The aftermath of trauma.

This was written by my friend Fiona Yardley. Fiona is many things; artist, poet, mother, partner. And she is a survivor. The #metoo movement has seen many of us share our experiences of sexual harassment, assault and rape. Trump inadvertently kick-started something recently, where survivors shared the reasons they didn’t report their assaults.

Here, Fiona shares how she deals with what she experienced, years later. It’s not always as simple as just moving on. Access to help isn’t as available as we might think or hope it is.

If you have experienced trauma and it’s aftermath, especially from sexual assault or harassment, you might find this a hard read. Or, you might find it a familiar one. No one wishes these kinds of experiences on others. But there is a small comfort in knowing that someone out there understands how you feel.

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I was listening to the radio in the car the other day and the hosts were discussing the allegations of sexual assault made against producer Harvey Weinstein. The male host wondered if sexual assault and sexual harassment at work were issues faced primarily by those in the entertainment industry.

I’m definitely one to sing along to the radio in the car but this was probably the first time I looked at the radio and almost yelled “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” at it.
via GIPHY

The female host did a good job of not seeming too incredulous, but I could tell that she was. I think lots of women listening to them would have felt the same.

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Trigger warning: Talks about depression, self-harm and sexual assault.

This is a guest post written by someone who prefers to remain anonymous.

Depression is something I have struggled with for as long as I remember. I think I might have been around 9 when it first started, and when you’re a kid you just get called a sook, a cry-baby or an attention-seeker. I got the same responses into my teen years, when I did speak up and try to get some help.

I was just a kid who had nothing to be depressed about, right?

I remember being in year 6 and so skinny that my hip bones stuck out. I had to wear jeans that were too big just so they would accommodate my protruding bones. I was wearing a ladies size 8 and the kids at school called me fat because I was no longer wearing kid’s sizing. At night, once my family had all gone to bed, I would take a saucepan into the bathroom and repeatedly hit my stomach and hip bones because I believed it would make me skinnier and, therefore, more likable. I know it sounds nuts, but this is how I felt I could deal with it.

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