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.

The Day Everything Changed

The root of the problem was not a lack of disclosure.
It was what happened after I asked for help.

The actions and decisions taken by the first officer I disclosed abuse to had a profound and lasting impact on my life after leaving an abusive relationship. That initial response shaped everything that followed for my children and for me.

Today, I put together a document analysing CPS guidance on misconduct in public office. Revisiting that guidance brought me back to the day I first reached out for protection. The day I disclosed everything. The day my children and I were not safeguarded.

I was given advice that later proved inaccurate and inconsistent with domestic abuse and safeguarding guidance. That advice influenced subsequent decisions and delayed effective intervention. As a result, coercive control continued for months, and the consequences of that delay followed us into legal proceedings concerning child contact.

What should have been a point of protection became the beginning of prolonged harm.

For months, my life was consumed by compiling evidence and statements, day and night, trying to demonstrate that the response I received had fallen short. I repeatedly sought clarity and reassurance. Instead, I encountered inconsistency, delay, and information that did not align with what was later acknowledged.

The assumptions applied to me were deeply damaging. Preconceived ideas about how a victim should present, particularly where neurodivergence is involved, shaped the response I received. Not fitting a narrow stereotype of vulnerability became a barrier rather than a reason for care and adjustment.

Everything traces back to that one day.

The day I asked for help for myself and my children.
The day we became homeless.
The day I had nothing but a car and a single bag of belongings.

That day, I still went to work. I knew there would be no cover later, and I could not let my patients down. My children were taken to stay with a relative because I had cut contact and refused to continue responding to emotional pressure and threats. Fear dictated every decision I made.

Earlier that day, I had disclosed what I had lived through to a call handler. By the time an officer attended, I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Private numbers triggered panic because they so often preceded escalation. I was trying to remain coherent while reliving years of abuse in a single conversation.

Nothing about that day felt safe.

Living With the Aftermath

My life is very different now.

I struggle to be around police officers. The trauma response is immediate and physical, even when patients casually mention that they are serving, former officers, or related to police. Sitting under a desk trying to catch your breath because of a uniformed presence is not normal functioning.

Being on edge when a police car passes is not normal.
Being unable to call for help when you need it is not safety.

Colleagues have quietly adapted to protect me when police attend the workplace. That level of accommodation speaks volumes about the reality of what has been lived with since.

Being made to question your own reality over a prolonged period is not acceptable. Failing to act on disclosures is not acceptable. Failing to safeguard children, particularly disabled and vulnerable children, is not acceptable. Providing advice about child contact in circumstances where multiple professionals have identified serious risk is not acceptable.

Spending months trying to prove that you were failed, while your lived experience is minimised and procedural priorities take precedence, is not acceptable.

The mental and physical health consequences I live with now did not exist before I left the abuse. The deterioration in my health is directly linked to what happened afterwards, not just what I escaped.

Still Seeking Accountability

This is not about blame for its own sake.
It is about accountability, learning, and prevention.

The failure to act at the point of disclosure not only affected my children and me. It affected others who tried to protect us. The ripple effects of one missed safeguarding opportunity do not end with one decision.

Now, as my case is handled by different officers and departments, the anxiety remains constant. Each new interaction brings fear that further harm may occur, despite the information already disclosed.

I did what I was supposed to do.
I disclosed.
I cooperated.
I asked for help.

The issue was never a lack of information.
It was the absence of meaningful action.

Being required to repeatedly disclose serious safeguarding concerns, only to see no effective protection follow, is itself a form of harm.

It is never acceptable to preserve processes at the expense of people.
And it is never acceptable to displace responsibility onto others to avoid scrutiny.

This day changed everything.