Poetry helps me to express the things I find harder to say. One thing I don’t talk about much is the lodger who lives in my body. I tolerate him simply because he’s been with me for a long time and I’m used to him. This lodger’s name is Anxiety. He also goes by the name Fear, Worry and On Edge.
Continue reading “Feeling the Fear”
When I was 14, the abuse stopped. I broke contact with the abuser. I said no to him for the first time and saw a side to him I’d never seen before.
I witnessed apoplectic rage, vicious threats and I knew I would never feel safe.
I also knew I couldn’t ask for help because no one knew about the child sexual abuse, or the extent of the emotional abuse. How could I express my fear without breaking my silence? How could I break my silence when I felt so unsafe?
Continue reading “Life Lasting”
I’m currently spending every spare minute editing the final draft of my manuscript.
I never intended The Flying Child to become a book. I wrote the first chapter ‘The Kingdom of His’ late one night in a moment of determination, desperate to get the words that were so impossible to speak, out.
Continue reading “The Flying Child – Final Draft and Expectations”
Blog developed from previous Instagram posts about the impact of Child Sexual Abuse on pregnancy, birth and motherhood.
I read an article recently by Gretchen Schmelzer called The Courage of Parenting with a History of Trauma.
There was a part that really stood out to me:
“If you had been physically disabled by a past trauma and chose to run a marathon—people would call you brave. But we don’t do that with emotional wounds. They are invisible and the parents who rise to the occasion—and parent with love and purpose—who give what they never got—they are unsung heroes.”
This is so true. Navigating parenthood as a survivor of Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) can be an isolating experience and this starts at the very beginning. Nobody speaks about it. There is limited or no opportunity to bring conversations into antenatal appointments. There is no mention of trauma in parenting groups. We deal with the often highly triggering process of pregnancy and birth on our own, we might struggle with breastfeeding, to bond, or even have fears around gender – but we crack on because we have to.
The Last Taboo: Produced by Redzi Bernard and Phoebe McIndoe. A Falling Tree production for BBC Radio 4
Hurt People Hurt People goes round in our heads and we can’t risk our struggles being misunderstood as poor parenting. We want to be good parents. To break patterns, not be accused of causing further hurt. So we stay silent.
Here’s to all the CSA survivors doing their best to parent without the support they deserve. The ones doing their best to work it all out… to heal, to stop trauma passing to the next generation.
They are unsung heroes indeed.
Continue reading “Unsung Heroes”
Prompted by Twitter threads here and here.
Most people have little idea of what to say when someone discloses Child Sexual Abuse.
Some react brilliantly – a hug, a kind word or two (it’s rare). There is usually a shocked pause (forgivable – after all it is a shocking form of abuse). I sense the cogs turning as they search for something, anything to make this uncomfortable, unfathomable and perhaps unwelcome moment in time feel a bit better. For them.
Continue reading “CSA: When Words Fail…”
This is me; this is my story. But of course, it’s not just mine. This story has happened to and continues to happen to many people. The details may differ but the impact is devastating.
At best, we might experience feelings of shame, confusion or lack of self-worth. At worst, we might feel our lives are blighted by unbearable emotional distress or physical illness. A lack of support for Child Sexual Abuse survivors might lead some to develop coping mechanisms such as the ones described in this blog.
If you relate to anything here, I hope you are reassured to know that you’re certainly not alone. Navigating your way through life as a CSA survivor can feel overwhelming. At times, it might feel insurmountable, but it’s not. There is always hope. There is always a way through.
Continue reading “Fall Forward (my journey in a nutshell)”
When you were seven, and the stranger wearing a grey suit and driving a red car said through the open window, if you get in I’ll take you to see some puppies, and you pedalled home into the arms of your abuser, it was Not-Love when he told you how proud he was and how clever you were, not to get in a car with a stranger.
Continue reading “Thoughts on Not-Love”
The Flying Child ‘leads conversations about Child Sexual Abuse through survivor-led training, campaigning and support.’
The most effective way for us to lead conversation is through Twitter. There is good engagement, and because our work is quite varied, followers are from all walks of life. As well as the amazing survivors, there are people from different professions including teachers, social workers, medical practitioners, counsellors, priests, journalists, academics, police and creatives. At times we find it almost impossible to keep up with the conversations.
When posting on social media I used to fear I was speaking within my own echo chamber but things have changed and I don’t think I’m speaking to the converted anymore.
Yesterday I delivered my first workshop for A Disorder For Everyone AD4E. The workshop was aimed at those working in therapeutic and support settings and we explored how to best support CSA survivors without pathologising and retraumatising them.
I discussed how the ‘help’ I received in the mental health system was medicalised from the start. I was told the ‘issue’ was in my head, that I was ill and there was ‘a chemical imbalance’ in the brain. This scientific validity of psychiatric diagnosis is now widely disputed, but I had no ability to challenge it at that time. I knew deep down that abuse was the crux of the issue but thought it had caused my brain to ‘go wrong’. I trusted my consultant.
Continue reading “A Disorder For Everyone!”
One of the biggest issues we face as survivors is the public attitude towards the subject of CSA and, by consequence, ourselves. The negative responses we receive are extremely silencing but perhaps that is the point. There is great comfort to be found in denial of a crime that affects an estimated 11 million adult survivors in the U.K.
When I started on this activism journey, I shared the manuscript of my book (the fairy-tale part) with many people, and the responses from a few were so shocking and unexpected, such a punch to the stomach, that I nearly gave up.
Continue reading “Small Signs of Change”
This tweet followed an interaction that left me feeling a bit tired. Despite the extraordinary estimated statistics of adult survivors in the U.K., CSA survivors are an isolated community. It is hard to come together as a group because people don’t want us. I remember years ago, trying to find a free venue for a local charity peer support group, so it could keep going despite funding cuts. I knocked on many doors: Churches, cafes, pubs, community centres and the message was loud and clear.
Our insurance won’t cover you (a church that hosted various community groups)
The elders have said it’s inappropriate (we were a small group of women, drinking tea and chatting, in private).
We don’t think it’s a suitable group for our church (a huge red flag in my opinion)
Continue reading ““Too Heavy””
It’s the little things.
My child, older now, video calls.
Can we go to the garden centre together? I want to buy some plants; will you help me choose?
It’s the little things like:
The pointing out of names.
Geraniums, you’re also looking for Pelargoniums. They’re the same plant.
A little thing, but she didn’t know. I did so I passed it on.
Look for both names, I say.
I help her choose.
White? Or pink? Which one do you like best?
Will they last?
Yes, if you water them every now and then.
We observe the little things:
Like how to remove the old flowers to encourage new growth. Like the surprise of a small bud.
Like twenty percent off at the till, because it’s a bank holiday.
The little things are looking forward, together. Making plans. Little ones, like pointing out the burger van on our way to the car… shall we go next time?
It is the little things that are the most important.
Like walking by her side. Like holding her arm and remembering her first steps at thirteen months. She had blonde curls at the nape of her neck. A stork mark underneath that would flush an angry red when she cried. I wonder, is it still there?
So much time and so many little things have passed, and they went by very fast, when my attention was stolen. When my journey was frozen in time.
If i hadn’t found my way out, would she have gone alone to buy plants? Wondered about seasons and sunlight, annuals, and herbaceous borders? Who would she have made little plans with?
That thought of it makes me want to weep.
I focus on the little things that remind me I’m living: that make me feel alive.
It is the little things that are insignificant yet so momentous. I must hang on to each one. Write it. Document it. Remember it, to make up for the little things I lost when I was present and absent. A million miles away. When there was layer upon layer of thick glass between me and The World. When I was lost in the fog, when I loved her, I loved her so much, but I couldn’t find her, because I couldn’t find me.
Spaces for survivors of Child Sexual abuse (CSA) are few and far between. As a group we are hidden and can feel silenced. Even when people ‘know’, it can be hard to speak openly. We know the misconceptions people have, and the judgment that might be passed. We know exactly what speaking openly risks and what we might lose.
Thanks to The National Lottery Community Fund, our in-person, peer support group is now up and running. It is therapist and lived experience co-led, the aim being to create a sense of ‘us’ as opposed to the ‘them and us’ approach favoured by some but disliked by many. The encouragement is to share openly if you need to, leave armour and masks at the door, and to know that above all, you are welcome in the space. This applies to facilitators as well. If something feels relatable then why not say so? We can become so tied up in policy and protocol that we forget we are humans too. This can create a power imbalance within a group setting. It can also breed resentment. I used to ask, ‘but how do you understand? Have you experienced this yourself?’ and being frustrated by the cagey, neither yes nor no response.
CSA survivors who have experienced manipulation, betrayal or gaslighting to the extreme, deserve authenticity, connection, and sincerity, not rigidity and inflexibility.
As a group, CSA survivors are often placed in a peer support with others who have no experience of CSA. Whilst there might be similarities with those who have experienced sexual violence as an adult, there are also differences. I have benefitted from mixed groups – in many ways they were life changing for me and played a vital part role in my own journey, and I value beyond measure, the connections I made. However, at times I felt excluded from conversations because I was silenced by these differences. In my head they were significant, and I sat with a heavy feeling in my heart that others just wouldn’t – or couldn’t understand. So, I sometimes didn’t speak, even when I desperately wanted to. I longed to meet people ‘like me.’ I would have preferred a group of CSA survivors had there been a choice.
Spaces for survivors of CSA allow opportunity for us to meet and speak to others who can understand and relate in some way. Our stories may differ, but we will all face common challenges in a society that prefers to turn away from this form of abuse.
It is a privilege to meet such incredible and inspiring survivors at our different peer support groups, to hear their stories and to witness our isolated community coming together.
These 12 week in-person groups are not therapy groups. They are particularly suitable for those looking for survivor-led support but with the added reassurance of a highly experienced therapist and her well established (excellent!) self-development programme. The Surrey location is conveniently accessed on public transport with easy links to London.
There were so many days like this. Too many days. It feels like a lifetime of surviving. Often I wonder why I did survive. Sometimes I feel so very old.
This poem reflects a point in my life where I had reached out for help more times than I can remember. I had tried to be stronger, happier – more resilient. I had tried to focus on, and be grateful for the good things – there were many good things – but I was drowning and help wasn’t forthcoming.
Continue reading “Surviving in Stormy Seas”
Stigma.
Shame.
Silence.
Three words that epitomise a problem survivor activists face as individuals trying to break down barriers, and make a positive change to the lives of both child victims and adult survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.
It’s easy for me to stand in front of strangers and say the relevant words, but when it’s to someone I know, it takes a different sort of strength. I know what it risks. I’m tired of the ignorant reactions and know the likelihood of receiving one is high.
Continue reading “Honest Conversations”
Some people with underlying trauma will be misdiagnosed. I believe it happened to me and I’ve seen it happen to others. I’ve also seen for myself the devastation of untreated mental illness, the way it impacts on family and the miracle that happens when that person emerges from the depths of despair to claim back the life they lost.
Continue reading “Battle of Beliefs”
