Deserve to be heard Archives - Women’s Aid

Deaf survivors like me deserve specialised support

mcadmin — Tue, 11 Oct 2022 10:12:32 +0000

The night I got away, it wasn’t planned so I did not get a chance to think about what the steps would be after walking out the door. Mainly, because I believed I wasn’t ever getting out.

No one can prepare you for leaving abuse, even if there are resources online – it is the most terrifying experience. The police were speaking to me with masks on because of the covid-19 pandemic, and rushing to get my story without an interpreter so they could arrest the perpetrator on the spot. I felt so vulnerable and wished I had been killed instead.

People do not leave because of the unknown – there is not enough information for the aftermath – on ‘what happens after you’ve left?’ Where do I go for a safe shelter? Money? Food? Pet care – because they were abused too. I was isolated hundreds of miles away from family – how do I reach them?

It is because of the only friend I had at the time, after being isolated from everyone in my world, that I had my father come collect me, my mobile phone had been smashed to pieces ensuring I didn’t have contact with anyone. My best friend had his number, thankfully. So many people aren’t as fortunate as I was. In most cases, a Deaf person would not have anyone to step in and arrange their escape.

Once I had made it back with my family, professionals were coming to visit without interpreters, saying my parents could translate. I did not want my family hearing my story, details of the mistreatment I had faced – I wasn’t comfortable with this. I was ashamed. This showed their lack of training and professionalism. Twice, the police came to take my full statement without an interpreter, even after promising they were booking one. This made my anxiety so much worse, building myself up all night long to share my story. It left me so angry, frustrated and wanting to die – jump off a bridge because it felt like people were teasing me with a glimmer of hope for support, only to take away my voice. I could not understand what was happening, in the ‘process of recovering, rebuilding a life’.

The same happened again, when I went to court for the first restraining order – no interpreter had been booked even after three phone calls directly from my mum to check that they had organised one…I have no trust in the system. There is lack of empathy and awareness, of the impact this has on a Deaf survivor.

Thankfully, I had Deaf 4 Deaf – an NHS counselling service – that gave me 3 sessions of therapy whilst waiting on funding, to ensure I had someone to talk to straight away. Women’s Aid email me regularly checking in and sharing resources. A local domestic abuse service also did an assessment almost straight away and have since then provided an interpreter for every session of eye movement therapy (EMDR), treating complex PTSD. They understand the huge benefits of having the same interpreter. They have adapted quickly to understanding my needs as a Deaf person. In other services, I am still on a long waiting list for support. The only other suggestion they can offer is going to A&E – but every Deaf person knows this is the worst option because they do not get an interpreter instantly and we can be kept waiting up to 3 days for one…which is the last thing someone needs in a crisis – mentally and emotionally. Text shout is another piece of advice that I often get given – but many Deaf people struggle to understand written English grammar and find it difficult to express themselves without the use of sign language.

My local survivor-led crisis services cover out of hours crisis support, in British Sign Language (BSL) using FaceTime / Skype. They accompany Deaf people to A&E to support them and have support peer groups in BSL. The staff are themselves survivors or have personal experience of mental health / addiction. This is what’s needed across the country.

My experience of the justice system made my mental health even worse. I was unable to share my victim impact statement in court because I am Deaf and the court system didn’t consider me – my needs, for a BSL interpreter, even though I repeatedly said to them that interpreters need to be booked in advance. The police officer in charge of the case reassured me that I would be able to have my say in court, yet the victim support team decided on my behalf – without giving me any informed choices – that I couldn’t be there. I only found out afterwards that they had chosen themselves that I wasn’t going to be in court that day…because they had not sourced an interpreter. I was robbed of potential closure and that has affected my mental health even more. I am still trying to digest the fact this happened and accept that I will not get a chance to witness the outcome – and potentially to have increased the sentencing with my statement. No one has apologised and I’m left trying to keep on surviving because ‘the case is now closed’.

Having support, with no communication barriers would make it more bearable to deal with, instead of facing more challenges and battling to have my rights as a Deaf person met. To have access to a network of various support methods and professionals to aid my recovery.

It’s no good having ‘experts’ who have studied subjects surrounding this speaking on our behalf, when they are hearing or are not survivors themselves. They have no understanding of what it’s like to be Deaf and feeling alone, not being listened to or understood.

British Sign Language should be readily available, with visual resources that are clear to understand, because written English is not a Deaf person’s first language – it is sign. Support agencies should have an understanding of using online sign interpreters in an emergency situation until a face to face appointment is arranged with an interpreter present. Support groups with BSL interpreter bookings, captioned materials (or BSL relayed clips) on websites / TV screens in a waiting room / venue providing support.

Deaf awareness training and BSL level 1 courses should be mandatory. Extra funding needs to be allocated for services to set up specialised support tailored to the needs of Deaf survivors. I feel so lucky that I got out of my situation – and now I want to make sure that no one else in the Deaf community has to go through the experiences I did.

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The impact of covid-19 on a domestic abuse survivor

mcadmin — Mon, 27 Jun 2022 15:57:04 +0000

The recent lockdowns were hard for all. They were hard for me as I lost the freedom I had known only for a short time. It provided time without distraction which meant for me revisiting my past and the abuse which I would have preferred not to do. Time is not always positive. It really did impact on my mental health but I was lucky I had my freedom.

I was in an abusive relationship for over 30 years. I spent much of that time convincing myself that if I only tried harder things would get better, blanking out what was going on, and convinced that it was all my fault. I knew that things were not right but I didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t hit me all the time but when he did, he convinced me that it was my fault. He told me that I was unreasonable and mad, that I had changed after I had got married, that I no longer put him first and that somehow, I had hidden my true personality and duped him in to marriage.

I’m only starting to realise the real consequences of this now…How he robbed me of my self-confidence and left me feeling off balance. He controlled what I spent my salary on, counting every penny I spent. Holidays were organised and paid for by me – but he would decide where and when we were going. He would also always sabotage this in the week before we went saying that he did not want to go. I always dreaded going on holiday. I did consider leaving or running away many times but always believed that I would be unable to cope on my own. Even though I had a good job and was financially able to support myself and my children – I had so little self-belief that I couldn’t do it.

Domestic violence was not talked about – and in many ways seemed acceptable. I had no close friends and was ashamed. I did not leave. I stuck it out until he had an affair and decided that I had to go. This was the worst time as he was more unreasonable and violent. I was made homeless, so I returned to the family home before finally moving to a new city to be near my children.
I made a new life – but it was so hard. I had a major mental health crisis. Luckily, I had an excellent GP who listened to and believed me. I was supported.

I recovered and things were in my opinion becoming ‘normal’. Normal to me is being allowed to be upset, angry, happy, joyful, sad or down. My feelings had never previously been valued, and were always dismissed as irrelevant. When you come out of an abusive relationship, your entire world has been distorted. Never the less I did it and revelled in my freedom.

Then in March last year my world changed dramatically again. The enforced sense of isolation that lockdown brought was not new, although it was profound. I talk about having been in training for this all my adult life, being isolated from family and with only very few friends. In my new life I had friends and support. I was suddenly not allowed to see them and, in many ways, cut off once again. I became depressed. I over ate, didn’t exercise, and drank too much.

It made me re-live previous traumas over and over again. I have a particular memory of a single incident where all I remember is lying underneath the bed crying with, only my cat for company. This is particularly distressing for me as I don’t remember why I was there – but I know I was very upset. This and other memories come as lockdown does not allow me to fill my days in the same way I became used to. The change in life feels like a loss.

I had never been allowed to establish close friendships as whenever I became close to someone, he would make negative and demeaning comments about them, saying how they were not appropriate friends for me. I would become exhausted and give up. Once I was free, I found a network of people and we went out for coffees, to the gym, to the pictures, or out to eat. Being busy helped me in my process of recovery – but lockdown ended that. It was like starting all over again, and I would constantly think of the past, experiencing it all over again.

Everything would trigger memories – I stopped wearing make-up because all I could think about was being told to behave or criticised for what I looked like and what I was wearing. It was distressing. It pulls you down and it’s difficult to explain to people because you don’t want to bring them down with the trauma you experienced, or you think people won’t understand, or criticise you for staying for so long.

Following the easing of lockdown and during the short time that the restrictions were lifted, I organised a family meal. My eldest son and his girlfriend announced that they were expecting their first child. For most, this would bring a great sense of joy and hope for the future. For me it brought on an episode of acute depression. Again, I started eating and drinking too much and retreated into myself. I really did not understand what was going on. It was like a black cloud that would not move.

Over the months that followed, I have spent a lot of time unpicking my thoughts and feelings. When I was pregnant, I was ignored and never allowed to feel joy in my pregnancy. Whilst pregnant with my second child I was hit on more than one occasion. When I once complained about being tired, I was met with screams of “well you wanted this baby!” It was hard work bring up children alone in an abusive relationship. Their news was a major trigger for me that I had not expected. It was a stark reminder that the impacts of domestic abuse do not go away, even years after leaving. Luckily, I have a great counsellor who I can talk to and make sense of things. I’m coming to terms with my feelings and starting to enjoy the prospect of being a grandparent now. Christmas was great a quiet family affair with just myself and my children – not stress on having to prepare ‘the perfect day’. It was perfect.

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Fishbowl

mcadmin — Mon, 23 May 2022 15:09:13 +0000

This emaciated young girl stuck in a huge fishbowl reflects the repercussions of my abuse; often feeling alone, powerless, unable to breathe, lost and tiny. But the young girl continues to breathe regardless, as she is a fighter, she is a warrior, she is strong, capable, and empowered even when she doesn’t feel that way. This girl is going to achieve great things, and fulfil all her wildest dreams.
This was written and drawn by a client in Jewish Women’s Aid’s Young Women’s Service (14-24 years), CouRAGEus. For information and support visit JWA

[Image description: a sketch of a young woman sitting inside a large fishbowl.]

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Amelia’s story

mcadmin — Tue, 26 Apr 2022 09:14:32 +0000

Amelia shared her story with us through Agenda – the alliance for women and girls at risk, working to build a society where women and girls are able to live their lives free from inequality, poverty, and violence. Agenda is part of the #DeserveToBeHeard Expert Advisory Group, which has brought crucial insight to ensure that the campaign centres the voices of the most marginalised survivors, and responds to their needs.

I’ve had a social worker since I was 10 or 11 years old. My dad was just really abusive and my mum didn’t know how to manage that. It would just be constant verbal abuse, so I started going out a lot. I would walk around the area all the time. One time, I bumped into a couple of people that looked a bit older. I started spending time with them because I had nowhere else and they had a house to go to – there was shelter, food… That’s all anyone wants really. So I ended up spending a lot of time with them.

It was never sexual but they wanted me to do stuff for them, like sell drugs. They felt like older brothers – protective. But I also knew that if I messed up, the protection wasn’t going to be there anymore. I never got in trouble with the police doing that because the police don’t stop girls. There were times when I would be holding something for one of them and the police would come – he would be getting searched and I would just walk off.

When I did get arrested, it was because of fights at home with my dad. As I got older, I started to think, “I’m not taking this anymore, I’m not going to keep getting hurt by you.” I would lash out. I would say something and he would go mad and start breaking stuff and call the police and say that I’d broken it. When the police came, they’d arrest me. They’d put me in a cell and then they’d make my dad come and bail me out. They would ask me what happened but they’d do it when they had me in handcuffs and were searching me. If they’d treated me like a human, sat down with me and said “is everything okay at home?” or asked if they could help, it would have been different. They should be working with colleges and social workers more too. They should be seeing a pattern.

They don’t always know how to ask young people about what’s happening in their lives. I had a gangs worker when I was younger and she kept talking about “sexual exploitation”. I didn’t know what she meant and I wasn’t going to go and google it. I think when people ask about what’s happening in your life, they need to break it down more and use simpler words – like, “they’re violating you” or “they’re not good people, they could harm you”. Using words like “harm” is helpful – that would make me think something was wrong.

When I did try and tell someone what was happening at home, they would dismiss it. I remember asking my social worker to take me into care but they weren’t listening. It took me getting pregnant and saying that I felt like my life and my child’s life was going to be in danger if I stayed for them to take it seriously.

The first worker that I had when I was getting arrested didn’t really understand. He was young as well, and had gone through jail and stuff – but he didn’t get it. He related more to boys. It seemed like he was reluctant to talk because he was a man. Sometimes it’s the worker that feels uncomfortable, and that makes you uncomfortable too.

I feel like another reason they people didn’t really understand is that my culture is different. There was a lack of empathy. When I had a worker with a similar background to me, she got it more, and knew that what was happening was wrong. It’s so important to have someone you can relate to. I would want a worker who has gone through stuff – who has survived abuse and understands your perspective – not someone who’s just gone to uni.

It was different when I started working with my young women’s worker at Redthread. I’ve been working with her for three years now. Before then, I was running away a lot and still getting in trouble with the police and I’d ended up in hospital. I got a call from her and I remember saying, “I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t need support…”. A couple of weeks went by and I decided I didn’t want to be spending time with the people I was with anymore, but that was hard and lonely.

I remember just picking up the phone and calling the young women’s worker and asking to meet. She told me we could meet wherever I wanted and there was no pressure to meet again if I didn’t want to. We met in a department store and I just started talking. She made me feel comfortable by telling me things about herself. We’ve met ever since. Getting her perspective on the situation helped me leave those people behind. She really helped me after I gave birth to my daughter too. My anxiety got really bad but she supported me to get on buses – to take my daughter out. I didn’t know how to cook so we’d do weekly sessions. Sometimes we cooked something really good, and sometimes it was just a mess, but it was something to look forward. When you have no one there – no support, no friends. You have to have a reason to live. So I was looking forward to those weekly meetings every week. She was always in my corner.

Now, I’m at college. I want to go to uni and study criminology. That’s what my advocate did, and she was so, so helpful. I want to work in a prison with young people. I want to advocate for them and understand how they got there. I’ve got a lot on my plate with my daughter and studying and getting the qualifications, but I’ll get there…

[Image description: A woman facing away from the camera. She is opening some curtains and the sun is shining in.]

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Pulso forte

mcadmin — Tue, 26 Apr 2022 08:56:13 +0000

Dilly shared her story with us, through the Latin American Women’s Rights Service (LAWRS) – a specialist domestic abuse service run by and for Latin American migrant women living in the UK. LAWRS is part of the #DeserveToBeHeard Expert Advisory Group, which has brought crucial insight to ensure that the campaign centres the voices of the most marginalised survivors, and responds to their needs.

Lutar, lidar com os sentimentos, acreditar em dias melhores, se amar, manter o foco, não se abater, arranjar forças, não amargar, se manter em pé, abraçar desafios, segurar a ansiedade, driblar os medos, enfrentar o mundo, trabalhar o psicológico, fazer uma reza, torcer para o outro dia chegar, controlar as emoções, não pire, respire e inspire, sorria, agradeça, reviva e floresça, viva com sorte, mantenha o Pulso Forte.

To fight, to cope with our feelings, to believe that better days are ahead of us, to love myself, to keep focused, to resist, to find the strength, to not become a bitter person, to keep on my feet, to keep my chin up, to embrace challenges, to control my anxiety, to overcome fears, to face the world, to work on my mental health, to say a prayer, to wait for the next day to come, to manage my emotions. Don’t freak out, breathe in… breathe out, smile, be thankful, revive, bloom, don’t convulse keep the Strong Pulse.

[Image description: An illustration of a closed fist with dark painted fingernails. There are red and blue flowers at the bottom of the picture, which grow upwards towards the fist.]

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What should love look like?

mcadmin — Thu, 31 Mar 2022 11:41:24 +0000

I was just 16 when I met him. I think because I was young, I didn’t really know what love should look like. Not love even – just what people should treat you like, in a friendship. To be honest the signs were all there if I look back on it. But I just wasn’t taught it and didn’t understand it at the time. Because, you always think ‘oh yeah, that would never happen to me…’

I didn’t realise how quickly it would escalate into being trapped. It’s just not really spoken about. And then when you’re in it, you’re embarrassed. You want to think it’s not really happening and you minimise it – make it less in your head – just to keep coping. Because if you think about the reality of it, you make it even worse.

It completely knocked my confidence. I had no self-esteem, I didn’t know who I was, I didn’t understand myself. I thought I was worthless and struggled to believe in myself. I didn’t really have friends because they’d all been cut off. After all of that, I had to rebuild myself. It’s even harder when you’re not yet a woman – you’re a teenager – so you’re already trying to find yourself, you don’t have much life experience and for me as well I’d been in care and I’m brown so I struggled with my identity anyway. All of that added to it…

I didn’t get any support. I mean, I had loads of agencies involved – the police, social services, stuff like that…but when you’re in that situation you feel like you’re being judged. Especially if you’re young – they just think that you’re stupid – that it’s your fault for picking that type of guy, and because they can’t understand why you keep going back… So it’s really difficult, because you don’t really want to work with those services. And another thing – you can’t always see the abuse when you’re in it. I’d never have turned around and said I was in a violent or controlling relationship and so I never asked for help that way either.

I think what could’ve helped me is maybe going to a women’s group where they do confidence-building sessions, and you learn how people should treat you, what you should tolerate, and how to set boundaries. But I didn’t even know about charities like Women’s Aid, or my local domestic abuse service. A big part of it is self-love. You’ve got to re-learn your sense of self-worth and your purpose. I felt like I didn’t have a purpose.

We need more positive work – focused on knowing your worth, building good mental health and self-esteem – especially for younger girls and teenagers who are just finding their way in the world. Now I go into schools and I work with the girls, looking at signs of abuse and red flags. I show them the power and control wheel and we talk about believing in themselves and having confidence. I think it’s so important, especially at that age because when you’re young, people don’t take you seriously. I think I would’ve benefited so much from being able to talk to someone in the same situation, someone that looked like me, and came from a similar background – someone I could relate to, not just police officers and social workers. That’s what I want to offer to these girls.

After I left him, it was like 13 years of my life had been taken away – and it took me years and years and to rebuild myself. I’d been stripped of everything. I didn’t know what I liked…I didn’t even know my own favourite colour. I didn’t know that we can all be amazing and we’re all good at something. Maybe it was easier because I had my son. Maybe when you don’t have a kid it could be even harder, because at least for me, he showed me love. He made me change, because I thought if I don’t change for him, he might end up like his dad, or like me in care. He’s innocent – I need to give him the best start.

Once I started finding myself again, I started volunteering, making new friends, I went to uni and now I’ve got a job. Things are finally falling into place. I’m not in a relationship now – I haven’t been since I left him. My friends tell me I need to meet someone, but I’m happy because I know now that when I do meet someone, it’ll be right. I used to think I couldn’t live without this guy…but now I don’t have to answer to him, my money is mine to spend, and I don’t have to rely on anyone but me. I’ve got my freedom.

[Image description: An illustration of a fist raised into the air with a purple background.]

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Dias difíceis tambémpassam

mcadmin — Wed, 23 Mar 2022 13:18:42 +0000

I painted Frida Kahlo and changed her surname ‘Kahlo’ to ‘callar’ (meaning ‘to silence’ in Spanish). It translates as I won’t be silenced.
I was supported by the Latin American Women’s Rights Service – a specialist domestic abuse service run by and for Latin American migrant women living in the UK.

“Dias difíceis também passam

São nuvens cinzentas passageiras.”

“Those difficult days will pass.

They are passing gloomy clouds.”

[Image description: a drawing of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo on an orange background, with a banner reading ‘Não me kahlo’, which means ‘I won’t be silenced’ in Portuguese.]

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passam appeared first on Women’s Aid.

Therapeutic rhythms

mcadmin — Fri, 04 Feb 2022 10:45:42 +0000

Drumming helps me to tune out from the world around me and let me focus solely on the therapeutic rhythms that vibrate through the floor and up to the sky. It blocks out all the negativity of the world and makes me feel on top of it.

[Image description: The back of a boy’s head, in black and white, as he drums on a blurred drum kit in front of him.]

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Stairwell

mcadmin — Fri, 04 Feb 2022 10:23:15 +0000

‘Stairwell’, the poem reflects upon my strongest memory from the seven years of domestic abuse my mother was put through. Although I did not see a great deal of the abuse, there were endless nights when I heard it. Perching upon the stairs for hours hearing the verbal abuse that was thrown at her, sitting on the stairs feeling a mixture of emotions; anger, helplessness and pain. I think a lot of youngsters (like myself at that time) can relate to this experience I went through. It tells people that domestic abuse is not always visible, it’s psychological, emotional and verbal as well.

https://womensaid.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/Stairwell-recording.mp3

Stairwell

8.30pm.
I perch upon the stairwell again,
Awaiting your beastly arrival.

Carpet fibres tattoo my thighs.
Chin weighting down into my young palms,
Numbing blushed knees.

Your fictional words burn my skin.
Taunted jaw aches from clenched teeth
I yearn to yell.

Resistance rattles my bones
Curling toes grip the edge of my habituated tread
I yearn to lash out.

The allegations you throw.
The lies you curse.
The threats you spit.
The bitterness of your tone, is there no love for her?
Your beastly torments, why do you hurt her?

…10.30pm
My temple now weary, eyes soaked.
Voices grow faint, muffled ears.
Silent sniffles behind the door
Mother swallows her cries
You lack a sincere apology, is the now the end?

I’ll perch upon the stairwell again, tomorrow.

[Image description: A warm yellow window with the black silhouette of a person sat with their head in their hands. The poem ‘Stairwell’ is handwritten over the top of the image in white writing.]

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In my old house

mcadmin — Fri, 04 Feb 2022 10:17:48 +0000

This artwork was created by children and young people as part of Women’s Aid research for the No Woman Turned Away Project report – Nowhere to turn for children and young people: documenting the journeys of children and young people into refuges. It focuses on their experiences whilst their family was searching for a safe space to live.

[Image description: A child’s drawing shows ‘In my old house’ written in blue colouring crayons. There is a sad face in the centre, and two tear drops either side. Different emotions, such as ‘worried’, ‘tense’ and ‘confused’ are handwritten around the page.]

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