I remember sitting in my home with nothing. No money. No bank account. No reserves.
My abuser had beaten me and squeezed my jaw so hard it was almost broken — all to force me to hand over my benefits. Two weeks’ worth of income for me and my child, gone in an instant.
The electricity had run out on the 50p meter, and I couldn’t afford to top it up. I sat in front of the gas fire, toasting bread and heating a tin of beans for my little one’s lunch. I boiled water on a camping stove for a hot drink — black coffee — because milk was a luxury.
Food was a struggle then. But I tried to make it fun for my child. We played games. Made a den out of duvets and cushions. Pretended we were on a camping trip in the wilderness. The stuffed teddies became elephants, tigers, and bears.
Inside, I was anything but playful. I was trapped in fear. Isolated. Ashamed. Powerless.
This is the hidden reality of domestic abuse. It is not only the bruises and broken bones — it is financial control, isolation, and a slow erosion of your ability to imagine a way out. Many victims are left without access to their own money, stripped of independence, and made to believe they cannot survive on their own. Abusers often manipulate this dependence to maintain control.
And here’s another cruel truth:
Being in this situation rarely brings help.
More often, it draws the wrong kind of attention and the reason many don’t seek outside help.
Victims are judged, scrutinised, and sometimes punished instead of supported.
I have seen mothers lose their children because they found themselves unprepared for a world of abuse — not because they didn’t love or care for them, but because abuse had dismantled their capacity to cope. It is devastating. My own children were the only reason I got up in the morning. They were my sole purpose for living.
Victims do not choose to be abused.
The only person responsible for inflicting suffering is the perpetrator.
And yet, it is so often the victim who is blamed — seen as weak, labelled a failure as a parent. This is a further trauma, one that some never recover from.
I remember waiting. Waiting for something — someone — to notice.
Waiting for someone to come along and change things.
To hand me the solution.
A new place. A job, maybe. A better, kinder life without the fear, the anxiety, and the abuse.
But no one came.
I waited far too long for change to knock on my door.
I waited until it was almost too late — before I realised that the responsibility for change was mine. A victim mentality.
Yes, I had what some call ‘victim mentality’ — because I was a victim. It comes with territory.
It’s a survival mindset, not a weakness. And it doesn’t just vanish the moment you escape harm.
When you’ve been living in fear, your nervous system has learned to scan constantly for danger. That doesn’t stop overnight. In fact, without the right support, you can feel like you’re drifting alone in open water — no raft, no land in sight.
That’s where co‑regulation becomes so vital.
It’s the steady presence of someone regulated enough to hold space for you, so your nervous system can begin to believe it’s safe. This is why our TRUST Framework exists — to provide a foundation of safety, connection, and predictability while survivors learn to navigate life after harm.
It might sound ridiculous now, but I truly had no concept that a person could harm someone so severely and no one would step in to stop it. Late teens, timid and naive, I was still a child myself in many ways. This is the cruelty of abuse — it warps your perception of what’s possible, making you believe you are powerless.
Powerlessness is often an illusion — but when you’re living in survival mode, it doesn’t feel like that.
When you’re in a state of dorsal collapse, everything feels broken, pointless, and empty. It’s not a reflection of who you are, but the only lens you can see through in that moment. The world looks unchangeable because your nervous system is trying to keep you safe by shutting you down.
But when that perception shifts — even slightly — the illusion of powerlessness can begin to fade. Moving your nervous system from dorsal collapse into a more activated survival state, such as fight or, in my case, flight, changes the view. You start to see glimmers of possibility. In fight mode, you can push back. In run mode, you can move towards something better.
And with time, safety, and healing, you can find yourself in a ventral state — the place where your nervous system feels regulated and safe. From here, the lens changes completely. You can see options, hope, and a future that once felt impossible
Understanding the dorsal state is vital for suicide prevention.
When someone is deeply shut down, it can look from the outside like they’re “quiet” or “coping” — but inside, it can feel like there’s no way out. This is when hopelessness can take hold. It’s not that the person truly wants to die — it’s that their nervous system is locked in a state where they can’t see a future worth living. Recognising the signs of dorsal collapse, and helping someone shift — even slightly — into a more mobilised state, can be life-saving. It can help them see through a different lens, one where possibilities and reasons to keep going become visible again.
The day I realised that no one was coming to save me — that the only person who could save me was me — was the day everything began to change.
My life was a mess, but I made a choice:
I escaped.
I studied.
I learned.
I became my own project — unpicking what was wrong, understanding what was happening inside me, and finding ways to heal. I learned about trauma, the nervous system, the cycle of abuse, and the way fear rewires the brain.
And today, when I look at the distance travelled…
When I see what I’ve survived…
When I see my children safe, healthy, and happy…
When I see myself helping others find a way out of their pain and suffering…
I can finally look back at the journey with compassion and kindness for the woman I was.
To anyone still living in fear: I know how it feels to wait for rescue. But I also know the power that comes when you realise that you can be your own rescuer.
I tell myself what I so often tell others:
Look at who you are. Look at what you survived. Look how far you’ve come. You are unstoppable.
“Every journey to freedom begins with a single brave step — your positive start.”