Reader discretion advised. Within this, I discuss topics of abuse, disordered eating and suicide.
At the hands of my biological mother, I endured psychological, physical and sexual abuse. I took my survival into my own hands and moved into a youth hostel at the age of 16. Within four weeks, I was in my own flat and I haven’t looked back. The police were called multiple times by myself and by others throughout my childhood and upon leaving. You may question why the police did nothing? I have those same questions. I was left in an unsafe environment and each contact with the police left me more fearful for my life.
In June 2020, after finding out that she had been spreading false information that I had a child who had died, I realised I would never be free. I would spend the rest of my life waiting for the next thing. I knew I needed to push forward and seek justice. Now was the time. I felt strong enough.
The abuser was charged with the following:
5 counts of: Cause / incite a girl 13 to 15 to engage in sexual activity – offender 18 or over – penetration
Cause/incite a girl 13 to 17 to prostitution / pornography
Assault / ill-treat / abandon a child / young person to cause unnecessary suffering / injury
The abuser then attempted to control and avoid the criminal justice system process. From moving address (and providing a false address), to claiming she was too “unfit” to stand trial, to attending hospital the night before the scheduled trials. Whilst she was on bail due to her attempts at evading justice, it still felt that she was allowed the power to cause postponements and delays. I was told repeatedly that someone is only unfit to stand trial if they are palliative. She was not. I was told that she could only avoid for so long.
The day then came when the judge decided that the reasons she claimed she was unfit to stand trial were insufficient. Enough was enough. The trial would be starting on 20th September 2023. The morning of the 20th September, I was contacted and asked what my thoughts were if a plea deal was to be formally offered. However, shortly after sharing my thoughts that I would only accept a plea deal if all charges were admitted to, there was a knock at the door. The person who had abused me had ended her life that morning. The plea deal was null and void. A true representation of her need to control and avoid. Her attempt to have power and control over me and the truth to the very end.
Her death has deprived me of the justice I envisaged and quite frankly, deserve. I wanted to tell the world what she did to me. I wanted the world to see her for what she was. I wanted her to face the consequences of what she did to me.
Justice looks a little different now.
She no longer has any power or control over me. I am free from her shackles. However, now I want to move towards not letting what happened to me, happen to anyone else.
Below, is the impact statement that I had wrote to speak out loud in court at sentencing. This was wrote with knowing what the court would have been told in terms of my ABE interview and the statements from many, many witnesses (30+).
I was deprived of the opportunity to share my impact statement in court, so instead, I am sharing it with you all now. It has been adapted, including removing her name, because quite frankly, I do not want her name on this blog. I imagine it is an uncomfortable read, but for me, I do not hold shame for what I have survived and is important to share.
Impact Statement
I am Emily, I do not wish to be seen as a victim but as a survivor of abuse. It was hard writing this impact statement, I felt torn between not wanting to give (abuser) the satisfaction of knowing the pain she caused me, but also wanting to show the court just how much she had impacted upon my life with the hope that justice will prevail.
There is a lot that I do not remember from my earlier childhood. What I do remember prior to the moment I recognised I was being abused, was that I was always tired and a very unhappy child. I now wonder what else was happening that I do not remember. I think about the little Emily who felt so ugly at the age of 5 she cut the hair of a barbie doll. What 5 year old thinks they are ugly? Where did I hear it from at that age? Well, I think we all know.
From the age of 10, I lived in a state of constant threat. I sustained psychological, physical and sexual abuse. I feel so much pain recalling what I do remember. Yet, I am very aware that there is much more that has happened to me, seeing photos of me during this time in abusive situations that I do not recall has been incredibly distressing. Perhaps I have dissociated from this, perhaps it is safer that way.
The court has heard how the abuse started and how it gradually escalated. From (abuser) sitting behind me, on the orange sofa, watching me on MSN, talking with my friends. Telling me what to say and who to. To then talking to my friends pretending to be me, with me on the sofa watching her. It then moved from talking with my friends, but to boys and men. I would have to watch her talk to them sexually, or type what she told me to do. When I would say no, I would be deprived of sleep, food and be hit. I would do anything for sleep, to be able to eat. As you have heard, the abuse escalated to include sexual abuse under her instructions. At the age of 10, I quickly realised that my body was no longer mine. It was her property. She ordered things to be done to it. I was not allowed to say no. The pain from saying no became too much to bear. These things I had to allow to be able to sleep and eat. I quickly learned that if I did these things, she would be temporarily happy, I would receive some moments without being berated for being “fat”, “ugly”, “stupid”, “piece of shit”. I would be able to have some sleep and some food.
As you have heard, the sexual abuse only progressed. I remember clearly the moment that I had to have sex with a man. The moment of her throwing a hairbrush at me and beat me in the early hours of the morning because I didn’t allow a man to touch my breast. It just confirmed that the word “no” was not allowed. I was tired. I was drained. I believed I wasn’t good enough. I believed her when she said people found me unattractive so it was a miracle that someone wanted to have sex with me. I believed it all. The fact is, I was 13, I was a child, who she arranged to have sex with a man. As you have heard, this only continued with many other men.
Every day was torture, psychologically and physically. Every day I was told that I was bad, a piece of shit, with so many synonyms for not being good enough and for being fat. Nothing was ever enough. I was never enough no matter what I did to please her. This is something that I have internalised into my core. That I am defective. That there is something wrong with me. At my darkest moments, I question whether I deserved all of the abuse. I have worked hard and continue to work hard on developing a more compassionate view of myself.
Every day I wondered whether this would be the day she would go too far and would kill me? She was usually so strategic in her harm to me but as you have seen and heard, she did slip up and leave physical marks that couldn’t be hidden, such as the hair straightener burns on my legs, fingerprint bruises on my arms, a black eye, scars on my back from being pushed down the stairs. Yet, even with these marks. She was still able to get away with it all. Many times, I would pray for the abuse to end. I would pray for her to get it over with and kill me. I just existed. Just existing doing what she wanted me to do. I didn’t want to live anymore, I wanted to die.
Every child deserves to be psychologically and physically safe at home. I was not safe at home. I wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere in the house without permission and without her watching me. I would have to ask permission to go to the toilet, for a shower, for a bath, to brush my teeth. If permission was granted, I would be watched using these facilities. Even night-time was dangerous, I would either have to sleep in bed with her, or on the sofa next to her. I would never know if I would be able to get to a full night sleep, whether I would have to sleep in the bed with her or just next to her on the sofa bed. I would wait anxiously for the next hit or the next slap as I would be falling asleep. I now have a very difficult relationship with sleep and with silence. Silence reminds me of the little Emily that would be so silent, waiting for the next beating. That little Emily learned that silence was unsafe.
My relationship with food has been forever impacted by the abuse I endured. I would always wonder whether tonight I would be allowed to eat, how much I would be allowed to eat, how many times I will be called fat, whether she will make me vomit because she’s decided I had eaten too much or looked too bloated. You see, whatever I did, was wrong. If I ate all of my food, I was “greedy, fat”. If I didn’t, I was a “selfish, ungrateful bitch”. I would wonder whether I would need to beg my friends or my boyfriend for food later on. I would just ask that you consider for a moment how that was, for a child, so hungry? I had to be on constant alert to what I should or shouldn’t do with food. A coping mechanism I developed was that of bulimia. Whilst she would instruct me to vomit, I quickly learned that vomiting numbed me. As the court has been told, I remember the very first time I was sick outside of her orders, when she had sent me threatening messages and I vomited in Tesco car park. The overwhelming sense of numbness from this almost became addictive. It helped block out of the anxiety and dread. This coping strategy helped me back then, but has now left me with some unfortunate unintended consequences. I now have a hiatus hernia. This leaves me with constant acid reflux symptoms currently being medicated and investigated. It is another injury resulting from the abuse I endured. This in itself is something I have tried to work hard on, accepting the hernia with compassion, not blaming myself for it, but seeing it as a side effect of one of my only coping mechanisms that helped me survive the abuse I endured.
As you have also heard, I would have to leave the house and be out of the house with people for a certain amount of time. If I was to come home too soon, it would mean that I was “unlovable” and “a piece of shit”. I wouldn’t even be allowed home to go to the toilet. I was controlled in every sense. I was not allowed to dress myself, I would have to wear what she told me to, all the way down to my underwear. Imagine then, when I moved out, when I was finally allowed to choose what to wear?
As you have heard, the police attended the property over the years. Yet, they did not speak with me, the supposed child that they had been called out to check on. But only spoke to her. Just demonstrating the power of her manipulation. I was quite simply, let down by the services there to protect me. I learned that the police were not going to help me so after moving out on my own and her being provided with pathetic harassment warnings, I began my journey to living a life as far away as possible to what I endured. I worked long hours whilst studying, and became a clinical psychologist. The process to trying again to finally seek justice started in June 2020. My world came crashing down when I was made aware that she, (abuser), was claiming that I had a child who had died. To hear that she was discussing the different hymns she had selected for my non-existent child’s funeral filled me with rage. It was at this point, that I realised, I would never be free. She would never stop. She had never stopped. It made me realise that I had to push forward with telling my truth. This was so incredibly difficult, and I relapsed for the first time in many years with bulimia and developed alopecia areata.
The process to justice has in itself been very difficult and triggering. It is an interesting position to be a clinical psychologist, to have had numerous therapies, to then effectively “un-do” all that hard work, to re-traumatise myself to be able to tell the world what she has done to me. It has left me experiencing flashbacks, nightmares, anxiety, and low mood. I have also felt that the process has not been victim focused, but actually, allowed (abuser) to continue to have power and control over me. Abuser has demonstrated repeatedly her avoidance of facing the consequences of her actions, for example, moving away and not providing a correct address when this whole process first commenced, not appearing before the court and not informing of the court that she would not be attending, and claiming she is unfit to stand trial. She is not a vulnerable person. She takes advantage of the vulnerable. She always portrays herself as a victim when she is anything but that. She is a perpetrator of abuse. A calculated manipulator. She claims to have been abused herself and in essence, attempts to excuse her behaviour. I would never use what she did to me as an excuse to harm others. I use what happened to me to be nothing like her, to help others, to empower survivors to take back their power, to not be defined by what happened to them, to live their lives as they deserve. I will never be free until she has her freedom taken away from her. I ask that you see (abuser) for who she is. An abuser. I ask that you sentence her to the maximum sentence allowable by law.
My final words are directed to you, (abuser). Your abuse does not define me. I am stronger than you will ever know. I am more than you will ever be. I am finally free.