This article contains themes of image-based abuse.
It’s a rite of passage for teenagers to explore their sexuality as their hormones explode. I did at 15 years old when I woke up one day to find I had E-cups! I snapped a few photos of myself in my bra to celebrate feeling confident in my skin. I didn’t plan to share them. I never could have predicted what an impact a few pictures would have on my life.
It happened because I had trusted someone. I gave my phone to a boy so he could send some songs to himself via Bluetooth. Instead, he stole those confidence-boosting pictures that I’d taken for me and no one else, and forwarded them to all of his friends. His split-second decision triggered a traumatic ripple effect that I still feel today, twenty years later.
Two days after he sent them out, the catcalls started in the corridors at school. I was furious when I realised what this boy had done and smacked him over the head in retaliation. A teacher collared me to ask what happened and I explained. There was a moment’s silence before she said, “I can’t say that you should’ve hit him harder, but what on earth were you thinking of taking those photos?” My stomach dropped. He had done this thing to me, but it was my fault for taking the images? It didn’t make any sense.
The school did nothing to help me or to punish him. My mum and stepdad were incensed, though. While their anger was mostly aimed at me for taking the pictures, they did call the police. However, when a safeguarding officer contacted my parents, all the questions were steeped in blame: Why did she take the photos? Why did she keep them on her phone? Do you know this is illegal?
I felt like a criminal. I was terrified that somehow I would end up with a record. In the end, my mum somehow managed to convince the officers that everything was fine and got them to back off. But that didn’t mean it was over.
At first, I refused to go back to school at all. The bullying was so intense, I didn’t feel safe. Every day was a constant reminder that my privacy had been violated by this boy. Eventually, the school sent an Attendance Officer out to see me, and I had to return to school, but I stipulated I would only go if they allowed me to stay in the mentoring group’s classroom, meaning I was separated from the rest of the school.
I spent the last six months of Year 11 hiding away, trying to protect myself from the onslaught of ridicule. Most of the boys and the girls had all turned on me. I felt so alone. I waited for the images to show up on Google; I was convinced that they would be seen worldwide.
One day, a friend encouraged me to go to the vending machine at lunch to get a snack. The moment I ventured out, a teacher called me out, saying, “If you can go to the vending machine, you can go back to lessons. This is ridiculous behaviour.” I went back to the mentoring classroom and never left it again.
Even if the rest of the school eventually moved on, I never did. It hung over me constantly. And the shame ate away at me like a virus. The whole thing felt as though it literally tore a strip off of my flesh, which I still feel today.
I know now that it wasn’t my fault. We all have the right to do whatever we want with our own bodies, and these images were private. But this happened before we even had a term for it, before laws were put in place to protect survivors of image-based sexual abuse, so I shouldered the shame entirely on my own.
The impact of the betrayal echoed well into my twenties. I went on to have a blurred understanding of consent and struggled to find healthy relationships. It’s only now in my thirties that I’m exploring conversations around consent. So now, looking back, I know I did nothing wrong. I know that I was let down by the school and by the police. I know I was the victim of a criminal act.
The new law will cover pornography depicting ‘step’ or foster family relations.
I still don’t trust anyone with my phone, and I don’t keep anything compromising on it, all because that memory still looms over me. I’m now a single mum who travels constantly for work, and dating usually happens over great distances. I don’t feel safe to share anything sexual, so it restricts the relationships I form. It’s been twenty years, and that wound is still there. Because it’s happened once, a scared voice in my head believes it could happen again.
My whole school could read this article, and none of them will remember, but I remember every detail. I know how much pain I was in. I remember the fallout from my parents and my grandparents finding out. My parents took me to the GP because they were so concerned for my mental health. I remember the hell that school became.
All because my actions were pathologised and criminalised instead of those of the person who broke my trust and shared private images of me with the whole school. Regardless of how those images were obtained, even if I had sent them to him, the fact is, he distributed images of me without permission and faced zero repercussions.
I had to have my pelvis reconstructed years ago — they drilled multiple screws into my bones – and most of the time, it’s fine. Then, I have moments where I can feel deep, stinging pain in my bones. That’s what this trauma feels like. It’s not always painful, but it’s always there. That lad is married with children now and probably hasn’t given it a second thought. I remember every single day.
As a parent to a young teenager, I would never allow the same thing to happen to him. I work hard to keep an eye on everything he does online and constantly communicate with him about consent. I won’t allow this cycle to be repeated.
My heart aches for all the kids dealing with image-based abuse in an internet-dominated world, which is why I’m working with Hope Prevails as a trustee to help survivors of all types of sexual violence. I want to use my voice to create change for the future.
They tried to steal it from me by silencing me with blame. I say no more. I am speaking loudly and proudly because the shame does not belong to me; it belongs to every single person who fails to protect survivors. And no one, of any age or gender, should be left alone to deal with the consequences of image-based abuse.
Revenge Porn Helpline provides advice, guidance and support to victims of intimate image-based abuse over the age of 18 who live in the UK. You can call them on 0345 6000 459.
“It's not only a violation of her body; it’s a violation of her faith.”
