At 13 my understanding of visiting a psychiatrist was limited. The general narrative of 1985 painted it as a place for ‘mad’ people – a label I didn’t feel I identified with despite what others may have thought. I was often in trouble, drank excessively, engaged in addictive and illegal behaviours and disliked school, but I didn’t see myself as mad.
The truth is I was a victim of child sexual abuse and parental abandonment. My behaviour, which nobody at the time picked up on, was a symptom of that.
Reflecting on my school days brings back memories of frequent isolation. By 16 my school headmistress called me a failure and a girl going nowhere. I was forced into an ultimatum: see the psychiatrist, else face expulsion. My psychiatrist then labelled me a juvenile delinquent. I was removed from further education and left with one GCSE, in PE.
Mental trauma from child sexual abuse can feel like a prison. My behaviour changed rapidly during childhood, with warning signs indicating deeper issues. As an adult I look back realising how important early recognition of mental health needs is, and the critical role that supportive environments can play in addressing them, especially for children going through abuse. I can see now that what I needed was support. I don’t remember that therapy was ever considered or mentioned. My future just looked bleak, and the odds seemed stacked against me.
Then at 21 I experienced an epiphany that ignited a determination within me to carve my own path and prove that I could be OK. I had no plan, just a whim that I needed help, and a fire inside my belly with a desire to live. It marked the beginning of my journey towards resilience and self-discovery.
It still took two more years, but I took the significant step of reaching out to a therapist. I booked 12 sessions. I chose a therapist far from my home; a deliberate decision ensuring privacy and avoiding unexpected encounters. I felt embarrassed about seeking help, but recognised that it was necessary for my survival.
My first session was challenging: I cried for the full therapy hour. In the second session I cried for 45 minutes.
After that the periods in between each session were draining and triggering, highlighting the emotional toll of this process. But I also started feeling lighter and a little bit happier, just knowing there was someone there listening without judgment. In time what therapy helped me confront is that I’d been groomed as a child – something that I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge. Bit by bit the pieces of the jigsaw started to make sense.
There was no way on this earth that 12 weeks of therapy were going to be enough. I initially believed I would be ‘fixed’ in eight sessions or even less. So I carried on. I kept the journey to myself. There was a deep fear that others might perceive me as unable to cope, mad or weak – everything I had worked hard to demonstrate I wasn’t. Or had I? I also felt increasingly ashamed by my past, embarrassed for hiding behind my story. I felt a fraud; it was an uncomfortable time. But gradually, staying committed to the process, over the 20 more years and beyond I embraced a range of therapeutic approaches. One by one, each of them supported my growth, each a transformative opportunity in my life in helping me find my own success.
What I realise now is that I was never a failure. I was subjected to abuse, endured near-death experiences and navigated the law multiple times. Many who knew me as a child had no idea what I’d been going through and believed I would not reach 20, or spend my life incarcerated if I did. Yet here I stand today: a campaigner, author and business owner, and loved. My past does not define me.