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Tag: life after abuse

  • Police Victim Blaming in Domestic Abuse Cases: The Hidden Trauma No One Talks About

    Police Victim Blaming in Domestic Abuse Cases: The Hidden Trauma No One Talks About

    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 Victims Are Blamed by the Systems Meant to Protect Them

    Victims of domestic abuse already carry enough.

    Fear. Shame. Confusion. Hypervigilance. The constant work of surviving someone else’s control while trying to make sense of what has happened to them.

    So when someone finally reaches out for help, the response matters.

    It can be the beginning of safety.

    Or it can become another wound.

    One of the most damaging responses a victim can receive is victim-blaming, especially from police. It does not always sound obvious. Sometimes it is subtle. Sometimes it comes dressed as professional questioning. Sometimes it appears in what is not recorded, what is minimised, or what is treated as less important than the perpetrator’s version of events.

    But the impact is real.

    And for victims of domestic abuse, it can be devastating.

    What Victim-Blaming Looks Like

    Victim-blaming happens when responsibility for abuse is shifted away from the person causing harm and placed, directly or indirectly, onto the person who has been harmed.

    In domestic abuse cases, this can sound like:

    Why did you stay?
    Why did you go back?
    Why did you not report it sooner?
    Why did you let the children see it?
    Are you sure it was that bad?
    Could this just be a relationship breakdown?
    Is this really about contact?

    These questions may be framed as fact-finding, but when asked without an understanding of coercive control, they can reinforce the exact messages the abuser has spent years embedding.

    That it was your fault.

    That you should have stopped it.

    That you are exaggerating.

    That you are the problem.

    For someone already conditioned by abuse, those messages do not land lightly.

    They go straight into the wound.

    Why It Causes So Much Harm

    Domestic abuse is rarely a single incident. It is often a pattern of control, fear, manipulation, degradation and psychological harm.

    By the time many victims speak to police, they may already be exhausted. They may doubt themselves. They may struggle to explain events in a neat, chronological order. They may appear calm when they are traumatised, or emotional when they are being honest.

    None of that means they are unreliable.

    It means they are human.

    When police respond with disbelief, minimisation or blame, the victim is forced to relive the abuse while also defending their right to be believed.

    That is retraumatisation.

    And it is not a minor side effect of poor communication.

    It can change the course of someone’s recovery.

    Retraumatisation Is Not Just Emotional

    People often talk about trauma as if it is only distress.

    It is not.

    Trauma lives in the body.

    It can look like panic, shaking, dizziness, nausea, chest pain, insomnia, flashbacks, dissociation, intrusive thoughts, memory fragmentation, emotional shutdown or complete collapse after appearing calm.

    A victim may sit through a police interview, answer questions, sign statements and look composed.

    Then fall apart afterwards.

    That does not mean they were fine.

    It means they were surviving the interaction.

    When police victim-blame, dismiss or mishandle disclosures, they can deepen that trauma. They can make the victim less likely to seek help again. They can also make the victim feel less safe than they did before they reported.

    That is institutional harm.

    The Link With PTSD

    Repeatedly having to disclose abuse, defend your credibility and correct inaccurate records can contribute to long-term psychological harm.

    For some victims, this becomes part of the trauma itself.

    PTSD can involve flashbacks, nightmares, hypervigilance, avoidance, intrusive thoughts, panic, emotional numbness and a constant sense of threat.

    For victims of domestic abuse, these symptoms can be intensified when the systems meant to protect them become another source of fear.

    It is not only what the perpetrator did.

    It is what happens afterwards.

    The disbelief.
    The poor recording.
    The minimisation.
    The handovers.
    The repeated retelling.
    The feeling that your own life is being interpreted by people who have not understood it.

    That is why police responses matter so much.

    What the Law and Guidance Already Recognise

    The Domestic Abuse Act 2021 gives a statutory definition of domestic abuse and recognises that abuse can include emotional, controlling, coercive and economic abuse.

    That matters because domestic abuse is not limited to physical violence.

    The NPCC and CPS Joint Justice Plan set out the need to improve the criminal justice response to domestic abuse, including better training, stronger accountability and improved support for victims.

    The Independent Office for Police Conduct has also issued guidance on ending victim-blaming, recognising that language, assumptions and professional attitudes can cause real harm.

    So the issue is not that nobody knows victim-blaming exists.

    The issue is whether those principles are being applied in practice.

    Because guidance means very little if victims are still leaving police interactions feeling blamed, disbelieved, unsafe or responsible for the abuse committed against them.

    What Needs to Change

    Police officers need proper trauma-informed training.

    Not tick-box training.

    Not a short online module that gets forgotten.

    Real training on coercive control, post-separation abuse, trauma responses, child safeguarding, perpetrator tactics and the harm caused by victim-blaming language.

    They need to understand that victims do not always present in the way people expect.

    Some cry.
    Some freeze.
    Some talk too much.
    Some cannot speak at all.
    Some sound detached.
    Some arrive with folders, timelines and evidence because they have already learned that if they do not create the record themselves, no one else will.

    None of those responses should be used against them.

    Police forces also need stronger accountability when officers fail to record crimes properly, minimise disclosures, or allow personal bias to influence safeguarding decisions.

    A victim should not have to become their own investigator just to prove they told the truth.

    Belief Is Not Bias

    Believing victims does not mean abandoning evidence.

    It does not mean ignoring due process.

    It means starting from a place of professional curiosity rather than suspicion.

    It means asking better questions.

    What has made it hard to leave?
    What control is still continuing?
    What are the children seeing, hearing or experiencing?
    What does the perpetrator gain from this version of events?
    What risks increase now the relationship has ended?
    What has already been disclosed, and has it been properly recorded?

    That is not bias.

    That is competent safeguarding.

    The Cost of Getting It Wrong

    When police blame victims, minimise abuse or fail to act, the harm does not end with that interaction.

    It follows the victim into family court.
    Into safeguarding meetings.
    Into mental health appointments.
    Into work.
    Into parenting.
    Into sleep.
    Into every attempt to rebuild a life.

    Poor police responses can strengthen the perpetrator’s position and weaken the victim’s credibility. They can leave children exposed to further harm. They can make the victim feel that telling the truth was not only pointless, but dangerous.

    That should concern everyone.

    Because domestic abuse victims do not need perfect systems.

    They need systems that do not make the abuse worse.

    A Survivor-Centred Response

    A survivor-centred response does not require grand gestures.

    It requires officers to listen properly.
    Record accurately.
    Avoid assumptions.
    Understand coercive control.
    Recognise trauma.
    Take children’s experiences seriously.
    Challenge perpetrator narratives.
    And remember that the person in front of them may have used every last bit of strength they had just to speak.

    Victim-blaming is not harmless.

    It is not just poor wording.

    It is not just a difficult conversation handled badly.

    It can retraumatise victims, damage mental health, obstruct justice and reinforce the control they were trying to escape.

    Victims of domestic abuse deserve to be met with dignity, belief and professional competence.

    Not blame.

    Not disbelief.

    Not another system they have to survive.

    Further Support

    If you are navigating police misconduct, victim-blaming, negligence or failures in duty of care, I have created a dedicated NAAVoices resource to help explain the process and your options:

    Police Misconduct Guide – NAAVoices.com

    You are not the problem for needing protection.

    You are not difficult for asking to be heard.

    And you are not responsible for the abuse someone else chose to inflict.

    Further Support

    For guidance on recognising and reporting police misconduct, refer to my dedicated resource. It covers topics such as victim-blaming, negligence, and breaches of duty of care. Police Misconduct Guide – NAAVoices.com

    My Lived Experience: A Personal Journey Through Trauma and Recovery
    Accountability & Experience: My West Mercia Police Story
  • A Year Ago Today: The Disclosure That Changed Everything

    A Year Ago Today: The Disclosure That Changed Everything

    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.

    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.

    One Year Since I Told the Truth

    A year ago today, almost to the hour, I disclosed four years of domestic abuse to a West Mercia Police officer.

    I also disclosed child abuse, common assault, drug distribution, fraud and harassment.

    I told the truth.

    I expected protection.

    What followed changed everything.

    Instead of acting properly, recording what needed to be recorded, and protecting my children and me, that officer allowed his own views to shape what happened next. His response was not neutral. It was not safe. It carried assumptions about fathers’ rights into a situation where my children and I needed safeguarding.

    The consequences of that have never stopped unfolding.

    One Year Later

    Today, I received an updated court report based on open police disclosure.

    Reading it felt like being dragged back to the beginning.

    The police appear to have disclosed only one NFA relating to a non-molestation breach. What was missing mattered even more. There was no proper record that my children had disclosed abuse a year ago today.

    A year.

    And still, the record does not reflect what was said.

    Still, the harm is being carried forward.

    Still, the gaps left by that officer are shaping decisions about my children’s safety.

    There is so much more I could write about the months it took to evidence what had happened. The missing records. The failures to act. The attempts to challenge what should never have needed challenging in the first place.

    But tonight, the clearest truth is this.

    The actions of one officer placed my children and me at further risk, and I am still living with the consequences.

    Reading It at Work

    I was at work when I read the report.

    That detail matters, because trauma does not wait for a private room. It does not check whether you are in uniform, whether you have patients to see, whether you are expected to keep functioning.

    It lands where it lands.

    Tonight was also the final lecture of the first year of my master’s module. I had been doing well. Really well. I had fought hard to stay focused, to keep learning, to keep being the version of myself that still had a future beyond all of this.

    But tonight, I could not cope.

    It is one thing to have your life controlled by the person who abused you.

    It is another thing to have that control extended by the actions of someone who was supposed to protect you.

    The Layby

    I had to drive.

    I have not felt like that for a long time, but tonight I drove back to the layby I ended up in when Sergeant Smith was arrested.

    Back then, I would drive around for hours because I no longer felt safe in my own home. I would sit in places where nobody needed anything from me, where I did not have to explain, where I could just exist for a while.

    Tonight felt similar.

    Except this time, it was not my home that felt unsafe.

    It was me.

    My mind.

    My ability to keep carrying the weight of what his actions had created.

    I stood next to the gate and felt the wind hit my face.

    The stars were out.

    I used to look up and believe John and my grandad were somewhere up there. I am not religious, but I have always believed that the people you have loved and lost are still there somehow. Watching. Holding something you cannot hold for yourself.

    There were huge stars tonight.

    Maybe I needed to see them.

    Maybe I needed to remember that I am still here.

    The Question That Will Not Leave

    What gave a police officer the right to cause this much damage?

    What gave him the right to take my disclosure, my children’s safety, and four years of abuse, and filter it through his own bias?

    What gave him the right to leave gaps that I am still falling through a year later?

    Because that is what this feels like.

    Not one mistake.

    Not one bad day.

    A failure that became a chain reaction.

    A disclosure that should have led to protection became the beginning of another fight. A fight to be believed. A fight to correct the record. A fight to prove that what happened to us happened at all.

    And I am tired.

    Tired in a way sleep does not fix.

    Tired of carrying the consequences of decisions I did not make.
    Tired of trying to repair damage I did not cause.
    Tired of being expected to function inside systems that keep reopening the wound and calling it process.

    A year ago, I told the truth.

    Tonight, I am still living with what happened because the person listening did not do what he should have done.

    And that is the part I cannot make peace with.

  • Finding Strength in Tough Times Through Simple Acts of Kindness

    Finding Strength in Tough Times Through Simple Acts of Kindness

    As time has moved on, so much has changed. It feels like the right moment to speak openly about how my journey has evolved.

    Today I found myself doing what I have been doing for months, trying to make sense of everything in my head. No matter how hard I try to focus elsewhere, I keep being drawn back to this blog. A lot has happened since I first started writing here.

    I wish I could say things have simply improved. In some ways they have. I finally left in late 2023. But since then, life has been its own kind of hell. The control did not end with the separation. It just changed form.

    Even so, on the darkest days, and there have been some incredibly dark ones, nothing compares to the dread of driving home from work knowing he would be there waiting. That fear has gone, and that alone makes everything else feel survivable.

    I have lived through more than I ever thought possible. I managed to capture the first four and a half years of chaos in a book, every moment of turmoil with him. I have continued documenting everything that has happened since, but turning those journals into a proper book feels impossible. My mind will not let me go there. These pages have become my way of protecting myself and my children while navigating courts, police and constant uncertainty. Despite everything, I am still the one carrying the impact. And on the days when I feel like I cannot keep going, I look at my sons and remember exactly why I must. Whatever strength I have left belongs to them.

    Life becomes overwhelming. Trying to access therapy that actually helps feels almost impossible. So I journal instead, even though those words stay hidden on my device. I think part of the lack of support comes from how well I mask things, how easily I slip into that professional role. People see the nurse, not the person breaking underneath.

    Last week nearly finished me. I faced family court with a solicitor who did not seem to understand that protecting my son is everything. Then I attended the funeral of a colleague who was loved by everyone. She never spoke about how bad things had become for her. She ended her pain without ever receiving the help she deserved.

    The guilt hit hard. In my lowest moments I wondered, if it were not for this police interview hanging over me, would she be the one left trying to make sense of the damage I would leave behind. My fear of death came back with force. She gave so much to the world. Compared to her, my achievements feel so small.

    But this is not just about me. It is about all of us who have lived through similar experiences, regardless of gender, job or status, who feel silenced, ashamed, financially trapped, afraid of being alone, terrified of what comes after abuse.

    Recently I have met so many people with stories like mine. They are facing the same prejudice and bias, not only from the police but from society as a whole. There is this assumption that professionals should know better. People do not understand something important. When you give so much of yourself in a caring role, you become vulnerable. This vulnerability occurs in ways others do not see.

    This week everything became too much. My colleagues are wonderful, like family, but I knew I needed time off. I could not risk my nursing registration. I kept escaping into the hills, sitting by fields, walking with Mathew, trying to breathe again.

    I was determined to take my youngest camping while the older children visited their father. I wanted a simple break, but everywhere was fully booked. Eventually, I contacted a woman who runs a nearby caravan park. I explained that I was trying to create a little camping experience close to home but was having no luck.

    She did not know anything about my situation, yet she offered to ask her husband if we could camp in a field next to their site. Just countryside, nothing fancy. When I did not hear back, I assumed it had simply been a polite gesture.

    Then she called the next day and offered us her garden instead. Pure kindness. I was stunned, especially when she refused to take any payment.

    Later she rang again. Her husband was worried about the rain and offered their garden shed, a cosy little hut with a sofa. I had not experienced kindness like that in such a long time. I hesitated, not knowing them, but they run a local business and I felt safe enough to accept.

    This place is breathtaking. I am sitting here looking out at a pond, a field with pygmy goats, a trampoline and flowing rivers. The smells and sounds from the woods are soothing in a way I did not know I needed. It feels like peace, something I had forgotten existed.

    The thought of going home and facing my usual reality fills me with dread. The week ahead looks heavy, and I know I will be fighting battles in my own mind. But this moment, this unexpected kindness from strangers, has given me space to steady myself again.

    It is okay to not be okay. xxx