By a survivor, in conversation with BSARCS
I didn’t think I’d ever report it.
For years, I carried it alone—tucked away, boxed up, like it had happened to someone else or maybe not at all. That’s how you survive, isn’t it? You push it down and try to forget. But forgetting never really happens. It’s like a bruise that never fades. And then one day, someone else came forward. She found her voice—and because of that, I found mine.
Within half an hour of hearing, I called her. Within the hour, I was at her house. And by the next week, I was at the police station giving my statement.
It wasn’t easy. Reporting gave me a strange kind of relief, but also made me sick with fear. You think telling your truth once is hard—try doing it over and over again, through interviews, video statements, pre-trial prep. Every time I spoke, I had to rip myself open again.
But I did it. Because it mattered.
The Trial
Nothing prepares you for court. It’s not just the process—it’s the waiting, the adjournments, the hours sat in silence or pacing the corridor, headphones on, music loud enough to drown out your thoughts. It’s needing people close but also needing to be left alone. It’s raw, it’s messy, it’s exhausting.
But in the middle of all that? There was Jess. She was my anchor. She didn’t just support me—she stood with me. I told everyone: “If I speak to anyone today, it’ll be Jess. No one else.”
When the verdict came in, it was every emotion you can imagine. Joy, grief, rage, relief, fear. But mostly? I felt like I could finally breathe.
The Sentence and After
People think conviction brings closure. It doesn’t. Not fully. In some ways, I felt worse after the sentencing. I’d built my whole life around getting through the trial. Once it ended, I was left with the silence and the weight of everything I’d been carrying. I went back on my meds. I struggled. But I’m still here.
I made a “strength box”—newspaper clippings, the judge’s words, letters from the police, my witness clearance. Whenever I feel like I can’t do this anymore, I open it. That box reminds me: I did this. I survived. I kept going.
Support, Hope, and the Next Chapter
I didn’t do it alone. BSARCS stood with me. No judgment, just space, support, and understanding. They believed me when it felt like no one else did. They offered counselling, wellbeing groups, and—most importantly—a community.
If I could say one thing to anyone reading this who’s still unsure, who’s still living in silence:
Speak up. Just keep going.
You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to report right away. You don’t even have to know if you ever will. But talk to someone. Tell someone. Even if it’s just to think out loud.
Because you matter. Your story matters. And justice? It can happen. It does happen. Not always, and not easily—but it’s not impossible.
I waived my right to anonymity because I wanted others to see that it’s okay to speak out. And since then, others have come forward. If sharing my story gave even one person the strength to take that first step, then it was worth it.
I want people to know: you are not alone. You are not to blame. And you are so much stronger than you think.
I am so grateful for the strength this song gave me – Listen Here
BSARCS is part of the South Yorkshire Sexual Violence Partnership and offers Independent Sexual Violence Advisor (ISVA) support to adults and children across South Yorkshire. Our ISVAs provide practical help, emotional support, and advocacy for anyone affected by sexual harm, whether or not you choose to report to the police. You are not alone, and help is here.
