Trigger warning: CSA and coercive control

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I remember the exact moment I became a single parent. It was 7.45 in the morning. I was just back from dropping my daughter Maya at nursery, and was making my husband a coffee, when there was a knock on the door.

I opened the door to 2 women and 2 men who introduced themselves as non-uniformed police officers. One of them asked if my husband was home, and said they needed to speak to him. I called to him, telling him the police were here. As he came downstairs, he said to me ‘it’s just porn’.  The police told us that they were taking him in for questioning on suspicion of obtaining and distributing indecent images of children.

My first thought was about my daughter: was she involved? The police told me no, she hadn’t been, and I was so afraid, I made them swear. I just remember thinking: I need to protect my little girl. She was only 1 at the time.

I found out later that the police had waited until Maya was out of the house and I was back home, before they knocked on the door.  They searched the house and my husband was taken away for questioning. I asked a friend to come over, and when she arrived I went for a shower. I remember standing in the shower with so many thoughts running through my head: ‘This is it, I’m a single parent now. I can function. I can do this.’

When I picked Maya up from nursery, I took her to a friend’s house.  The police released my husband later that day, pending further investigations. As soon as he came back into the house, I asked him 3 questions:

Did you know that you were looking at images of children?

He said yes.

I asked: were these children being raped and abused?

He said yes.

And lastly, I asked: Are you attracted to children?

And again, he answered yes.

He now denies that this conversation ever took place. But for me, it was black and white from that day on. Our marriage was over. I had to protect my daughter.

The police and social workers couldn’t give me direct advice about what to do, but they put me in touch with a number of other agencies, who helped me to make key decisions for myself.

We went to stay with friends nearby, and I was referred to a counsellor. And gradually I started to recognise how bad our relationship had been. At the first session, the counsellor commented that she liked the colour I was wearing, and I burst into tears. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been complimented.

The counsellor helped me realise that our relationship had all been about coercive control. He would subtly restrict what I could wear. I’d get ready to go out, and just as we were leaving the house, he’d say ‘why are you wearing that?’ He’s English, and I’m not, and he’d always criticise the way I said things. They were always such tiny digs, but everything was questioned.

I’d been quite ill after Maya was born, but he just expected me to get up and get on with things. He was fanatical about how I had to keep the house clean. He would say: ‘You need to start running again, you should be running with the pram, you could make more of an effort.’

To the outside world, he was a good husband

But behind closed doors I felt like I was going insane. He’d tell me he loved me and cared about me, and was just trying to make me a better person. I’d given up work at his encouragement. I had a job that I loved, but he would tell me: ‘You’re not being a good wife to me, you’re neglecting Maya, you need to leave work.’

When the police came to the door, I thought for a moment that they were going to arrest me. I thought that I must have done something wrong. That was the state of mind I was in – I was convinced I was a terrible mother, a bad wife.

I was horrified that, despite all the evidence, the charges against my husband were dropped after a year.  The police had lots of evidence, but because he hadn’t been talking to a child, they were unable to prosecute.  One of the detectives on the case explained it like this: ‘If this were a drugs case, the situation would be we know he is selling drugs, we have evidence of him obtaining and distributing drugs. But on the day he was arrested, he didn’t have any drugs.’

I was so angry. He’d admitted to me and to the police that he’d been viewing these images, but somehow he’d avoided prosecution. And now I was faced with another problem. He still retained parental responsibility for our daughter. I started to do some research and found that it’s incredibly rare for people convicted of these crimes to be stripped of their parental responsibility.  People kept telling me he had a right to see his daughter, and to be involved in decision-making about her life.

But what about my right to keep her safe? What about her rights, to be protected from harm?

With my family’s support, I decided to leave the place we were living, and move back closer to my parents.  It took us two years to sort things out through the family courts, but finally we were able to get away and start afresh.

At the moment, he has limited access, which means he has supervised visits with Maya once a fortnight. But that in itself is an ongoing issue, because Maya hasn’t lived with him since she was 1 year old, and she doesn’t feel comfortable with him.

I find it so unfair. Every 2 weeks I have to face him, and leave my child in his care without being 100% certain that the people who supervise him are actually supervising him. I worry how long this contact order will be in place. What if the judge puts an end to supervision?

When I heard in the news recently that Harriet Harman was proposing changes in law, so that convicted paedophiles could be stripped of their parental responsibility, it had a tremendous effect on me. I totally agreed with her comment that: ‘It’s a glaring anomaly that while the law protects other people’s children from a sex offender, it doesn’t protect his own.’

You don’t know how strong you are until you become a single parent

It sounds such a cliché, but what helped was just taking one day at a time – even, sometimes, just focusing on getting through the next 5 minutes.  That would be my advice to anyone in the same situation. Keep believing in yourself, because your child believes in you. You’ve got this, and you are not alone.

Just keep fighting for your child. Scream and shout and get angry if you have to. There were months when I couldn’t string a sentence together, but when it came to protecting my baby, I knew what to do.

I have now been a single parent for almost 4 years. I never planned on doing this alone. I thought having a child with the man I loved was an extension of our love. And yes, I feel judged, pitied, and lonely sometimes. I don’t fit the ideal image of a single parent, and people do sometimes make assumptions about our situation.  Through no fault of my own, I will never have the kind of co-parenting partnership that we might all hope for. That’s not by choice, but because of everything I have lived through and my relationship with my child’s father.

And it’s hard work on your own. I have to plan for everything. There always has to be Calpol in the house, because I can’t just nip out. Decisions like what to have for lunch and what’s the best way to potty train are all on me, and it’s tough.

But I take those decisions as wins, and I feel empowered and grateful every day. I might make mistakes, but I’m learning.  When I’m stuck, I ask for help. I use Gingerbread – because why do this alone? There are lots of single parents like me, just doing our best. Services like Gingerbread’s allow us to ask for help and to not feel so alone. And despite my tiredness, and the mental issues caused by my ex, I know that becoming a single parent was the right decision.

I feel like my mental health now is better than it’s been for a long time – because I’m no longer in an abusive relationship. I’ve got my own home, and I feel safe. Maya and me are a team – she’s such a kind, empathetic little girl.  I feel like I might be ready to think about a new relationship at some stage – because I know I deserve that.

My head was down, and I was in a dark place for so long, but now I’m looking up. And there’s always a rainbow, even in the darkest times.

Read more: Gingerbread's Advice Service Manager Jack reacts to Emma's story