This is my story

In mountaineering, we talk about the "crux"—the most difficult part of a climb, where the margins for error are thin and the pressure is at its peak. For most of my life, I was navigating a crux I didn't even know existed. I was climbing in a storm without a map, carrying a pack heavy with weights I hadn't packed myself.

This is the story of my most difficult ascent: the journey from the shadows of childhood abuse to the clarity of survival.

The Internal Landscape: A Life in the Shadows

For decades, I lived with what felt like a deep “black hole" inside me. I always felt different from other people, and struggled to feel joy. I was a quiet child who wet the bed, suffered nightmares and sleep-walked.

This black hole manifested as antisocial behaviours, profound trust issues, and an inability to regulate my emotions. To the outside world, I was someone who struggled to find their footing; I under-achieved at school, I dropped out of university twice, failed my professional exams, and faced redundancy.

Behind the scenes, I was self-medicating to quiet the noise. My teens & early twenties were marked by impulsive risk-taking and arrests for shoplifting and being drunk and disorderly. I was searching for a way to numb a pain I couldn't yet name.

The Roots of the Storm

My foundation was built on shifting sands. My father was a narcissist and bully whose anger was a constant, destructive force. He didn’t just destroy my self-esteem; he destroyed our family, physically and emotionally abusing us and leaving me with no sense of "home." To this day, the mere thought of him triggers a visceral physical reaction—a survival instinct that never turned off. I dedicated two decades of my life to ensuring that I did not turn out like him.

2020: The Perfect Storm

In 2020, my world collapsed.

• The Business: COVID-19 destroyed my social enterprise, Inspire Alpine, which I had worked so hard to build.

• The Body: I was suffering from severe back spasms and was diagnosed with Disk Degeneration Disease, a physical manifestation that mirrored my internal agony.

• The Stress: I was blowing the whistle on fraud at a former employer while facing total financial instability.

In the middle of this exhaustion, the "ice" finally broke. I experienced suicidal thoughts and planned how I would end my life using my climbing rope. Sitting at my desk, I experienced a vivid, shocking flashback: I was seven years old, in my bed, and an adult smelling strongly of alcohol was abusing me. The memory was a ghost that had finally decided to speak.

The Slow Ascent: Seeking the Path

The realisation was devastating, but it finally offered an explanation for the self-destructive patterns of my life. I began the hard work of rescuing my own soul:

In 2020 I accessed Timeline Therapy through the Moira Anderson Foundation (MAF), a small charity that supports survivors of childhood sexual abuse. For the first time in my life, I felt truly heard and understood.

In 2024 my mental health spiralled and I was diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD). After a period of renewed suicidal ideation, I worked weekly with a mental health support worker on The Decider Skills to help with basic emotional regulation.

I also worked with a Pain Management Psychologist and Physiotherapist on understanding and calming my overactive nervous system. Since September 2025, I have been in weekly trauma counselling provided by a national charity that support survivors of CSA.

I still don't know the identity of my abuser—the memories are blurred by time and trauma—but the impact is clear. I am still learning to navigate the severe anxiety and the low self-esteem that were hardwired into me before I was even old enough to understand them.

Why I Share This

On a mountain, you don't survive a storm by pretending it isn't happening. You survive by acknowledging the conditions, checking your gear, and finding the strength to take the next step.

I share this because there is a lethal silence surrounding childhood sexual and emotional abuse. I am no longer interested in carrying the shame that belongs to someone else. I am a survivor, still climbing, still breathing, and finally finding my way home—not to a place, but to myself.