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.