looks articulate, organised, emotional, detached, overwhelmed or evidence-heavy may still be at serious risk.

    This post is being transferred onto NAAVoices using its original date because the chronology matters. These posts are part of a wider timeline showing how my understanding developed over time, particularly around trauma, neurodivergence, coercive control and institutional response.

    Some wording has been updated for clarity, safeguarding awareness, evidence and professional boundaries. The core reflection remains rooted in what I was trying to process at the time.

    This is part of my Two Years On series because the language used around abuse matters. Professional responses matter. When coercive control is dismissed, victims can be left carrying not only the abuse itself, but the consequences of not being believed.

    What I Understand Now

    Two years on, I understand more than I did then.

    I understand that coercive control is not just a set of incidents. It is a pattern of domination, restriction and psychological harm.

    I understand that neurodivergence can affect how abuse is experienced, explained and misread by professionals.

    I understand that trauma can make disclosure messy, fragmented, urgent, emotional or overly detailed, and none of that makes a victim unreliable.

    I understand that people working in healthcare can still be victims, even when they are trained to recognise risk in others.

    I understand that being capable does not mean being safe.

    And I understand that a professional misunderstanding coercive control can cause real harm, because their interpretation may influence what gets recorded, what gets investigated and what gets minimised.

    That is why I am writing this again with more context.

    Not to correct the original feeling.

    To explain it.

    A Note on Earlier Writing

    Some of my earlier writing about this period was shaped into a memoir, which I later unpublished.

    Not because the experiences were untrue, and not because the writing did not matter, but because it had been written while I was still in active trauma. Writing was survival then. It was where I put the things I could not safely say anywhere else.

    With time and distance, I can see that some of that writing deserves to be returned to carefully, from a place of greater stability, clarity and protection.

    The question at the centre of that writing was the same question so many survivors face:

    Why did I stay?

    Why I Stayed

    That question haunted me.

    Not because I did not know the answer, but because I had been taught by the abuse to blame myself before anyone else even had to.

    I thought I should have seen the signs.
    I thought I should have left sooner.
    I thought intelligence, motherhood, professional awareness and life experience should somehow have protected me from being controlled.

    They did not.

    Because coercive control does not rely on someone being weak.

    It relies on erosion.

    It works slowly. Through confusion, fear, threat, responsibility, shame, money, housing, children, hope and exhaustion. It narrows your world until your decisions are no longer made freely, but through constant risk assessment.

    Leaving is not one simple decision.

    It is often a calculation made under pressure.

    What will happen if I go?
    What will happen if I stay?
    What will happen to the children?
    Where will we live?
    Will anyone believe me?
    Will he get worse?
    Will I be blamed?
    Will the systems around us understand what has really happened?

    That is why “Why did you stay?” is the wrong question.

    The better question is:

    What made leaving unsafe?

    Coercive Control Is Not a Bad Relationship

    The Domestic Abuse Act 2021 recognises that domestic abuse can include physical or sexual abuse, violent or threatening behaviour, controlling or coercive behaviour, economic abuse, and psychological or emotional abuse. That legal framework matters because abuse is not limited to physical violence. It can be a course of conduct. It can be a pattern. It can be the gradual removal of someone’s freedom, confidence and sense of reality. (Legislation.gov.uk)

    Coercive control is not simply arguing. It is not ordinary relationship breakdown. It is not two people failing to communicate.

    It is a pattern of domination.

    The Home Office statutory guidance explains that controlling or coercive behaviour can underpin economic, emotional, psychological, technology-facilitated abuse and threats, whether or not physical or sexual violence is also present. (GOV.UK)

    It can look like sarcasm that chips away at you.
    Dismissiveness that makes you doubt your own judgement.
    Character attacks that make you feel impossible to love.
    Accusations that keep you constantly defending yourself.
    Rules that are never called rules, but still control your life.
    Consequences that teach you it is easier to comply than resist.

    It is the slow loss of self-trust.

    You stop asking, “Is this normal?”

    You start asking, “How do I stop this getting worse?”

    That is not a bad relationship.

    That is control.

    Gaslighting and the Loss of Reality

    Gaslighting is one of the most damaging tools of coercive control because it attacks your ability to trust your own reality.

    It can include blatant lies, told with complete confidence.

    It can include denial, even when you have proof.

    It can include someone using what matters most to you as ammunition: your children, your work, your identity, your reputation, your health, your past, your future.

    It can include small comments that wear you down over time.

    A joke that is not a joke.
    A criticism dressed as concern.
    A lie you are too tired to challenge.
    A compliment given just often enough to keep you confused.

    It can include projection, where they accuse you of the very behaviour they are displaying.

    It can include turning others against you, so you no longer know who is safe.

    It can include being called unstable, dramatic, bitter, difficult or irrational until you start wondering whether your distress is the problem, rather than a response to what is being done to you.

    Eventually, if it continues for long enough, you may stop asking, “Why are they doing this?”

    You start asking, “What is wrong with me?”

    That is the harm.

    Neurodiversity, Masking and Being Misread

    This is something I understand more clearly now than I did when I first wrote this.

    My ADHD did not cause the abuse.

    Neurodivergence does not make anyone responsible for being harmed.

    The responsibility for abuse always sits with the person choosing to cause harm.

    But neurodivergence can affect how abuse is experienced, recognised, disclosed and interpreted by others.

    A 2023 systematic review and meta-analysis concluded:

    “Individuals with ADHD are at an increased risk of being involved in cases of violence, namely IPV and SV, either as victims or perpetrators.” (PubMed)

    That sentence has to be handled carefully. It does not mean ADHD causes abuse. It does not mean neurodivergent people are responsible for being harmed. It does not mean ADHD makes someone unreliable.

    It means professionals need to understand risk, vulnerability and presentation with more care.

    For me, ADHD meant I searched for patterns. I tried to understand every contradiction. I over-explained because I needed things to make sense. I gathered evidence because I could see the gaps and inconsistencies. I masked because I was used to functioning, even when things were difficult.

    Those traits can be strengths.

    But in the context of coercive control, they can also be used against you.

    A neurodivergent victim may present with too much information, too much detail, too much emotion, too much urgency, or too much apparent competence. They may speak quickly, struggle to organise events chronologically, freeze, shut down, or appear detached.

    They may arrive with folders, timelines and evidence, not because they are obsessive or unreliable, but because they have already learned that if they do not create the record themselves, it may not exist.

    Risk is rarely about one factor in isolation. Neurodivergence, trauma, gender, parenting, financial dependence, professional identity and fear of not being believed can overlap in ways that make leaving and disclosing much harder.

    That should not be mistaken for instability.

    It should be understood as context.

    It may be trauma.
    It may be neurodivergence.
    It may be both.

    Either way, professionals need to look at the pattern, not just the presentation.

    What Research Tells Us About Risk

    Domestic abuse is common, but it is still often misunderstood.

    The ONS estimated that, in the year ending March 2025:

    “2.2 million females and 1.5 million males aged 16 years and over experienced domestic abuse in the last year.” (Women’s Aid)

    The ONS also reported that, in the year ending March 2025:

    “Domestic abuse related crimes represented 15.4% of all offences recorded by the police.” (Office for National Statistics)

    Police-recorded data does not capture the full reality of domestic abuse. Many victims never report. Some report and are misunderstood. Some report and the quality of recording, investigation and safeguarding response becomes part of the harm.

    Risk is not always visible.

    A person may be working, parenting, studying and functioning while being controlled.

    A person may have no obvious injuries and still be in danger.

    A person may sound articulate and still be terrified.

    That is why professionals need to understand coercive control as a pattern of behaviour, not a collection of isolated incidents.

    People in Healthcare Can Still Be Victims

    There is another layer that matters.

    People working in healthcare can be very good at functioning while harmed.

    We know how to show up.
    We know how to care for others.
    We know how to compartmentalise.
    We know how to keep working under pressure.
    We know how to present as capable, even when life outside work is falling apart.

    That can make abuse harder for others to recognise.

    Not because the harm is less serious, but because the presentation does not match what people expect.

    Research has recognised that healthcare professionals’ own experiences of domestic violence and abuse are often overlooked, even though healthcare staff are expected to identify and respond to abuse in others. (PMC)

    A systematic review and meta-analysis found:

    “Healthcare professionals experience domestic violence and abuse at similar or higher rates than the general population.” (PMC)

    So yes, healthcare workers can identify abuse in others and still be experiencing it themselves.

    A nurse can safeguard others and still not be safeguarded herself.

    A clinician can understand trauma professionally and still be traumatised personally.

    A healthcare professional can look competent and still be living in fear.

    A parent can keep turning up and still be breaking inside.

    That is why assumptions are dangerous.

    Victims do not all look the same.
    They do not all sound the same.
    They do not all disclose in the same way.
    They do not all collapse in front of you.

    Some keep going until their body gives way.

    Why Professional Dismissal Causes Harm

    When a victim discloses abuse, the response matters.

    A professional does not need to understand every detail immediately, but they do need to understand risk, pattern and power.

    When coercive control is dismissed as a bad relationship, that is not neutral.

    It shifts the burden back onto the victim.

    It suggests their fear may be excessive.
    Their evidence may not be enough.
    Their reality may still be up for debate.

    For someone already conditioned to doubt themselves, that can be devastating.

    It can also strengthen the perpetrator’s position.

    Coercive control thrives when outsiders misunderstand it.

    It thrives when people look for isolated incidents instead of patterns.
    It thrives when emotional abuse is treated as conflict.
    It thrives when children’s experiences are minimised.
    It thrives when victims are expected to present in one acceptable way before they are believed.

    That is why professional understanding matters.

    It is not about taking sides.

    It is about safeguarding.

    What Professionals Need to Ask Instead

    If a disclosure does not sound neat, that does not mean it is not credible.

    If a victim brings too much evidence, that does not mean they are obsessive.

    If they speak quickly, jump between events, cry, freeze, shut down or appear detached, that does not mean they are unreliable.

    It may mean they are traumatised.

    It may mean they are neurodivergent.

    It may mean they have spent years trying to survive something that did not happen in a straight line.

    The aim is not to abandon professional curiosity.

    It is to use it properly.

    Professionals need to ask better questions.

    Not, “Why did you stay?”
    But, “What made it unsafe to leave?”

    Not, “Why did you not report sooner?”
    But, “What stopped you from feeling safe enough to tell someone?”

    Not, “Why are you only saying this now?”
    But, “What has changed that means you can speak now?”

    Not, “Is this just a relationship breakdown?”
    But, “Is there a pattern of fear, control, intimidation, isolation or harm?”

    Not, “Why are you so emotional?”
    But, “What has this person been carrying, and for how long?”

    That shift matters.

    Because the right question can open a door.

    The wrong one can close it completely.

    Awareness Is Safeguarding

    Understanding coercive control is not optional.

    It is the difference between seeing someone as difficult and recognising someone who has been systematically worn down.

    It is the difference between asking, “Why did you stay?” and asking, “What made leaving unsafe?”

    It is the difference between treating abuse as conflict and recognising it as control.

    Coercive control can happen to anyone.

    Intelligence does not prevent it.
    Professional knowledge does not prevent it.
    Neurodivergence does not cause it.
    Strength does not make someone immune to it.

    Abuse is always the responsibility of the person choosing to harm.

    Always.

    If This Feels Familiar

    You are not to blame for what someone else chose to do.

    You are not weak because you stayed.

    You are not foolish because you hoped things would change.

    You are not difficult because you need help.

    You are not unreliable because trauma changed how you explain things.

    You are not responsible for making abuse easier for other people to understand.

    If you recognise these patterns, please reach out to someone who understands domestic abuse and coercive control. Specialist support matters.

    If you are in immediate danger, call 999. In the UK, you can contact the National Domestic Abuse Helpline on 0808 2000 247, or seek specialist local domestic abuse support.

    You deserve safety, clarity and peace.

    Not blame.

    Not dismissal.

    Not another person telling you it was just a bad relationship.

    My Lived Experience: A Personal Journey Through Trauma and Recovery
    Accountability & Experience: My West Mercia Police Story

    This reflection is shared as lived experience to support domestic abuse awareness, neurodiversity-informed safeguarding, trauma-informed practice and the normalisation of mental health support. It includes selected research to support public understanding, but is not clinical or legal advice. Names, dates or details may be retained where relevant to accountability, while unnecessary identifying information has been limited to protect privacy and maintain professional boundaries. The purpose is advocacy, reflection and reducing stigma around domestic abuse, coercive control, neurodivergence and help-seeking.

  • Police Contact, Again — When the Aftermath Spoke Louder Than the Meeting

    Police Contact, Again — When the Aftermath Spoke Louder Than the Meeting

    NAAVoices was not created from certainty, but from lived experience and professional insight. As I migrate earlier work from the original platform, this post has been reviewed and approved for transfer. It remains true to its original context, with only minor clarity edits where needed. Some moments do not require rewriting to remain honest.

    Officer Eleven

    My new investigating officer turned up today with a colleague.

    And this woman felt different.

    That does not mean I trust the police. I do not. Not after everything that has happened. But there was something calmer about her. Something that did not immediately feel loaded with assumptions before I had even opened my mouth.

    That alone was a shift.

    Before They Arrived

    The morning was chaos.

    I was trying to manage the nerves, the anxiety and the panic, while also attempting to keep myself busy with the bathroom. I have finally started doing it up after waiting for the house remortgage to be sorted before putting any money into the property.

    Of course, after demanding that I resolve everything within 56 days, he is now refusing to sign.

    So I am still paying more than £600 a month more than I should be.

    Because apparently the financial abuse needed another chapter.

    After laying the flooring, I pulled up my police document. I have recently converted it into a PowerPoint presentation. It is now seventy-six slides long and still does not cover half of what has happened.

    That tells you everything.

    It is taking some doing. Not just practically, but emotionally. Every slide is another reminder of something I should never have had to document myself.

    The Panic Before the Knock

    The anxiety about who she might bring with her became overwhelming.

    One of her colleagues had previously been involved in the so-called investigation into the child abuse and did nothing meaningful with it. That alone was enough to send me into a spiral.

    But that is another post.

    Before they arrived, I sat crying for well over an hour. Proper panic. The kind that takes over your whole body and leaves no space for rational thought.

    Usually, if I see or interact with the police, I am written off for days afterwards.

    So I expected the same.

    I expected to be left confused.
    I expected to be left questioning myself.
    I expected to be left feeling degraded.

    But that is not what happened.

    The Meeting

    They came in.

    I spoke too fast. I veered off in too many directions. I probably made very little sense at points.

    But she listened.

    More importantly, when they left, I was not left feeling gaslit.

    I did not hear a lie.
    I did not hear victim blaming.
    I did not hear snide references to my mental health.
    I did not feel like my trauma was being used to undermine my credibility.

    Just honesty.

    And I respect that.

    I have never asked the police to dress things up. I have never needed flowers painted over the facts, or bows tied around the truth.

    I can handle difficult information.

    What I cannot handle is dishonesty from people whose job is supposed to be upholding the law and protecting the public.

    All I have ever wanted is the truth.

    To give it.

    And to receive it.

    Officer Eleven

    It is close to midnight now, and I have admitted defeat.

    I have taken a lorazepam.

    I do not take daily medication. No antidepressants. No regular anti-anxiety medication. Just this, when the CPTSD becomes too much and my body will not come down on its own.

    Tonight, the distress is not really about the officers who came today.

    It is about remembering how badly others before them have handled this.

    I am now on officer eleven.

    That is face-to-face.

    That does not include the ones over the phone.

    Out of those eleven, only two have treated me with real dignity and respect. Both had more experience than the rest put together.

    Maybe today makes three and four.

    I hope so.

    Cautious Hope

    Today was positive.

    I need to say that carefully, because positive does not mean safe. It does not undo what came before. It does not repair the damage or restore trust overnight.

    But it was different.

    And right now, different matters.

    For once, I was not left feeling smaller after police contact.

    I was not left doubting what I had said.
    I was not left feeling punished for speaking.
    I was not left carrying someone else’s dishonesty on top of my own trauma.

    That is not a small thing.

    Time will tell whether this becomes another disappointment or the start of something more honest.

    But today, for the first time in a long time, I did not feel completely crushed by the system after it left my house.

    And that is worth recording.

    Disclaimer: This account reflects my personal experience and perceptions at the time; six months later, my assessment of honesty changed again following review of the organisation’s own records.

  • Returning to Work with PTSD: When a Place of Safety No Longer Feels Safe

    Returning to Work with PTSD: When a Place of Safety No Longer Feels Safe

    Reflection — Two Years On

    Original entry, 10 September 2024, written during active trauma

    The entry that follows was written during a period of active trauma, while the abuse and its consequences were still ongoing. At the time, I was attempting to survive, parent, work and make sense of events that kept unfolding. I did not yet have the neurological framework to fully understand what was happening to my mind and body.

    During that period, I was studying the neuroscience module of my postgraduate certificate. One lecture in particular focused on neuroplasticity and the neurological impact of trauma. Through neuroimaging and clinical evidence, it became clearer to me that PTSD is not a personal failure or a weakness of character. It is a trauma-related condition that can profoundly affect the nervous system, particularly when someone is repeatedly exposed to threat or forced to relive harm.

    That understanding mattered.

    For a long time, I carried responsibility that did not belong to me. I questioned my decisions, my resilience and my capacity to cope. I told myself I should have left sooner, should have handled things differently, should have been stronger.

    What the science helped me understand was that the injury did not arise from leaving too late. It came from the abuse itself, and from being repeatedly pulled back into it through systems that failed to protect us.

    I had left. I was no longer living with him.

    What followed was not something I chose, and it was not something my children deserved.

    The neurological changes I live with are the consequence of sustained harm and re-traumatisation. Those who caused that harm made choices. Systems and individuals who failed to intervene also made choices. The injury that resulted is not mine to own in terms of blame, even though I am the one who has had to live with its effects.

    This reflection is not a correction of the entry that follows.

    It is context.

    The original post remains close to how it was written. It reflects the reality of that moment, before I had the same insight and understanding I have now. It was written before science helped me make some sense of what had happened to me.

    Within the Two Years On series, entries are presented as they were lived, alongside the understanding that came later.

    The words that follow are not evidence of failure.

    They are evidence of injury.

    And of survival.

    Returning to Work with PTSD

    (Original entry — 10TH September 2024) (written during active trauma)

    PTSD is often described as a mental health condition. Living with it, however, has felt more like a traumatic injury to my nervous system than an illness I simply developed.

    I learned about this recently, and it left me with questions I cannot easily answer.

    Does this mean I have to endure it forever?

    Will it worsen if the abuse and re-traumatisation continue?

    Research increasingly shows that PTSD and traumatic brain injury can share overlapping neurological consequences following trauma. Global estimates suggest that around 1.1% of the population experiences PTSD within a 12-month period. Approximately 69 million people worldwide sustain a traumatic brain injury each year.

    The neuroimaging below illustrates how PTSD and TBI can differ and overlap in brain perfusion patterns.

    Trauma alters neural pathways involved in threat detection, memory and emotional regulation. These changes are adaptive during danger. However, they can become destabilising when safety is delayed or denied.

    Figure 3. Brain SPECT Images of Healthy, PTSD, TBI and PTSD co-morbid with TBI perfusion patterns.
    Source: Amen et al. (2015). Functional neuroimaging distinguishes posttraumatic stress disorder from traumatic brain injury in focused and large community datasets. PLOS ONE, 10(7), e0129659.


    Top row: surface scans with threshold set at 55%, showing the top 45% of brain perfusion.
    Bottom row: active scans where blue = 55%, red = 85%, and white = 93%.

    • Healthy brain: Full, even, symmetrical perfusion with the most active area in the cerebellum.
    • Classic PTSD: Increased perfusion in the anterior cingulate, basal ganglia, and thalamus.
    • Classic TBI: Multiple areas of low perfusion visible on surface scans.
    • PTSD + TBI: Displays both increased perfusion patterns associated with PTSD and low‑perfusion areas associated with TBI.

    I struggled to wear my uniform

    I Struggled to Wear My Uniform

    With the children back in school and my return to work approaching, I thought it would be sensible to spend some time reacclimatising.

    To get used to the environment again.

    To be around people.

    I struggled to wear my uniform.

    I felt disconnected from the proud, compassionate nurse I once was.

    The ongoing attacks on my character through the court process had deeply shaken my sense of self. It became difficult to protect my identity and continue fighting when so much of who I was felt under question.

    I questioned my strength.

    I questioned who I was.

    I arrived early, completed the routine checks and went straight to my room.

    The grip PTSD can have on the mind is profound. I expected relief when returning to a place that had felt safe for so long. Instead, it felt foreign.

    The warmth had gone.

    There were memories, but not the ones I had expected.

    The comforting memories were gone.

    There had been days when I went home thinking about patients. I would check in because I knew people had a lot to manage. There were times I knew I had made a difference. Work had been the place where I could be myself, where I felt free, and where I found respite from the hell I was living at home.

    Instead, the photograph a colleague had encouraged me to keep was still on my shelf. We had covered part of it with another image so that only my child and I remained.

    I could not even look at it.

    When I tried to pick it up, my hands shook so badly that I dropped it. It smashed across my desk.

    The room was full of memories.

    Trauma does not stop at the outside world. It invades even the spaces that once felt safe.

    Haunted by My Sanctuary

    I avoided reception.

    Everyone had been kind, but I was petrified of being asked how I was. I could not keep the emotion away, and crying in a shared workspace was not something I could cope with.

    My nursing team had already been supportive through a difficult period. I did not want to cause more worry.

    It was nearing a year since I left him, and the impact of what we had lived through had touched every aspect of our lives.

    The continuation of it made me feel worse than I did when I left. I had believed leaving would end his control. Now I knew how far he would go, and I could not see an end in sight.

    My colleagues came in individually to catch up, give me a hug and see how I was.

    I wish there had been a cure.

    A way to wave a wand and make it all stop.

    A way to be me again.

    We all have “our” rooms, even if we are not meant to call them that. I had decorated my noticeboard after twelve months because I was certain this was the right place for me.

    I could not stop thinking about how to change the room.

    I kept staring at the same wall. The same view. The same space connected to days when my private life was unstable and I was still trying to work, think and function.

    The chest pain.

    The stress.

    The fear.

    Unless you have lived through something like this, it is difficult to understand the depth of damage it causes.

    One thing I do know is that people in healthcare care.

    Even when they do not fully understand, they care.

    That compassion had not been reflected by many other agencies involved.

    Flashbacks and Intrusive Thoughts

    Flashbacks and intrusive thoughts are particularly prominent in complex PTSD. I hope I reach a point where these experiences ease, where I can close my eyes without fearing what I might see.

    I spoke to my manager about moving my desk.

    A different view might help. However, it was not practical. It would affect the layout of the room and how safely I could work within it.

    He was thoughtful and busy, but he still tried to think of ways we might change the space.

    I suspect he could hear the struggle in my voice and knew I would not say exactly why.

    Normally, I would share anything new with the team. That day, despite knowing I needed a drink, I could not even face going out to get one.

    My work mum asked if I wanted a cup of tea, and I went with her.

    I knew I had to find the strength to return, but where that strength would come from was beyond me.

    Constraints Beyond Choice

    He continued to control the mortgage and still had not signed the deed. I was paying over £600 more each month, and it could take weeks to resolve.

    Going to half-pay was not an option when I needed to provide for the children.

    I completed my flu vaccination training and deliberately avoided anything connected to the police or court. I was trying to find a connection beyond the constant protection of the children, but it felt almost impossible.

    Even reviewing evidence to safeguard them brought further trauma.

    Everything felt overwhelming. Silent and deafening at the same time.

    I think those who live with PTSD will recognise that contradiction.

    My manager found it amusing that I needed to update my safeguarding training. He knew I could probably recite Working Together to Safeguard Children by heart.

    The sole focus of the previous ten months had been safeguarding my own children, yet no one had afforded them the same level of protection.

    I had a few wobbles.

    A few cries.

    I hoped to manage six hours, but I could not.

    At lunch, I felt jumpy. Although I knew I was safe in theory, my body did not believe it.

    It is surreal to feel empty and hypervigilant at the same time.

    Small talk felt pointless, but I still cared deeply about my colleagues. Normally, I would be full of ideas and support.

    I did not want them to know how far away I felt inside.

    I am beginning to realise it is not my team who are the odd ones.

    It is the wider world.

    When empathy and compassion feel rare, those who still carry them matter.

    The Blog as a Safe Space

    I contacted CMHT and called my GP.

    I was not on regular medication, only medication for acute trauma responses, but I had run out and was worried about how I would manage the following day.

    One colleague had become a close friend. She and my work mum provided character references for court. I could not read them at the time.

    It was clear that I had changed, despite my attempts to fight through.

    I hated being seen differently, yet part of me was relieved they could not see inside my head.

    This blog became my safest space. The only place I could be honest without causing worry to those I care about.

    The next day, I had to meet CAFCASS.

    I was terrified they would see only the broken version of me, not the person I was before the abuse became too much.

    I did not want to be broken.

    I knew I could not live freely while he continued to exert control, and I feared what he would do next.

    I had not been able to process what I had lived through because it had not stopped.

    I knew there was still part of me inside.

    I did not know whether I would ever fully come back.

    The Real Hug

    That evening, my youngest asked their middle brother for a “real hug.”

    Watching them climb out of bed to embrace stirred something in me.

    These moments, small and fleeting, are what I cling to.

    They remind me of what things once felt like.

    They remind me of what is still worth holding on to.

    This reflection is shared as lived experience to support domestic abuse awareness, trauma-informed understanding and the normalisation of mental health support. It is not intended as clinical advice or a comment on any individual patient, colleague or workplace. Identifying details have been limited where appropriate to protect privacy and maintain professional boundaries. The purpose of sharing this is advocacy, reflection and reducing stigma around trauma, domestic abuse and seeking help.

    My Lived Experience: A Personal Journey Through Trauma and Recovery
  • 🕯️ When Night Falls: Flashbacks, Flash-Forwards, and the Weight of PTSD

    🕯️ When Night Falls: Flashbacks, Flash-Forwards, and the Weight of PTSD

    (6 September 2024)

    NAAVoices was not created from certainty, but from lived experience and professional insight. As I migrate earlier work from the original platform, this post has been reviewed and approved for transfer. It remains true to its original context, with only minor clarity edits where needed. Some moments do not require rewriting to remain honest.

    When Night Falls

    Since the end of August, the PTSD has not eased.

    It has intensified.

    Journaling has become difficult. Evenings are the worst. Closing my eyes now feels unsafe, not only because of the flashbacks, but because of something I do not fully understand.

    The only way I can describe it is flash-forwards.

    I see his face clearly. Not just his face, but a specific look. The one he used to give me, often when he was drunk or had taken drugs. It arrives without warning, usually when everything is quiet and I am trying to sleep.

    I have tried to bury it.

    I have tried to push it away.

    But it is becoming unbearable.

    I do not want to burden friends or family. I do not want to frighten anyone. But I need to get it out somewhere, even if all I can do tonight is write it down.

    Content warning: PTSD, flashbacks, trauma response, family court, safeguarding concerns and distress.

    Facing the System Again

    In a matter of days, I have to attend a meeting to discuss safeguarding concerns around contact.

    Six months ago, I could have prepared. I could have pulled the documents together, organised the evidence and forced myself through it.

    I was functioning differently then.

    Now, I am starting to understand the delayed impact of PTSD. I knew Complex PTSD could be devastating for patients. I understood that professionally. But I did not understand how cruel it is to live inside it until now.

    This evening, I tried to review a statement that had previously been provided to the court for the non-molestation hearing in January.

    I read one paragraph.

    One.

    And I ended up on my hands and knees, trying not to faint.

    That is what frightens me most. Not just the fear itself, but what the fear is now preventing me from doing. I need to prepare. I need to protect my child. I need to access the evidence.

    But my body is reacting before I can even begin.

    I left that man to protect all three of my children. What followed was not freedom. It was another version of control, carried through court, paperwork, contact discussions and the systems that should have helped us.

    And now I am terrified that the trauma is affecting my ability to keep protecting them.

    Becoming the Patient

    I am lying in bed trying to use every grounding technique I have been given.

    I do not want to call a support line. I feel guilty when I do. I also do not want to say anything that makes anyone worry about me.

    On Wednesday, I attended my second CMHT appointment. The second mental health appointment of my entire life. I was told I will be allocated a caseworker, possibly a psychiatrist, practitioner or another professional.

    I understand mental health.

    I have never judged anyone for needing support. I would never see another person as weak for needing help.

    And yet I feel shame.

    How has this happened?

    How have I reached my mid-thirties and suddenly become someone who needs mental health support just to survive the fallout of another person’s harm?

    I keep asking myself questions I would never ask anyone else.

    Why can’t I get over it?
    Why can’t I move on?
    Why am I living with this much panic?
    Why do I fear closing my eyes?
    Why does facing court feel like a date my whole body is counting down to?

    I do not want to be this person.

    I want the old version of me back. The one who carried everything, supported everyone, stood tall and somehow kept going, even while going home to chaos.

    Now I am out of that house.

    And somehow, in some ways, it feels worse.

    Being Seen

    At Wednesday’s appointment, I saw the same professional I met at my first CMHT appointment.

    She is empathetic, but rational. Kind, but clear. She listens in a way that makes me feel understood without feeling handled.

    I spoke to her about the flash-forwards, if that is even what they are called.

    I think I spoke about them too matter-of-factly. Almost like I was discussing something with a colleague in a staff room, rather than admitting how frightened I am.

    Maybe that was my way of minimising it.

    Maybe it was easier to make it sound clinical than to say how terrifying it feels when my mind keeps showing me the same images over and over again.

    But she seemed to understand the seriousness of it.

    She recognised the risk, not just from what has already happened, but from what is still being asked of me. Facing him. Preparing evidence. Going through family court. Trying to protect my children while traumatised by the very person I am being expected to face.

    She saw the mask.

    That is what broke me afterwards.

    Not weakness.

    Recognition.

    Someone saw what I have carried, and seemed to understand how much more I am being expected to endure.

    The Children

    Every day, I see changes in my children.

    The laughter coming back. The connection between us. The compassion. The love. The moments that remind me why I left, and why I keep going.

    My youngest continues to amaze me. Their memory is extraordinary. This week alone, they directed me to a nursery they left at two. Four miles out of town. Nowhere near where we live now. They remembered being pushed there in a blue pushchair as a baby.

    They remember more than people realise.

    For months, I have tried gently to help them understand that people cry for lots of reasons, not only because “daddy shouted at you.”

    Now they tell me people cry because they are happy, sad, because of music, because of “drops of heaven”, because they stub their toe, because there is water in their eyes in the hot tub.

    And yes, still, because of daddy shouting.

    That hurts.

    But it also shows me something important.

    They are processing.

    They are learning new meanings.

    They are not trapped in only one version of what emotion means.

    No child is perfect. No family is perfect. But on the mornings after nights where I have barely slept, where his face has haunted me, where I have woken frightened or crying, one of the children will say something gentle.

    Something beautiful.

    Something that pulls me back into the room.

    They seem to know when I need reminding why I am still here.

    Facing What Comes Next

    Next month, I have to face him in family court.

    At this rate, I fear I may be facing that largely alone.

    The flashbacks and flash-forwards have been happening for weeks now. The same images. The same sequence. The same details.

    The stairs.
    The road.
    The building.
    The aftermath.

    It plays in my head with disturbing precision, like Groundhog Day every time I try to close my eyes.

    I need to be very clear.

    I have no intention of harming myself.

    But I am frightened by how vividly my mind keeps rehearsing danger. I am frightened by what prolonged exposure to this level of stress is doing to me. I am frightened for my children, and I am frightened of what it means to keep being pushed back into contact with the source of the trauma.

    I think she saw that too.

    She saw what I can take.

    She saw what I have already taken.

    And I think she also saw that there is a limit to how much more any person can endure before they break.

    That is why I cried for hours on Wednesday night.

    Because someone saw through the mask.

    Not the polished version.
    Not the capable version.
    Not the professional version.
    Not the mother who somehow keeps going.

    The real one.

    The exhausted one.

    The frightened one.

    The one still trying to protect her children with whatever strength is left.

    Why I Am Writing This

    I am sharing this because isolation makes trauma worse.

    Because systems can re-traumatise people while still calling it process.

    Because there is a cost to repeatedly asking victims to relive, evidence, explain and defend the harm done to them.

    And because someone reading this may recognise themselves in it.

    If that is you, your story matters.

    You matter.

    If you are wearing the mask because it is the only thing holding you together, I see you.