Latest news with #SafeLives
The Star
3 days ago
- The Star
Exclusive-Britain reassesses 'flawed' domestic abuse risk tool
LONDON (Reuters) -A month before she was stabbed to death by her ex-boyfriend, Bethany Fields walked into a police station in northern England to report his abusive and controlling behaviour. He had threatened to kill her, but she was not assessed as high risk. Fields is among many domestic abuse victims failed by risk assessments based on a form known as DASH used by Britain's overstretched police forces, social workers and others for more than 15 years, according to two academic studies, several women's charities and victims' relatives. "To get that form right literally means the difference between life and death," said Bethany's mother, Pauline Jones. The charity which co-developed the form, SafeLives, has now been tasked by the government with a project which its CEO Ellen Miller described as examining the way to see "how a review could work through, how a bigger rewrite could happen". "We know so much more now, that it needs to evolve, it needs to change," Miller said, confirming a project that is yet to be publicly announced. DASH had saved many lives, she said, adding that it should be rewritten rather than replaced and that it was up to police to use it properly. "The problem is not the DASH. The problem is police officers' values and behaviours," she said. A report by the Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) into Fields' murder, published online in April this year, said the officer conducting the assessment was inexperienced to undertake such a sensitive assignment and lacked supervision; it also questioned the DASH form. Those filling in the DASH (Domestic Abuse, Stalking and Honour-Based Violence Assessment) tick: "yes", "no", or "don't know" - sometimes labelled "other" - in response to questions about possible abuse. The IOPC said the third option reduced the chances of officers pinning down a potential yes. That in turn reduces the chances of getting enough ticks for the assessment of high risk that triggers a referral for extra support. Marsha Scott, chief executive of Scottish Women's Aid, said the DASH tool was "deeply flawed". Researchers from the Universities of Manchester and Seville found the DASH "performs poorly at identifying high-risk victims", with 96.3% of such cases being wrongly assessed as standard (low) or medium risk in their study of 350,000 incidents logged by an unnamed major UK police force. SafeLives did not respond to a request for comment on the statistic, published in Madrid-based journal Psychosocial Intervention in 2022. The British system is not the only one to come under scrutiny. Spain's interior ministry said in January it had updated its gender violence management system to make it more effective; in June, it said British officials had visited to find out more. Britain's interior ministry did not respond to a request for comment for this article. It has said reducing violence against women and girls is a priority and that it plans to publish a new strategy on the issue. MISTAKES In the year ending March 2024, there were 108 domestic homicides, of which 83 of the victims were female. Reuters was not able to establish how many of those deaths followed DASH risk assessments or what those had concluded but found other deaths in which an assessment had been undertaken. Seventeen weeks pregnant, Fawziyah Javed was pushed to her death from the top of the Arthur's Seat hill in Edinburgh in 2021. Her mother, Yasmin Javed, told Reuters her daughter had reported her husband's violent and controlling behaviour to the police. Officers told her she was medium risk and despite the risk factor of being pregnant and a visit from police six days before she died, she was never referred for high risk support, her mother said, adding: "These mistakes are costing lives." Contacted for comment, police said only that the IOPC is still investigating the force's response. Both Javed's husband and Fields' ex-partner were convicted of killing them. When asked about fatalities after DASH assessments, Miller said: "I think the DASH could always be better," adding that it was up to police to safeguard people from the risk of death in their recruitment and training. Her hope, she said, was that a "refreshed DASH" would be used adequately in every case. OTHER OPTIONS The interior ministry has asked other charities to help SafeLives "bring together insights" into the systems for assessing and managing risk in the country, a letter from the ministry to one of them who asked to remain anonymous showed. Several charities contacted by Reuters said they feared the project would not go far enough. Ngozi Fulani, CEO of Sistah Space, a charity supporting victims from African and Caribbean heritage, said the DASH may not be effective for many in those communities, due to mistrust of police linked to institutional racism. "They chose to leave us out, that speaks for itself," she said, referring to the fact they have so far not been asked to contribute to the project. The Spanish police and some organisations are using new technology to assess future risk: Berlin-based startup Frontline has a machine learning risk assessment and British data scientist and former police officer Tori Olphin has created an algorithmic model to predict future harm, for example. The College of Policing, a professional body for police in England and Wales, has developed its own tool, DARA, with Cardiff University Professor Amanda Robinson, to address what she says are some of DASH's flaws, particularly around coercive control, which only became a criminal offence there in 2015. A police representative said they would assess all the available tools. "Police officers must be supported with the right training and tools to identify offences and protect victims," said Assistant Chief Constable Claire Bell, Deputy Director of the National Centre for Violence Against Women and Girls and Public Protection. (Reporting by Catarina Demony and Sam Tabahriti; Editing by Philippa Fletcher)
Reuters
3 days ago
- Reuters
Exclusive: Britain reassesses 'flawed' domestic abuse risk tool
LONDON, Aug 13 (Reuters) - A month before she was stabbed to death by her ex-boyfriend, Bethany Fields walked into a police station in northern England to report his abusive and controlling behaviour. He had threatened to kill her, but she was not assessed as high risk. Fields is among many domestic abuse victims failed by risk assessments based on a form known as DASH used by Britain's overstretched police forces, social workers and others for more than 15 years, according to two academic studies, several women's charities and victims' relatives. "To get that form right literally means the difference between life and death," said Bethany's mother, Pauline Jones. The charity which co-developed the form, SafeLives, has now been tasked by the government with a project which its CEO Ellen Miller described as examining the way to see "how a review could work through, how a bigger rewrite could happen". "We know so much more now, that it needs to evolve, it needs to change," Miller said, confirming a project that is yet to be publicly announced. DASH had saved many lives, she said, adding that it should be rewritten rather than replaced and that it was up to police to use it properly. "The problem is not the DASH. The problem is police officers' values and behaviours," she said. A report by the Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) into Fields' murder, published online in April this year, said the officer conducting the assessment was inexperienced to undertake such a sensitive assignment and lacked supervision; it also questioned the DASH form. Those filling in the DASH (Domestic Abuse, Stalking and Honour-Based Violence Assessment) tick: "yes", "no", or "don't know" - sometimes labelled "other" - in response to questions about possible abuse. The IOPC said the third option reduced the chances of officers pinning down a potential yes. That in turn reduces the chances of getting enough ticks for the assessment of high risk that triggers a referral for extra support. Marsha Scott, chief executive of Scottish Women's Aid, said the DASH tool was "deeply flawed". Researchers from the Universities of Manchester and Seville found the DASH "performs poorly at identifying high-risk victims", with 96.3% of such cases being wrongly assessed as standard (low) or medium risk in their study of 350,000 incidents logged by an unnamed major UK police force. SafeLives did not respond to a request for comment on the statistic, published in Madrid-based journal Psychosocial Intervention in 2022. The British system is not the only one to come under scrutiny. Spain's interior ministry said in January it had updated its gender violence management system to make it more effective; in June, it said British officials had visited to find out more. Britain's interior ministry did not respond to a request for comment for this article. It has said reducing violence against women and girls is a priority and that it plans to publish a new strategy on the issue. In the year ending March 2024, there were 108 domestic homicides, of which 83 of the victims were female. Reuters was not able to establish how many of those deaths followed DASH risk assessments or what those had concluded but found other deaths in which an assessment had been undertaken. Seventeen weeks pregnant, Fawziyah Javed was pushed to her death from the top of the Arthur's Seat hill in Edinburgh in 2021. Her mother, Yasmin Javed, told Reuters her daughter had reported her husband's violent and controlling behaviour to the police. Officers told her she was medium risk and despite the risk factor of being pregnant and a visit from police six days before she died, she was never referred for high risk support, her mother said, adding: "These mistakes are costing lives." Contacted for comment, police said only that the IOPC is still investigating the force's response. Both Javed's husband and Fields' ex-partner were convicted of killing them. When asked about fatalities after DASH assessments, Miller said: "I think the DASH could always be better," adding that it was up to police to safeguard people from the risk of death in their recruitment and training. Her hope, she said, was that a "refreshed DASH" would be used adequately in every case. The interior ministry has asked other charities to help SafeLives "bring together insights" into the systems for assessing and managing risk in the country, a letter from the ministry to one of them who asked to remain anonymous showed. Several charities contacted by Reuters said they feared the project would not go far enough. Ngozi Fulani, CEO of Sistah Space, a charity supporting victims from African and Caribbean heritage, said the DASH may not be effective for many in those communities, due to mistrust of police linked to institutional racism. "They chose to leave us out, that speaks for itself," she said, referring to the fact they have so far not been asked to contribute to the project. The Spanish police and some organisations are using new technology to assess future risk: Berlin-based startup Frontline has a machine learning risk assessment and British data scientist and former police officer Tori Olphin has created an algorithmic model to predict future harm, for example. The College of Policing, a professional body for police in England and Wales, has developed its own tool, DARA, with Cardiff University Professor Amanda Robinson, to address what she says are some of DASH's flaws, particularly around coercive control, which only became a criminal offence there in 2015. A police representative said they would assess all the available tools. "Police officers must be supported with the right training and tools to identify offences and protect victims," said Assistant Chief Constable Claire Bell, Deputy Director of the National Centre for Violence Against Women and Girls and Public Protection.
Yahoo
14-07-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
I was 17 when my boyfriend pulled out chunks of my hair. His abuse still haunts me at 43
As I sit in the hairdresser's chair, she lifts some strands of hair to look at the condition, and I freeze. I can already feel beads of sweat starting to form on my back. She asks, 'Been a while since you've had it cut?' I nod. It's been 10 months. I say, 'I've got a sensitive scalp, so can you be careful while washing it, please?' What I don't tell the hairdresser is that I dread anyone touching my head because 25 years ago, the man I loved ripped chunks of hair out while he was throwing me down the stairs. All because I didn't tell him I was going on a night out. For years, I wouldn't set foot inside a salon without taking a beta blocker I was prescribed by my GP for situational anxiety. I grit my teeth as she lathers the shampoo, trying not to think of the sharp pain and tingling I was left with when he yanked my hair so hard that he left me with a bald spot. It has got easier to deal with my hair being touched by strangers, but I never expected painful memories to be triggered so long after the relationship had ended. According to the charity Safe Lives, two-thirds of domestic abuse survivors experience post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) – more than twice the rate experienced by soldiers in combat. New research from the University of Glasgow has found that women who experienced physical abuse in the context of domestic violence risk ongoing mental health disorders despite the exposure to domestic violence having ceased, on average, 27 years before assessment. I met Colin at work when I was 17, and he was 33 (which, to everyone except me, was a huge red flag). I thought I was wise beyond my years, and Colin was everything I was looking for in a mate: strong, funny, intelligent and charming. After a few months of working together, we shared our first kiss on the way home from after-work drinks. He showered me with affection and attention; when we weren't at work, he called and texted constantly, which was flattering at first. Our relationship escalated quickly, and we were living together within three months. It took about six months before Colin became violent, but in the meantime, he had begun to manipulate and control every aspect of my life in ways that were nearly imperceptible at the time. We shared a bank account, but I was scatty and kept 'losing' my debit card, so he persuaded me it would be easier for him to give me a weekly cash allowance. I now think Colin was hiding my card all along. We worked together, so we spent every waking moment in each other's company. He would subtly belittle me in front of colleagues, picking on my insecurities and reinforcing every negative thought I ever had about myself. He poisoned me against my family (who could sense early on that he was bad news), causing an estrangement that would take years to heal. When my friends invited me out, he would guilt me into staying home, often claiming to be unwell. Friends stopped reaching out, and I became increasingly reliant on Colin. As this was my first serious relationship, I had no frame of reference or clue that his behaviour was troubling. The first act of violence happened at Christmas. Colin was sick with the flu, and I'd decided to go to the office Christmas party on a whim without telling him. When I returned to our flat, I discovered I was locked out. I battered at the door, and when Colin opened it, I saw his face twisted into a shape I didn't recognise. He was drunk, and I knew immediately that he was going to hurt me. He hissed, 'You've been with another man, haven't you, you sl-t?' as he grabbed me by the hair and threw me down a short flight of stairs. I banged my head hard, and it took me a minute to get back on my feet. When I did, Colin was standing before me with a chunk of my hair in his hand. Sobbing, I told him, 'I was at the Christmas party, ask anyone in the office,' but he just kept calling me a sl-t. I staggered down the stairs and into the cold December night. I had no idea where to go, I wasn't speaking to my parents, I didn't have any friends I could call. I just sat at a bus stop and wept. After about an hour, I heard footsteps and saw Colin. I cowered, thinking he was going to hurt me, and he started crying. 'I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know what came over me. I am so scared you're going to leave me.' He knelt at my feet and begged for forgiveness, and I found myself comforting him, even after what he'd done to me. He was a master manipulator and lured me back with promises that he'd change, and it would never happen again. But it did. We lived together peacefully for months at a time, then, as soon as he'd drunk too much or had a hard day, the violent rage would return. I lived in hypervigilance, barely talking in case I said something that would trigger Colin's rage. I lived in shame, not telling anyone about the abuse because I believed what was happening to me was my fault. I drank heavily, sank into a deep depression and would often feel disappointed to wake up in the morning. People ask, 'Why didn't you leave?' and I did try. The main issue was that I had nowhere to go. Shelters were full, I still wasn't in a good place with my family, and I had no money. When I did pluck up the courage to leave at age 20, he threatened to take his own life unless I came back to him, another manipulation tactic. In the end, it took three aborted attempts before I left for good, after one final eruption of violence that left me physically scarred and fearing for my life. When I left, I told him if he ever contacted me again, I would phone the police, and he could see that I meant it. I arrived on my parents' doorstep with my life in two bin bags and my mental health in tatters. Leaving was the easy part. Living with what had happened to me was much harder. I lived in a state of near-permanent anxiety and had flashbacks at unexpected moments, like in the hairdresser's chair when my head jerked back as the brush found a tug in my hair. I was right back to that December night, cowering in fear, my scalp on fire. When I had a wisdom tooth extraction, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror for over a week because my swollen, bruised face reminded me of a previous attack. I tried to push the memories down and get on with my life. After some time by myself, I started dating again, but found myself not only distrusting the men I met, but also my instincts. I had initially fallen for what I thought was a great guy, who turned out to be anything but, and was worried I was a terrible judge of character. However, at 21, I met Ronnie, a sweet man who was gentle, kind and understanding. We were married within six months of meeting, much to the surprise of everyone who knew us. I rushed into marriage partly to draw a line under my past because this new relationship came with a new surname and a move to a different city. My husband encouraged me to seek therapy because he had grown up in an abusive household and knew the lasting impact domestic violence could have. I had six sessions of NHS therapy and was diagnosed with PTSD, but that short course of treatment didn't 'fix' me. The therapy brought up a lot of intense and painful emotions, and I felt like I'd never be able to move past what happened to me. I didn't sleep properly for weeks after therapy finished. I felt hopeless and withdrew from my husband and my family, calling in sick to work and spending my days locked in the house, scared to go outside. I began to drink quite heavily one afternoon, pulling all the booze out to the cupboards that I could find. I wanted the pain to go away, and I would do anything I could to make it stop. I started raiding the medicine cabinet for painkillers, popping two handfuls of paracetamol into my mouth and washing them down with wine. I wanted to die. At first, I felt relieved; my pain would soon be over. Then I thought of my family and the people who loved me. I couldn't face the thought of living any more, but I wasn't ready to leave them. I called my husband and told him what I'd done, and he rushed home from work to take me to the hospital, where I promptly threw up all over the waiting room. After some blood tests, the hospital discharged me with a number for the crisis team, whom I was to check in with for the next few weeks, and who encouraged me to be more open with loved ones about how I was feeling. I hadn't been honest about the extent of the abuse, even with my family, so I sat them down and explained how bad things had been, and why I had decided that death was preferable to living with the pain. They were shocked, but started to understand more about how that relationship had forever altered me. Sharing my story with them helped to unload some of the shame I had felt over the relationship. I thought I had deserved what had happened to me, that I had provoked Colin to behave like that, but it was never my fault. I went back to suppressing my pain, mainly by drinking too much. My marriage ended after three years, partly because I had a paranoid mistrust of my husband. Every time my husband did something nice, I felt there had to be an ulterior motive because Colin was never kind for no reason. I've worked hard to rebuild my life after abuse, but have struggled with romantic relationships. Giving so much space and energy to mistrusting and second-guessing a potential partner's every move was exhausting, and I knew I needed to take a break from dating. I haven't been in a long-term relationship since my mid-20s. However, I am open to dating in the future. I've attended therapy on and off for years and began seeing a regular therapist in 2022, who referred me for specialist trauma therapy called eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing (EMDR). Instead of talking in detail about a distressing issue, EMDR instead focuses on changing the emotions, thoughts or behaviours that result from a distressing experience. Change didn't happen overnight, but the trauma no longer affects me as viscerally as it once did. I thought I was doing much better, but then, last November, I found out Colin had died. You'd think I'd be relieved. It was over; he could never hurt me again. I made an emergency therapy appointment because I found that I was sad about his death. I couldn't understand why until the therapist explained I had spent a lot of our early sessions saying, 'If only he had changed, maybe we could have been happy,' but that was a fantasy. I could never have forced Colin to change; he had to decide to change on his own. Perhaps I was mourning a version of him that didn't exist. Since Colin's death, I feel like I've turned a corner, mainly because the monster who haunted my nightmares wouldn't be coming back to get me. I am taking care of myself a lot better now; I quit drinking eight years ago and am trying my best to shed the heavy weight of past abuse and rebuild trust in others. I'm dating again, but I'm not putting any pressure on myself to find 'the one'. My life revolves around my friends, family, and my dog, a three-year-old spaniel named Bonnie, who gives me a reason to get outside as much as possible, which massively benefits my mental health. Things are less fraught when I go for a haircut, thanks to deep breathing exercises and restricting my trips to the hairdresser to twice a year. I hope I'll get to a point where the pain of the past won't be my whole narrative but rather a line in a chapter of my life story. Perhaps one day I will even enjoy trips to the salon. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Telegraph
14-07-2025
- Health
- Telegraph
I was 17 when my boyfriend pulled out chunks of my hair. His abuse still haunts me at 43
As I sit in the hairdresser's chair, she lifts some strands of hair to look at the condition, and I freeze. I can already feel beads of sweat starting to form on my back. She asks, 'Been a while since you've had it cut?' I nod. It's been 10 months. I say, 'I've got a sensitive scalp, so can you be careful while washing it, please?' What I don't tell the hairdresser is that I dread anyone touching my head because 25 years ago, the man I loved ripped chunks of hair out while he was throwing me down the stairs. All because I didn't tell him I was going on a night out. For years, I wouldn't set foot inside a salon without taking a beta blocker I was prescribed by my GP for situational anxiety. I grit my teeth as she lathers the shampoo, trying not to think of the sharp pain and tingling I was left with when he yanked my hair so hard that he left me with a bald spot. It has got easier to deal with my hair being touched by strangers, but I never expected painful memories to be triggered so long after the relationship had ended. According to the charity Safe Lives, two-thirds of domestic abuse survivors experience post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) – more than twice the rate experienced by soldiers in combat. New research from the University of Glasgow has found that women who experienced physical abuse in the context of domestic violence risk ongoing mental health disorders despite the exposure to domestic violence having ceased, on average, 27 years before assessment. The first kiss I met Colin at work when I was 17, and he was 33 (which, to everyone except me, was a huge red flag). I thought I was wise beyond my years, and Colin was everything I was looking for in a mate: strong, funny, intelligent and charming. After a few months of working together, we shared our first kiss on the way home from after-work drinks. He showered me with affection and attention; when we weren't at work, he called and texted constantly, which was flattering at first. Our relationship escalated quickly, and we were living together within three months. It took about six months before Colin became violent, but in the meantime, he had begun to manipulate and control every aspect of my life in ways that were nearly imperceptible at the time. Controlling behaviour We shared a bank account, but I was scatty and kept 'losing' my debit card, so he persuaded me it would be easier for him to give me a weekly cash allowance. I now think Colin was hiding my card all along. We worked together, so we spent every waking moment in each other's company. He would subtly belittle me in front of colleagues, picking on my insecurities and reinforcing every negative thought I ever had about myself. He poisoned me against my family (who could sense early on that he was bad news), causing an estrangement that would take years to heal. When my friends invited me out, he would guilt me into staying home, often claiming to be unwell. Friends stopped reaching out, and I became increasingly reliant on Colin. As this was my first serious relationship, I had no frame of reference or clue that his behaviour was troubling. Horrifying violence The first act of violence happened at Christmas. Colin was sick with the flu, and I'd decided to go to the office Christmas party on a whim without telling him. When I returned to our flat, I discovered I was locked out. I battered at the door, and when Colin opened it, I saw his face twisted into a shape I didn't recognise. He was drunk, and I knew immediately that he was going to hurt me. He hissed, 'You've been with another man, haven't you, you sl-t?' as he grabbed me by the hair and threw me down a short flight of stairs. I banged my head hard, and it took me a minute to get back on my feet. When I did, Colin was standing before me with a chunk of my hair in his hand. Sobbing, I told him, 'I was at the Christmas party, ask anyone in the office,' but he just kept calling me a sl-t. I staggered down the stairs and into the cold December night. I had no idea where to go, I wasn't speaking to my parents, I didn't have any friends I could call. I just sat at a bus stop and wept. After about an hour, I heard footsteps and saw Colin. I cowered, thinking he was going to hurt me, and he started crying. 'I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know what came over me. I am so scared you're going to leave me.' He knelt at my feet and begged for forgiveness, and I found myself comforting him, even after what he'd done to me. He was a master manipulator and lured me back with promises that he'd change, and it would never happen again. But it did. We lived together peacefully for months at a time, then, as soon as he'd drunk too much or had a hard day, the violent rage would return. I lived in hypervigilance, barely talking in case I said something that would trigger Colin's rage. I lived in shame, not telling anyone about the abuse because I believed what was happening to me was my fault. I drank heavily, sank into a deep depression and would often feel disappointed to wake up in the morning. The struggle to leave People ask, 'Why didn't you leave?' and I did try. The main issue was that I had nowhere to go. Shelters were full, I still wasn't in a good place with my family, and I had no money. When I did pluck up the courage to leave at age 20, he threatened to take his own life unless I came back to him, another manipulation tactic. In the end, it took three aborted attempts before I left for good, after one final eruption of violence that left me physically scarred and fearing for my life. When I left, I told him if he ever contacted me again, I would phone the police, and he could see that I meant it. I arrived on my parents' doorstep with my life in two bin bags and my mental health in tatters. Leaving was the easy part. Living with what had happened to me was much harder. I lived in a state of near-permanent anxiety and had flashbacks at unexpected moments, like in the hairdresser's chair when my head jerked back as the brush found a tug in my hair. I was right back to that December night, cowering in fear, my scalp on fire. When I had a wisdom tooth extraction, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror for over a week because my swollen, bruised face reminded me of a previous attack. I tried to push the memories down and get on with my life. After some time by myself, I started dating again, but found myself not only distrusting the men I met, but also my instincts. I had initially fallen for what I thought was a great guy, who turned out to be anything but, and was worried I was a terrible judge of character. However, at 21, I met Ronnie, a sweet man who was gentle, kind and understanding. We were married within six months of meeting, much to the surprise of everyone who knew us. I rushed into marriage partly to draw a line under my past because this new relationship came with a new surname and a move to a different city. My husband encouraged me to seek therapy because he had grown up in an abusive household and knew the lasting impact domestic violence could have. Battling with memories I had six sessions of NHS therapy and was diagnosed with PTSD, but that short course of treatment didn't 'fix' me. The therapy brought up a lot of intense and painful emotions, and I felt like I'd never be able to move past what happened to me. I didn't sleep properly for weeks after therapy finished. I felt hopeless and withdrew from my husband and my family, calling in sick to work and spending my days locked in the house, scared to go outside. I began to drink quite heavily one afternoon, pulling all the booze out to the cupboards that I could find. I wanted the pain to go away, and I would do anything I could to make it stop. I started raiding the medicine cabinet for painkillers, popping two handfuls of paracetamol into my mouth and washing them down with wine. I wanted to die. At first, I felt relieved; my pain would soon be over. Then I thought of my family and the people who loved me. I couldn't face the thought of living any more, but I wasn't ready to leave them. I called my husband and told him what I'd done, and he rushed home from work to take me to the hospital, where I promptly threw up all over the waiting room. After some blood tests, the hospital discharged me with a number for the crisis team, whom I was to check in with for the next few weeks, and who encouraged me to be more open with loved ones about how I was feeling. I hadn't been honest about the extent of the abuse, even with my family, so I sat them down and explained how bad things had been, and why I had decided that death was preferable to living with the pain. They were shocked, but started to understand more about how that relationship had forever altered me. Sharing my story with them helped to unload some of the shame I had felt over the relationship. I thought I had deserved what had happened to me, that I had provoked Colin to behave like that, but it was never my fault. I went back to suppressing my pain, mainly by drinking too much. My marriage ended after three years, partly because I had a paranoid mistrust of my husband. Every time my husband did something nice, I felt there had to be an ulterior motive because Colin was never kind for no reason. A new life after death I've worked hard to rebuild my life after abuse, but have struggled with romantic relationships. Giving so much space and energy to mistrusting and second-guessing a potential partner's every move was exhausting, and I knew I needed to take a break from dating. I haven't been in a long-term relationship since my mid-20s. However, I am open to dating in the future. I've attended therapy on and off for years and began seeing a regular therapist in 2022, who referred me for specialist trauma therapy called eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing (EMDR). Instead of talking in detail about a distressing issue, EMDR instead focuses on changing the emotions, thoughts or behaviours that result from a distressing experience. Change didn't happen overnight, but the trauma no longer affects me as viscerally as it once did. I thought I was doing much better, but then, last November, I found out Colin had died. You'd think I'd be relieved. It was over; he could never hurt me again. I made an emergency therapy appointment because I found that I was sad about his death. I couldn't understand why until the therapist explained I had spent a lot of our early sessions saying, 'If only he had changed, maybe we could have been happy,' but that was a fantasy. I could never have forced Colin to change; he had to decide to change on his own. Perhaps I was mourning a version of him that didn't exist. Since Colin's death, I feel like I've turned a corner, mainly because the monster who haunted my nightmares wouldn't be coming back to get me. I am taking care of myself a lot better now; I quit drinking eight years ago and am trying my best to shed the heavy weight of past abuse and rebuild trust in others. I'm dating again, but I'm not putting any pressure on myself to find 'the one'. My life revolves around my friends, family, and my dog, a three-year-old spaniel named Bonnie, who gives me a reason to get outside as much as possible, which massively benefits my mental health. Things are less fraught when I go for a haircut, thanks to deep breathing exercises and restricting my trips to the hairdresser to twice a year. I hope I'll get to a point where the pain of the past won't be my whole narrative but rather a line in a chapter of my life story. Perhaps one day I will even enjoy trips to the salon.
Metro
22-06-2025
- Metro
I blamed myself even after he sent me to A&E 11 times in 5 months
Multiple bite marks down my shoulders. Fingerprints all around my neck from where he'd choked me. Two black eyes, a broken nose and a dislocated jaw. Part of me felt stupid: How could I not have seen the signs? Other parts felt shame for letting it go on this long. But the rest of me just wanted to move on, to forget. That's why, initially, I didn't accept the help that was offered to me. I didn't think anyone out there could possibly understand what I'd been through. Little did I know that, like me, 1 in 4 women in England and Wales experience domestic abuse in their lifetime. My relationship with Ryan* seemed like nothing short of a fairytale romance at first. One in 4 women will experience domestic abuse at some point in their lives ONS research revealed that, in 2023, the police recorded a domestic abuse offence approximately every 40 seconds Yet Crime Survey for England & Wales data for the year ending March 2023 found only 18.9% of women who experienced partner abuse in the last 12 months reported the abuse to the police According to Refuge, 84% of victims in domestic abuse cases are female, with 93% of defendants being male Safe Lives reports that disabled women are twice as likely to experience domestic abuse as non-disabled women, and typically experience domestic abuse for a longer period of time before accessing support Refuge has also found that, on average, it takes seven attempts before a woman is able to leave for good. It started with him picking me up after work and quickly progressed to being showered with flowers, gifts and 'I love yous'. He even turned up at my house at 3am once just to deliver a bouquet, which, as I'd never been in a relationship before, I thought was incredibly sweet. But while I thought I was being swept off my feet, everyone else around me could see his actions for what they truly were: Love bombing. I brushed off their concerns – this was how it was meant to be, right? About a month into our relationship though, I'd discover that their instincts had been right as Ryan hit me before I went on a night out with a friend. When nurses queried my injuries, instead of the truth, I'd say I'd had a seizure or fallen over The punch came completely out of the blue. There'd been no warning, he just swung. But when I questioned why he'd hit me, he gaslit me into thinking I'd made it all up. It took a few days for him to eventually apologise and say it was 'completely out of character' and that he'd never do it again. But of course, that was another lie. Over the course of the next five months I ended up in A&E 11 times with black eyes and a broken nose. When nurses queried my injuries, instead of the truth, I'd say I'd had a seizure or fallen over. This was partly at Ryan's insistence, but also because I felt like it was my fault this kept happening. That I was to blame for pushing him to such extremes. And as I'd gradually lost or cut off all contact with friends and family at that time, I had no one around me to tell me otherwise. It soon reached a point, however, where the hospital felt obliged to call the police. They then set up an alert for my phone so that, if I called 999 and coughed three times consecutively, they'd know to track my location as I was unsafe. I thought that was an overreaction. To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video Despite the clear escalation in violence, losing my customer-facing job due to my injuries and now the obvious concern from authorities, I remained convinced that I could change him. Almost seven months into our relationship, things finally reached breaking point when Ryan launched his worst assault on me yet. He pushed me down the stairs, tried to suffocate me with a pillow, kneed me in the face breaking my nose and punched me in the jaw until the left side dislocated. At the same time, he was shouting abuse at me, yelling how he was going to 'put me in the ground' with my deceased brother. The only reason the attack stopped was because I managed to lock him out of the house and call the police who took him away. It was then, after being taken to hospital to be treated for all my various injuries, that the police offered me a lifeline: 'We can refer you to Women's Aid if you'd like?' they said. Determined to just forget and get my life back on track, I politely declined – though I did make sure to leave with a restraining order in place. Instead of feeling free though, I was left in a state of paranoia for weeks. I refused to leave the house unless a friend or my mum could call me. I'd constantly be looking behind me, afraid I was being followed and, if a car that was the same make and model as his whizzed past me, I'd instinctively check the registration. Naturally, my mental health began to suffer as a result and I soon realised that this couldn't continue. I didn't want to live my life like that, constantly afraid, so, I contacted the officer in charge of my case and asked for the referral. Women's Aid then helped me join a forum with other survivors and, honestly, I was shocked by what I found. Finding supportive community, especially if you're going through a traumatic or difficult time, is important for our mental health. Find out more at the Mental Health Foundation website. If you're experiencing domestic abuse, call the freephone, 24-hour National Domestic Abuse Helpline 0808 2000 247. For more information on support available for yourself or a loved one visit Women's Aid. This group was full of women – some younger, some older than me – who had all gone through similar, or in some cases, far worse things than I had. It was heartbreaking to read some of their stories, but it also gave me hope to see how much some women had overcome and escaped. If they could do it, then I could too. The stories that were similar to mine – where the relationship was a whirlwind and things changed so fast – gave me the most closure. It made me realise I wasn't silly for believing Ryan all those times. That this behaviour is sadly more common than we think it is. And, actually, I wasn't alone. Gradually, with members' help, I was able to accept that, like them, nothing that had happened was my fault. They also gave me ways to cope and overcome my trauma – like by getting back to routine, encouraging me to spend time with family and rekindle old friendships – and it really did help. Little by little, I began to feel like myself again. It took time but eventually I felt ready to date again and I'm pleased to say I'm now in a new relationship with someone who treats me correctly – even if I do have a strict ban on flowers. Yes, I'm still hesitant to let anybody know my personal business and vigilant as to who knows my home address, but I don't feel consumed with fear like I used to. More Trending And while I don't use the Women's Aid forum anymore because I don't feel I need it in the same way, I'm still friends with some women I met there so it's like we have our own mini support group – and that has been invaluable. I thought I was alone for so long, and I know there will be other women or men in situations now who feel the same. But I promise, there are plenty of us out here to help and support you. You can ask for help. You can escape a bad situation. And we will believe you. As told to Emma Rossiter Do you have a story you'd like to share? Get in touch by emailing Share your views in the comments below. MORE: A stranger's question to my 7-year-old left me furious MORE: We would never have got together if our partners hadn't died MORE: I was burned by 'check-in chicken' – heed my warning Your free newsletter guide to the best London has on offer, from drinks deals to restaurant reviews.
