Reporting to the police after your child discloses domestic abuse, my experience with social workers and how it gave me the ‘C’ in CPTSD.
I had never really thought about it. It’s just something you believe - that agencies designed to support children do actually support them. You see the headlines, those where children have fallen through the gaps and tragically died, but still you believe the essence of what they do is good.
But in my experience, they are cxxts.
What happened after my children reported child abuse was nothing more than a Netflix psychological drama- without the hot detective to fall in love with me.
On that first day, when those first disclosures were shared with me - those first signs and words - I called the NSPCC. They were calm. Words were kind, soft, and they laid out the stages that would follow over the next few days.
NSPCC would report to the Police (although it was a Friday afternoon so it might not be until Monday)
The Police would start to investigate and call me for a statement
The Police would involve social services
As an adjunct, despite my copious rounds of EMDR, just typing ‘social services’ evokes a physical nausea in my body - a revulsion.
The Police called the following day for my statement. When they called, I was at a village fête. I had gone to stay with my parents and was trying to keep the girls occupied.
They were kind - the ones who first spoke to me - as you would expect and hope. They asked when he had last had one-to-one contact with her. They needed to establish if they needed to perform a physical examination. They didn’t - and while that was a huge relief, as I can’t imagine what that would do to a 4-year-old, it might have provided proof.
However, the following Monday, once it had been handed to the investigating officer, I realised I would also be challenged as a potential criminal. They met with my daughter (just Coco, as we didn’t know then that it had happened to Lola too) whilst she was at nursery.
Apparently, she didn’t say anything untoward when presented with the naked doll and asked to describe what happens to the doll.
I was also interviewed in the nursery - sat in one of those minute chairs designed for a 3-year-old - surrounded by the smell of small children and cheap paint. I realised with high-speed impact that police, when investigating sexual and child abuse, have to consider that the parent might be ‘lying’ as a vicious step to discredit the other parent.
It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I understand in hindsight why they have to consider all options, but I wish someone had warned me. The NSPCC had suggested I call MOSAC (Mothers of Sexually Abused Children), and I had tried repeatedly but had not been able to get through. So at this point - realising I was going to be questioned - it just compounded my delirium and fear.
I was questioning all of my choices - my parenting - the days I had fucked up with huge parenting fails. But I thought the social workers would be more understanding. After all, this is their job? Supporting me so I can help my children in this horrific scenario.
At this stage, Coco hadn’t said that much. The abuse was still really ambiguous. The rest would come out on holiday in France (the girls planned in advance to tell me abroad as they knew they would be safe) a few weeks later. So I really didn’t know what I was dealing with. I knew he was mentally unwell but really didn’t think he would be capable of this.
So the social workers. Phrases jump out at me from those first interactions with them:
“Sexual abuse doesn’t kill children, so let him have contact and see how they react.”
“You are too emotional; he told us you are an emotionally unstable alcoholic and we don’t know why you are so hysterical and protective.”
“I have spent 20 minutes with those girls and I can honestly say they haven’t been abused.”
They didn’t like my intellect. I know it sounds arrogant, but they didn’t seem used to being challenged. Small man (woman) syndrome was rampant. I was talking to friends who worked in the police and safeguarding—grasping any bits of information I could.
I realised that what the girls told me was nothing - just hearsay - that unless they ‘disclosed’ in front of the police or social workers, it meant nothing. I couldn’t go anywhere without a pad and pen - trying to write down the words and phrases that Coco started to let slip, most of which were non-sensical coming from a 4-year-old.
But from what it seemed to me, these blunt, cold police and social workers were never going to get the words from a child in a one-off interview. And if they did, would they even make sense?
And the girls didn’t say a thing. Unbeknown to me at this point, he had groomed them for the best part of a year and told them the classic—that it was their fault, they would get in trouble with the police (It took the appeal judge to point out that no wonder they never disclosed).
I was told never to lead their questions - just let them talk - and this changed me. I had to become more mindful about ‘leading the witness’ than being a mother. I would exist in this unnatural way of conversing, trying not to show them my scribbles. (I think it would be easier now with voice memos and audio notes.)
The irony was that I had been due to go to Ibiza with friends the following week. I kept thinking, surely if I had made this up, they would clock I would have waited until after a hedonistic sojourn and tickets to see David Guetta.
What was bizarre - and naive - was that I kept with the #hope. Maybe my glass half full personality, or that to think the worst was just too frightening. Each time we met someone new, I’d think this is it, this time it will be different, we will be believed..
The first time I was believed was on the first court date, as I met the Cafcass officer beforehand I showed him the pictures. He was incredulous, but not, that these pictures clearly of male members through the eyes of a 7 year old weren’t being acknowledge
If this is you, and this is unfurling in front of you, please feel free to DM me. I was lost, a ghost, vacant but not, chain smoking, pacing. If I had known what was ahead I don't think I could have carried on.
I am here as the Practical Mermaid so if this is you, you are not alone.
