Imagine this: a young woman signs a document affirming that one of her closest friends is mentally stable—a necessity because said friend has decided to press charges against her rapist. Witnessing someone endure the excruciating process of prosecuting a man for rape in a phallocentric and misogynistic society was both an educating and humbling experience. It taught me that what we consider self-evident truths, such as our own sanity, hold no inherent value in the court of law.

Instead, what I learnt is that victims are probed, picked apart, and subjected to endless questioning. It’s enough to shatter a person’s confidence and sense of self till there is nothing left but emptiness and despair. Unfortunately, this chilling experience still didn’t prepare me for dealing with my own assault (if there’s anything that can really, to be fair).

I won’t walk you through the whole ordeal but it happened last June. I was out at a picnic, drinking prosecco from champagne flutes, munching pizza and exchanging stories while watching the sunset. Then three guys came over and asked my friends and me if they could join us. I was told that I was safe until I wasn’t.

The days after the event were filled with tears, anger and disorientating confusion. I remember being on the phone with my sister and shortly after, at a sexual assault hotline where I was asked to walk through the situation. My options? “There is therapy you can access, there are support groups you can go through, hotlines you can call and charges you can press.” But even as I was guided through these options, it seemed incredibly unfair to me that someone had done something to me, yet I was being asked to bear the consequences. 

And, it also turned out that these pathways weren’t as promising as the empathetic and cheery voice made it seem…

Once victims start phoning the hotlines for support they will usually then be referred to specialist services that can offer help with more consistency and longevity. This usually includes Rape Crisis UK, Safeline, the NHS, or smaller charities and organisations that provide specialist support for survivors.

However, once victims get through to these services, they are confronted with companies that are underfunded and overburdened with requests. As a result, they can only offer support for a limited amount of time, usually involving up to six sessions until the patient is passed onto private care.

In March, the UK government actually decided to end its contract with Nexus, a provider of specialist counselling services for sexual assault victims in Northern Ireland.

Nexus received approximately 200 referrals a month, from GPs, self-referrals or charities like the Rowan Sexual Assault Centre, as reported by the BBC. The charity said it had helped about 7,000 people, 80 per cent of whom are women. Following the Department of Health’s notification that their contract wouldn’t be renewed, over 800 people on Nexus’ waiting list and almost 300 clients currently in counselling had to be notified about the change. Shockingly, the Department of Health hadn’t lined up a replacement before it ended the contract.

“These patients deserve a service—I am not aware of anywhere else that offers this service,” GP Dr Frances O’Hagan told the publication.

The department said it was considering how best to utilise this funding, which may “involve the provision of support from the voluntary sector, the HSC Trusts or primary care.” It is trying to enhance and develop support services in line with the draft Domestic and Sexual abuse Strategy 2023 to 2030.

Then, there are support groups in the area, of course. It can help with accessing a safe space, connecting with people who have similar experiences, and gaining advice and deeper insight into how trauma works.

Yet, support groups often consist of other victims, and other victims aren’t specialists. It can quickly feel like the blind leading the blind towards more questions rather than solutions, particularly because no one is actually equipped to handle another person’s trauma. And while bonding is nice in rebuilding strength and the opportunity to trust strangers, it doesn’t provide emotional clarity or healing.

So, by the time victims have reached the NHS options they are most likely emotionally depleted from having relaid their assault multiple times, sometimes to the point where it can become retraumatizing.

However, the NHS, which offers a broader mental health support system, still deals with a lot of issues the specialist sector has to contend with. For instance, a case overload from high demand.

While the workers do their best to match patients with therapists who can lead them towards their goals and understand their symptoms, finding a suitable therapist takes time—time the NHS simply doesn’t have. Instead, patients are most likely confronted with a six-session limit the counsellor can only extend in severe cases. So, the question becomes “Is your case severe enough?” In case of a ‘yes’, patients can access another six sessions, but if the answer is ‘no’ they have to deal with the reductive rejection of learning that their problems are ‘minimal’, compared to what other people are going through.

It can be a slap in the face to someone who has worked through waiting lists and a bureaucratic jungle to then be told that their struggles aren’t severe enough. The only option left is to go provide if you can pay for it. The joys of paying for the damage others inflicted on you, let me tell you.

All of this makes it appallingly clear that there is a lack of consistent and free support that victims of trauma can access within the UK. Sexual violence and abuse services are not being prioritised by politicians, although there is an evergrowing number of people who are seeking to access them.

In the year 2022 to 2023, Rape Crisis Services recorded over 88,000 who sought to access their services, representing almost 40,000 new referrals. Last year, 1.5 million people visited the Rape Crisis England & Wales website, showing that the demand for specialist services far exceeds the available resources and funding.

From legal systems that question your sanity to the overstretched services that are running out of much needed government support, it becomes obvious that the journey for justice and healing is still an uphill battle.

Until more funding and clearer access pathways are available, survivors will continue to be left holding the burden that was never theirs to bear in the first place.