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Freedom Day – Survivor Story

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This survivor story of coercive control marks an anniversary for me…

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This weekend marks an anniversary for me. A very different bank holiday weekend from the one I’m living now. Today, I sit here with my first CPD course accredited, determined to make a difference. But back then, I was just trying to survive.

There are thousands of women and children in danger this bank holiday. A bank holiday is one of the highlights of an abuser’s year. More drinking. More control. I know because I lived it.

I was in a hotel room, waiting for the police to call me in to make my first statement. They had moved me there the night before. The officer could see I was exhausted and not able to speak. His decision to get me out, give me space, and keep me safe saved my life.

“That pause was everything. It gave me the first breath I’d had in years.”

And in that pause I decided: I was not going back.

I had no idea how it would go, but I dared to hope. The choices started small. I wrote a list in my work planner. Shave my legs. Eat healthy food. Go for a swim. Wear matching underwear. Paint my toenails. Skincare. Hair care. These sound simple, but they were forbidden. Any change in routine, any attempt to care for myself, would spark hours of interrogation. He kept me busy explaining myself so I would never question him.

That morning in the hotel I realised: these choices were mine again. And however small they looked, they were the first steps of my freedom.

When I finally gave my statement, the adrenaline shook through me. My hearing dipped in and out. My body went into full survival mode. At the time, I didn’t know this was PTSD. I just knew I got foggy, my hearing muffled, and I slipped away slightly, bracing for an attack that wasn’t coming.

The officer typed while I spoke. I apologised for struggling. He told me I was doing well. He offered me tea, and that cup steadied me enough to go on.

I told him about the bank holiday in 2017.

Something had upset him and we had argued about divorce. By 7am he was already drunk, bottles on the table. I remember thinking: another bank holiday ruined, all because of him and his drinking.

Then he stared at me with the death look. Out of nowhere, he accused me of having an affair. He followed me into the kitchen, picked up an air rifle, and held it to my head.

I froze. My mind scanned the situation. Barrel small. An air rifle. Still dangerous. Still deadly at that range.

I drew on the de-escalation skills I had learned from many years as a public-facing NHS manager. I steadied my voice, softened my tone, reassured him that I was listening. I knew his patterns. I knew he would pause to light a cigarette. I waited for that pause, when I could breathe again.

Then he threatened to nail my feet to the floor.

Then he plugged in an electric chainsaw. The cable stretched across the room. I realised I could not escape its length. He swung it around, threatening to cut off my feet so I could never leave him.

I ran to the downstairs loo and locked the door. He came after me, chainsaw roaring. The blade cut through the prefab wood above my head. Splinters rained down. My hair snagged in the teeth of the saw.

It was like a scene from a film. Except this wasn’t fiction. This was my life. And in that moment I thought I was going to die.

That weekend I survived. Today, I live.

My mission now has two aims:

  • To raise awareness and support victims of domestic violence, narcissistic abuse, coercive control, and grooming.
  • To train and equip frontline professionals to handle trauma disclosures with confidence.

For years, I thought I was “just in a violent marriage.” I told myself it couldn’t be that bad. After all, he was only violent every three months. I didn’t see the pattern. I wasn’t meant to. I was meant to be distracted.

Now I know better. Now I can use both lived experience and professional training to help others.

👉 Start the CPD Course – Handling Trauma Disclosures with Confidence

Because no one should sit through a bank holiday wondering if they’ll make it out alive.

This survivor story of coercive control marks an anniversary for me…

💜 If you are in danger

You are not alone.

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