Whenever it rains, it pours.

It was a Monday evening, late July 2014. My Dad had called me and my siblings into the living room for a ‘chat’. My Brother and I had been arguing a lot that week, especially about dishes, so I had figured it was another ‘family meeting’ about our behaviour and doing chores. But when I got downstairs my parents had a look on their faces I will never be able to forget. I knew that whatever it was they were about to tell us, it was serious. My mind raced with possible scenarios. Had someone died? Were they splitting up? Was someone seriously ill? But none of those compared to what they did tell me. They asked us to sit, it was silent for what felt like forever. My Mum was pale and my Dad was shaking. My Dad finally spoke, “ your Granddad is going to prison…for interfering with your cousin…” his voice was shaky as if he were choking on the words as they came out.

I began to shake. I placed my hand in front of my mouth,I thought I would vomit. I was in total shock. My Mum began to cry, my brother was silent as the grave as he tried to fathom what he had just been told. My little sister was visibly confused and upset, quietly crying as she clung to my mother. I began to sob. My Dad tried to explain, he told us how he had abused her for about six years, starting from when she was around six years old, that she had kept quiet but had finally decided to go to the police because she was scared he would do it to the younger kids in our family, and that it was going to happen soon. We weren't allowed to tell anyone, my cousin didn’t want him to know she was pressing charges in case he tried to do something to evade justice. After a lot of crying and talking. My Dad suggested we got some sleep, my little sister was already in bed, I snuck into our room trying not to wake her. I heard a little voice from the top bunk. “ what does interfering mean?” she asked.

How do you tell a seven year old child something like that?

It felt like the world had just collapsed around me. I was very close to my Granddad, I had In fact been staying at their house that weekend! Whenever things got too much, school, later work or family tension, I would stay with them in their country cottage to get away from it all, and now I find he is this monster, and that at any point throughout my childhood I could have been in danger,my baby sister could have been in danger! My poor cousin had endured a childhood of horror and we never even knew. I thought about the amount of times she would ask me to stay there with her when it was her time to visit, I often wonder if she used me to protect her, I hope it gave her some relief at least. 

Over the next few weeks I barely slept and barely left my bedroom, I was allowed to confide in one friend who was supportive at first. My Mum had always suffered from depression, she and her siblings had been abused as children also, so to find out her own father was a paedophile and had abused one of her sisters children was devastating. I watched as her depression became worse, she had begun taking antidepressants , something she avoided her whole life. My Dad was a quiet man anyway, but quiet turned to silence. My rambunctious lively household, full to the brim with visitors most weekends, became quiet and sombre. I decided it was time to be strong for my family, so I began to bottle up my feelings, rarely letting my parents see my emotions that were slowly eating me alive inside.  

The next few months were horrendous,in August My evil Grandfather had found out that my cousin was going to the police and decided to turn himself in. This was devastating to us all because it meant that my cousin had lost the satisfaction of him being arrested formally and not knowing it was coming, but also, by him turning himself in, it gave him a better appearance in court. Later the rest of the family cut us off for helping my Grandma out, We believe she would leave him soon and knew she had been emotionally blackmailed by him.

By October my ‘best friend’ had grown tired of me “being so miserable all of the time”, and we had drifted apart I had also began dating a friend who had been very helpful, what I didn’t realise at the time is that relationship would be emotionally abusive later on, and I lost my job. 

In November my Grandfather was sentenced to twelve years in prison for more than 25 counts of sexual abuse and indecent behaviour. However, because it was a first offence and he had turned himself in and pleaded guilty to all but one charge, he was told he would be out on parole in six years. So he would only be serving six years for destroying the life of my cousin and my family.

The week he went to prison I started a new job near my Grandma’s house and basically moved in with her, staying with her during the week and going home on weekends.

In December I had my first panic attack. I was ice skating with my then boyfriend and a few friends. Some guys we didn’t know were messing around and thought it would be funny to try and knock me over. It spooked me and by the time I was off the ice I was having a panic attack. Thankfully I knew what it was because my mum suffers with them. I know not everyone has had the luxury of knowing what it is the first time. That panic attack was the first of many. I began to have at least three severe panic attacks a day for many months. Most of the time it was triggered by being surrounded by too many people, I struggled to go into town alone, shops , cinemas, anything like that filled me with fear. My heart would race, my chest would feel tight, I would hyperventilate and cry. It was humiliating. But worst of all my friends didn’t understand and would often make light of it or ignore it. I became good at internalizing them, I could be having a panic or anxiety attack for hours, and no one would know. My Mum was amazing, she always could tell, she would take me aside and sort of coach me through breathing until it was passed and I could go back to what I was doing. That was how I learned that you shouldn't try to stop it, that only intensifies it. She would say “breathe, breathe, ride the wave”. 

I couldn’t get access to counselling at the time due to waiting lists and not being able to afford private therapy. So I had to go it alone. I learned to avoid triggers, or find a way to make them easier. For example, I hated town but I found if I got off the bus a few stops earlier In the quieter streets, I could ease my way into the busier area of town. I learned breathing techniques. And as the new year passed I felt I had it fairly under control but now and then it would resurface. 

By the summer of 2015 I had noticed my boyfriend had become very wishy washy with me. For a few weeks he would be very loving and attentive, then for the next few weeks he would be distant and unaffectionate but I thought it was all in my head. My depression had been bubbling away under the surface the whole time, destroying my self worth. I had convinced myself that I was lucky to have him, that somehow he was doing me a favour by being with me and that if I broke up with him, no one would ever love me and I would be alone for the rest of my life. I was also struggling with staying with my Grandma, it was apparent she was still under my grandfather's thumb, she had been with him since she was fifteen, he had gotten her pregnant at sixteen and married at eighteen. I had to hear his voice when he called, see his face in the photos around the house and hear her talk about him. It was as if she was in this bubble of denial, he had brainwashed her into thinking she wouldn't survive without him, no matter how awful he was.

I became very depressed and the little spark I had left was diminishing. My colleagues noticed and between them worked out a way of getting me to and from work without me staying at my Grandmothers. That helped a lot and I was able to enjoy my work again. 

By January 2016 I had finally realised the way my boyfriend was treating me wasn’t in my head, we split up after I had made him have an honest conversation with me, he basically told me he didn’t actually love me and we were only together because he felt guilty and didn’t want to hurt me by breaking up with me. I was devastated, I thought I was going to be alone forever. But not long after It was as if I had woken up. I realised that he was awful and frankly mentally abusive and I began to heal quickly. I had decided it wouldn't be the end of the world if I did end up single.

Later that spring my life changed again, I met a wonderful man who would later become my husband. I hate to use cliches but it was almost like love at first sight. We clicked immediately, it was as if we had known each other our whole lives. I was open from the start about my family catastrophes,and the anxiety and depression, I thought it would scare him off but it didn’t . He always knows exactly what to do when the anxiety kicks off. Our journey has not been easy , we aren't in a fairy tale after all,but he has stuck with me through thick and thin. He has made me feel loved and valued throughout. We got married in November 2017

Though the anxiety and depression has been present throughout our relationship, it got worse a few months after we got married. I began to have severe panic attacks out of the blue, generally in the middle of the night. They were worse than any I had experienced before. I saw a doctor about it who in essence said that because I was finally in a position that my brain perceived as ‘safe’ both in a figurative and literal sense, it could finally respond to the trauma I had faced. I ended up on anti depressants to try and control them and eventually managed to see a counsellor through a local programme for ‘victims of crime’. I realised that I hadn’t truly come to terms with what had happened and that I really needed to work through those feelings. I found that the antidepressants were masking my symptoms, keeping the frequent little attacks at bay but then I would have huge severe attacks that would exhaust me, sometimes wiping me out for a couple of days after. I managed to come off the pills while I was still in therapy. The withdrawal effects were awful because I had to quit cold turkey, but it was worth those few months of discomfort, because I felt more like me again afterwards. For a long time after I finished that process I did feel a lot better. I still suffered with anxiety but I was better able to cope with it. I barely had to think about it for the next twelve months or so.

Last year we started trying for a baby but have had no success, after more than a year I managed to get some tests down and have now been diagnosed with PCOS (Poly cystic ovarian syndrome), this lead to some frank conversations with my Doctor about my weight and mental health. It lead me to do a lot of research into the connections between binge eating or comfort eating , which is one of the reasons I am overweight. In my research I came across studies that found that, women who had been sexually abused or had witnessed this within their families, were more likely to be overweight. It is suggested that this is because subconsciously they are trying to make themself less of a target for abuse, because as a society we see ‘bigger’ as ‘less attractive’. I was shocked and it lead me to take charge of my mental health again. My grandfather's actions were still affecting me and hurting my health as well as my ability to start my own family. I began to look into combating binge/comfort eating and found that I needed to be honest with myself.

For years I have kept pushing down these feelings, not letting them have any place in my mind. I thought that ignoring these negative feelings was necessary to being happy and healthy. But we have a spectrum of emotions for a reason and it is okay to feel them. I learned that I had to sit with these emotions and listen to my mind and my body. It was as if all these unresolved issues and repressed memories about the past were trying to come up and this mental blockade was stopping them, so instead of gently coming to the surface in a healthy way, they were forcing themselves, erupting in anxiety and panic attacks like an angry emotional volcano.

I knew I had to take positive steps for my own well being, I also had to recognize that it wouldn't be an easy process. This became apparent when I began to remember moments from my past that I had repressed for years. Moments with my grandfather that at the time I had pictured as innocent, but now realise he possibly could have been trying to groom me. It frightened me, I was scared that more serious and graphic memories may come up. But with the support of my husband and my Mum I was able to work through it, thankfully nothing else has come up since then.

I began to write a journal, to write down all of the thoughts, whatever they may be, that seem to rattle around in my head. I have also learned to be more open about my thoughts and feelings , instead of internalizing them. I've started to seek out other sufferers on social media via an anonymous page. To share advice and to gain support and tips also. I know I still have a long way to go but I finally feel like I am in control. I don’t know if I will ever fully heal. But maybe it isn't about fully healing, we are all imperfect, and I feel like our scars, be it emotional or physical, are the maps both of our past and to the future. They tell our story of survival, and that is something we should all be proud of, no matter where we are in our journeys.

 -Anonymous