Speaking Truth to Power: Calling Out Abuse in Mental Health Care ?????

Sitting next to Hope at the National Adults and Children's Conference was an honour, a real privilege. The way she called out the abuse in mental health settings, no holds barred, was powerful. It shook the room, and it took me back—back to a time I’ve spent years trying to push to the back of my mind. This weekend, I finally managed to record a voice note to Hope about my own experience. It took me nearly three hours to do it. Talking about the physical abuse I endured in those settings, let alone the psychological trauma, isn’t easy. But it’s necessary. It’s too important to stay silent.

Here’s the thing: when you’ve got mental health challenges, people often question your truth. They say you’re imagining it, making it up, or that it’s all part of your illness. Let me be clear: I remember every moment like it happened yesterday. And that’s part of the reason I find it so hard to engage with mental health services today. Because the more I see, the more I realise, it’s still happening.

A bit about me: I’m a proud East Londoner. I live with my husband and our three gorgeous dogs. I’m all about making a difference in the world, especially when it comes to mental health. Despite everything I’ve been through, I’ve never really opened up about how bad things got. But it’s time. These stories matter. They’re not just my own—they’re a reflection of the system, a system that’s failing us.

When I was sectioned, I was going through one of the hardest times of my life. I wanted it to end, plain and simple. But what I experienced during that time added layers of pain I’m still peeling back today. I remember being transported in the back of a police car, officers talking to me—about me—like I was something nasty they’d stepped in. They assumed I wouldn’t remember because I was unwell. But I remembered every word. Every single word.

When I arrived at the ward, the dehumanisation started straight away. No introductions. Just cold stares and clipped instructions. I was vulnerable, suicidal, desperate for care, and what I got was... protocol. Someone sat at the end of my bed, watching me, making sure I didn’t end my life. It was a surreal experience. And, yes, I needed to be there. I’m grateful to the approved mental health social worker who made the call to section me. It saved my life. But the practices in that place? They were something else entirely.

I remember queuing up for meds like we were in some dystopian film. "Stick your tongue out. Swallow. Next." Doors to common areas locked. People lying on the floor because there was nowhere else to go. But the worst of it wasn’t the logistics—it was the psychological harm. A doctor told me, "You’ll never need to worry about working; you’ll be on benefits for the rest of your life." That comment got into my head and festered, becoming a battle I’ve been fighting ever since.

Then there was the abuse—both physical and emotional. One incident stands out. I’d tried to get help for another patient who was in crisis. When I pushed for someone to step in, a mental health nurse slapped me across the face. I’ll never forget the sting—not just of the slap but of the betrayal. I can still remember the look in that person’s eyes—the cold intensity in their gaze, the smell of their cologne or aftershave. It’s burned into my memory. Every detail. The flashbacks are so vivid, sometimes it feels like I’m right back there, trapped in that room. That slap wasn’t just physical—it shattered something in me. It made me feel small, worthless. I was there for care, for compassion, and instead, I got violence. When I complained, I was told I was lying—that it was part of my "mental health issues." That same nurse? They carried on working there, even looking after me later on. How can you feel safe when your abuser is the one holding power over you?

And it wasn’t just me. Over the years, I’ve lost so many friends to the system. So many lives ended because the help they needed wasn’t there, or worse, because of the harm they experienced in the very places meant to keep them safe. People watch programmes like Panorama or Dispatches and think, "Oh, that only happens in some dodgy hospital miles away." But it’s not just "over there." It’s happening here. Right here, in our community. Ten minutes away from you.

Hope is meeting with Sky News soon to speak about these issues, and I’m sharing my voice note with her so my story can be part of that conversation. It breaks my heart that we still need to have these discussions. Tears are streaming down my face as I write this. But here’s the thing: we can’t fix what we don’t acknowledge. Abuse in mental health settings is real. It’s rampant. And it needs to stop.

I’m not writing this to bash mental health services, far from it. We need them. There are some incredible professionals out there who genuinely care. But we have to call out the harm, the culture that lets abuse grow unchecked, and the systemic failures that strip away people’s dignity when they’re at their most vulnerable.

Hope’s right: we need to challenge this. Loudly. Relentlessly. For all the lives lost, for all the people suffering in silence right now, and for a future where mental health care actually means care. This is my truth. And I’ll keep shouting it until something changes. ???

#MentalHealthAwareness #SurvivorStories #JusticeForAll #EastLondonTruth

This is worth a read....

https://www.restorativewales.org.uk/blog/mental-health-wellbeing-and-restorative-approaches-how-they-all-connect/#:~:text=Restorative%20approaches%20provide%20a%20safe,active%20listening%2C%20and%20cultivate%20empathy.