As I listened to the lady sitting opposite me on the sofa telling me about her mental health issues, I nodded sympathetically.
It was my job – as a TV presenter for a local Oxfordshire station – to interview people.
But as this woman spoke, I felt so guilty. Outwardly, I was smiling encouragingly at her but inside I felt like a fraud for not admitting I, too, had mental health struggles.
Only mine were triggered by the sexual abuse I’d suffered as a teenager.
Now, in my mid-thirties, although I was trying to put the abuse behind me, I still felt so ashamed about what had happened to me. Particularly since I’d never felt able to report my abuser to the police.
So although part of me wanted to open up to the woman I was interviewing, I just couldn’t find the words.
It has taken a lot of work since then, but I’m relieved to say that I no longer feel any shame about the abuse I suffered. I’ve come to accept that I’m not the one who should feel it – my abuser should.
At 13, I was incredibly vulnerable when Ian*, then in his forties, came into my life.
I felt sick that he did those things to me, but I didn’t know how to make it stop, so of course, I blamed myself
A year earlier, my dad had cut off contact with me after remarrying. I was living with my mum and step-dad in Marlow, Buckinghamshire. But I was desperately missing my dad and Ian, a family acquaintance, used that to his advantage.
He’d often turn up wherever I was – at an after-school club or activity, offering to walk me home. He was attentive, asked me how I was. He showed a fatherly interest, which he knew was missing from my life.
After a few months, I thought we were good friends. One day, he asked me to go for a walk in some local woodland and there, he raped me.
Afterwards, I felt so confused. I wanted Ian to be my friend, I didn’t understand then that he’d had sex with me against my will. I wasn’t really sure what had happened and I wondered if that’s what he’d expected all along, if that’s what our friendship had meant.
But I knew it was wrong. I felt so ashamed, embarrassed and confused.
The assaults carried on; he’d meet me after school, ply me with drink and drugs and abuse me in his car.
I felt so powerless. I felt sick that he did those things to me, but I didn’t know how to make it stop, so of course, I blamed myself.
By 15, I was in a mess. I knew what was happening with Ian wasn’t right, so I tried avoiding him, taking different routes from school.
Eventually, he stopped contacting me. It was a relief it was over, but the memories were devastating.
For years, I tried to blackout the abuse. I went off the rails, drinking, skipping school, taking drugs.
My mum was desperately worried but I couldn’t bear to tell her. I worried she’d make me go to the police and they wouldn’t believe me. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
One day, when I was 22, I was struggling to cope and I confided in a friend. She was supportive and suggested I have therapy.
I did and it was like opening the floodgates.
My therapist helped me understand that I’d been groomed. I wasn’t to blame, Ian was. She helped me tell my mum.
Mum was distraught and felt guilty too, that she’d not spotted the signs.
We discussed reporting Ian to the police but I still couldn’t come to terms with the abuse I’d suffered, so I refused.
Thankfully, therapy helped me get my life back on track. But I still didn’t feel able to open up about my trauma to many people, it was too painful.
But it wasn’t until I was in my mid-forties and had a daughter of my own that I decided I wanted to share my story, to encourage abuse survivors to seek help and support.
So in 2018, I wrote a book, Don’t Hold Back. It was very cathartic to share my story, but I also wanted to include advice and some coping mechanisms I’d found helpful to support others who’d been through similar experiences.
After it was published, I was invited to speak at some events raising awareness about child abuse, including a NSPCC dinner.
Sharing my story on stage was nerve-wracking, but empowering.
After my talk at the NSPCC dinner, a girl in her twenties came up to me.
‘I’ve always felt so embarrassed and ashamed that I was abused,’ she said.
‘We shouldn’t feel any shame – it’s not our shame,’ I replied.
I realised then that the stigma abuse survivors carry can wreck their lives – and it shouldn’t, because they were never to blame for their trauma.
So in March this year I launched Project 90/10, a charity to raise awareness in schools and amongst the public that the majority of child abuse is carried out by someone known to the child – not a stranger.
Then in April of this year I launched a range of T-shirts and merchandise to support it with the hashtag #notmyshame. It struck me that we all see many great causes emblazoned across merchandise every day – so why not this?
I understand discussing abuse is an uncomfortable conversation. Yet I hoped by wearing the T-shirt, it could raise awareness about the stigma surrounding child sexual abuse and therefore help to normalise conversations around it.
I also launched a range of merchandise with the hashtag #nottheirshame for people who want to show solidarity and support to survivors.
I wore my own #notmyshame T-shirt to my local supermarket in Henley. It caused a few raised eyebrows, some people looked away. But I get that – it’s a lot to take in.
A couple of people said; ‘Good on you,’ which meant a lot to me.
I shared a photo of myself on Twitter in April and I’ve since been inundated with messages from people all over the world saying how empowering it is to know work is being done to help victims to realise that they have never had anything to be ashamed of.
If 13-year-old me had understood that, maybe I’d have stopped blaming myself for so long for something that was never, ever my fault.
*Name has been changed
You can find out more about Project 90/10 here.
As told to Beth King.
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