"Finding My Voice: A Journey from Silence to Safety"

My Journey to Safety: A Story of Survival and Support

It was February 2025 when I first visited my GP practice in Perth. I had just spent nearly four months recovering from lower back surgery and was struggling badly with anxiety and insomnia. I believed I just needed a repeat prescription to get through the sleepless nights and the mental fog. But that appointment turned out to be the first step toward uncovering something much deeper — and darker — that I hadn’t fully acknowledged: I was experiencing domestic abuse.

My GP referred me to MindSpace, a local mental health support service in Perth. That’s where I met Jenifer, the counsellor who changed everything. She conducted my initial assessment and, despite there being a 3–4 month waiting list, kindly took me in right away. Her compassion and understanding were immediate. She helped me recognise that the abuse I was enduring wasn’t just in my head — it was real, and it wasn’t limited to just physical violence. Until then, I had thought domestic abuse only meant bruises and scars. Jenifer helped me see the emotional manipulation, coercive control, sexual and digital abuse for what they truly were.

She didn’t just stop at helping me understand — she empowered me. She gave me direct helplines, support contacts, and the encouragement to seek help. That’s how I came across several organisations that became lifelines: Abused Men in Scotland, MoveAhead, The Neuk (a mental health and suicide prevention centre), and the Perth and Kinross Access Team for Adult Social Care.

Through the Access Team, I was connected to Rachael, a social worker who didn’t just listen — she gave me hope. She immediately sprang into action, reaching out to her colleagues to start preparing for a safe house placement. She was proactive, reassuring, and determined to help me find safety.

That’s when I was referred to MoveAhead, a community mental health and wellbeing service. There, I met Jamie, a gem of a person who works for the NHS. Jamie was one of the few people who didn’t just understand my situation — he believed me. He made me feel seen and safe in a world where male victims of domestic abuse are often dismissed or overlooked. He literally walked from one building at Perth Royal Infirmary to the bus station just to pick me up for our first appointment. That gesture, small as it may seem, meant everything — it told me I wasn’t alone anymore.

Jamie went above and beyond his role. He treated me like a younger brother during a time when I felt utterly alone and broken. He listened without judgment, reassured me when I was full of doubt, and most importantly, he made me believe that men can be victims too. He regularly took me out on walks or to church, helping me open up in safe and calm environments. He even gave me his work number in case I needed him urgently and was always connected over email.

When I had to make a last-minute change to the escape plan, Jamie didn’t hesitate. He adapted immediately, rearranging everything to accommodate the new day, ensuring my safety came first. He also accompanied me to the council, helped me submit a homeless application, and even booked an appointment with my GP on my behalf to make sure my prescriptions were in order. These weren’t just professional duties — they were acts of kindness, humanity, and solidarity that I’ll never forget.

During the process, I was also supported by Phil from the Ethnic Minorities Law Centre. He patiently helped with all the paperwork related to the Migrant Victims of Domestic Abuse Concession, using his legal expertise and calm presence to make a very chaotic time feel manageable.

Thanks to all these incredible people, I’m writing this from the safety of my council-provided accommodation. My mental health score is getting significantly better, and I can finally breathe like a human being again. I'm no longer living under the shadow of constant surveillance and psychological torment.

No more being questioned about where I’m going or who I’m meeting. No more being forced to share passwords, hide my belongings, or live on eggshells fearing the next outburst. No more being told which job I can or cannot take. No more emotional blackmail, threats, or being forced into intimacy. No more replying to constant check-ins or feeling guilty for seeing friends or using social media. I can finally remove the privacy screen protector from my phone, speak freely to my family, and not whisper in the garden to have a private conversation.

The coercive control, emotional abuse, sexual intimidation, and digital surveillance had pushed me into hypertension, anxiety, depression, insomnia, and suicidal thoughts. I was alive, but I didn’t feel human.

But now — I do. I feel safe. I feel hopeful. And I feel grateful.

Every single person I encountered along the way — Jenifer, Jamie, Rachael, Phil, and the incredible teams behind the organisations that stood by me — helped rebuild the broken pieces of my life. They enrolled me into workshops and seminars to help me rebuild confidence and rediscover purpose.

When everyone else in the world made me feel like I had to constantly defend or explain myself, these people just welcomed me with kindness. They treated me like a human being — something I had almost forgotten how to feel.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who walked with me on this journey.

And especially — thank you, Jamie and Jenifer. I owe you both more than words can ever express.