Writing this was difficult.

Well I am not sure *difficult* comes close actually. This is an account of sexual assault and I believe attempted kidnap when I was a teen, walking home at night. I have questioned whether I can write (openly or otherwise) about this. Is LinkedIn an appropriate, suitable or safe forum? Today I’ve read moving posts which I deeply relate to - some of which include experiences which bear such striking similarities to my own. I concluded that at the very least there are many parents out here in the wonderful world of LinkedIn and maybe there’s something small for parents to learn, not only from my experience but - as I now know - that of many other young women, around the fear teens may feel in speaking up about experiences of sexual assault or violation. Around the risks our children will face regardless of how hard we desperately try to protect them and around just how important it is that they feel able to come to us and talk. I didn’t have that.

So here goes. Deep breath. In 1995 I was sexually assaulted, aged 15 while walking home from a church youth club at around 10 o clock at night. I’d just missed my bus, I literally saw it zoom past as I was running to the bus stop. With a strict and over-protective father, I was terrified of getting into trouble for arriving home late (a painful theme I’ve seen in reading experiences shared by other women sexually assaulted while walking home after dark in their teens). So to avoid the “wrath of Dad” I opted to speed walk the 20 minutes home rather than wait half an hour for the next bus. 

I was nearly home. Walking by a churchyard and green, it was near the top of the high street, but still an eerily quiet spot at night. I heard running behind me. I assumed someone would run past, they didn’t. I think the best way I can describe it is that I was clenched, from behind - a strong arm around my shoulder, utterly impossible to break out of. This I knew in an instant - so I didn’t attempt to fight or to break free. I’d guess he was 6-6’4. And he was strong and a lot older than me -probably in his 40s. Today I’m 4’11, at 15 I was tiny.

“What’s your name?” He asked, not looking at my face. “Sarah” I replied (I didn’t want to tell him my real name). I knew I was in danger. His pace was quick. I didn’t know where he would force me to go. Behind the library, that was about 50 yards away. To the forest, that was about a 5 minute walk. I said the only thing I could think of at the time that might put him off: “What are you doing? I’m only 12.” This felt feasible, at 15 I was really little - called “midget” at school, among other things. Despite this revelation and while still walking at pace, with me firmly trapped in his clench - I was going nowhere - he put his hand inside my top and groped me. At that point and without thinking I screamed (and I mean SCREAMED) “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET OFF ME!” He stopped and he ran. Reflecting back, my guess is he’d been waiting in the churchyard and that’s where he retreated to. 

I ran the last few minutes home - terrified. I didn’t tell my parents what happened. While I vividly remember the attack I don’t clearly remember what I did on getting home. “Act normal” I think. As well as having the super strict Dad to contend with, my Mum was terminally ill. We had been told she only had a few months left and at that stage she was poorly. I could not and would not do anything to distress her. My Dad ran the local off licence and was alive to issues relating to underage drinking - maybe that’s why he was so over-protective of us. As a 15 year old, the church youth club was the only social life I could possibly hope for - ever. In my mind, telling my Dad that on the way home from “Friday Club”, I’d been attacked, by someone probably around his age, and that I think I’d narrowly escaped being raped was unthinkable. I worried he’d blame me (maybe I “blamed me”). I feared I would have waved goodbye to any possible hope of continuing the slightly sorry social life I was clinging to.

So the next day (again I’m hit hard reading experiences of other women who did similar) I went to a public phone box and I dialled 999 for the first time in my life. I decided doing nothing wasn’t an option and felt compelled to report it anonymously, put it on the radar of local police. Let them know that there was an attacker on the loose. I got through to an operator, I said I’d been groped, shared details: place, time, a description of my attacker. I was done - but sensed I was being kept on the line. Moments later, while still on the line in the phone box, I spotted a police car, blue lights flashing pull up close by. In an instant - don’t ask why - (maybe the intense fear my parents would find out?) - I dropped the handset and ran. Fast as I could (which for the record was not particularly fast). After not very long and in pursuit now not only by the police car, but also a police transit van - with both siren and lights blaring - I was caught, handcuffed, put in the back of the police van, driven to the station and taken into an interview room for questioning. Yes - as a victim of assault, that did intensify the sense of fear and also the sense that somehow, I was to blame in some grotesque way in all of this.

I wouldn’t tell the officers my name - probably for about three hours all in. That may have been down to the combination of ill mother, strict and slightly scary father, my being a child who’d never experienced being in trouble. At that stage though I suspect it was also down to treatment by the police, which without question suggested I was at fault in some way. I was scared. Eventually I caved in, gave them my name, my address, my parents’ names. 10 minutes later my Dad arrives and frankly was just utterly brilliant. Kind, worried, just so good about the whole thing. I hate myself for not telling him and I don’t think he ever really knew the whole of it. 

We went home and it was never really discussed. Primarily because as a family we had a lot of other shit going on. I buried it. I was happy to bury it. I did not wish to talk about it. What followed in quick succession in the months that followed (the death of a parent, loss of family home, saying goodbye to pets we could not take with us, the attempted suicide of the other parent) that was stuff that I had to confront and had to somehow cope with. The assault I could put in a box and not think about. But the box is still there. And it’s been over 25 years now.

I’m married to a police officer. Some years into our marriage I shared what happened that night. I asked if I would be justified in raising a complaint against the police based on how I was treated and the impact this had on me. I have often asked myself that. I asked did he think I would have been raped (yes, this was hard to ask and I could tell he didn’t want to answer but eventually did - of course a personal not professional judgement - with a “yes, I think you know this anyway but based on what you’ve said, yes probably”). I asked did he think I could have been killed - which of course he could not answer. I’ve asked myself that question several times over the last 25 years. Including this week. I have also asked myself if the police treated my report with any seriousness at all. Did they investigate? Did my attacker go on to harm other women? Other children? 

For many years - as soon frankly as I was in a position to could afford to - I have taken taxis home. If I ever work late. If I am out of an evening. If it’s half 7 and, OK, it’s not that late but it’s dark, I will take a cab. My neighbours think I’m extravagant. So many taxis! My children know that when they are old enough to go out at night, they should take a taxi home. I do not underestimate the privilege of being in a position to do that. It is something my parents could not have done for me. 

I have been hit reading other accounts of the fear teenagers especially have around speaking to someone if they have been the victim of sexual assault- either because of the fear their freedoms will be removed or because of the fear or belief that somehow they are to blame for what happened or is happening. I think as parents, the more we can be alive to this and to create a safe space for our kids to share the worst that happens to them, knowing they will be comforted, loved and supported and can talk to us without fear of judgement or punishment, the better. I appreciate I am one of many, many thousands of people to have been the victim of sexual assault and I also am alive to the fact that very many of those experiences were so very much darker, more severe and with more profound consequences than my own experience. I feel intense solidarity with every other person who has experienced sexual assault. Trust me, 25 years on I can tell you first hand, this is exceptionally hard to talk about.