Alice’s Story

Living in an abusive relationship

Throughout my early 20’s, I was in an abusive relationship with another woman. She both emotionally and physically hurt me, and it is something that will, unfortunately, stay with me for life. I was unemployed due to my mental health, I couldn’t muster up the motivation to better my life when someone was making me feel like the most worthless person to walk the planet.

Every day, I was exhausted from having to convince those around me that I was fine. I didn’t want them to worry about me and cause anyone any extra stress. Battling with unwanted thoughts of wanting to harm myself, just to remove myself from the situation, was growing old. But there was nobody I could tell who would believe me. People would say to me that my light had gone out, or that I wasn’t the same bright and smiley person I used to be but I would blame it on the joy of being in your 20’s and crippling student debt.

Struggling with self-harm and shame

The first time it happened, I wanted to hide away from the world as I thought it was something you did as a teenager and that I was old enough to know better. Now, I know this is complete nonsense, and there is no age limit to struggling in this way. However, at the time, I didn’t want anyone to know because the damaging stereotype is that it is “attention seeking”, and attention was the last thing I wanted. Yes, I wanted help, but I didn’t want anyone to know I was intentionally harming myself. I think in my vulnerability, I thought that physicalising my hurt would validate it and make it easier for me to cope with, as I couldn’t see my low moods. I can’t clean up and apply bio-oil to my depression.

This “relief” only lasted minutes, and I was bearing the weight of it for a lot longer. These desires were prevalent throughout the entire relationship and would only worsen after arguments between us. People didn’t pity me, they questioned why I wasn’t standing up for myself, or just leaving. But it isn’t that easy. The complexities of this relationship were beyond anyone’s understanding, so why should I try and explain myself?

Finding the courage to leave

Eventually, I decided to leave after a couple of long years of living in fight or flight. By no means was it as easy as just getting up and going, but I finally mustered up the energy and courage to flee. I want to say that the urges immediately subsided, but for a moment, they grew worse. That was until I reached out and grabbed the hands of my close friends. They had their hands out waiting for months, but my eyes were on the floor the entire time. My neck was weighed down by the stress of everything. They took the bags off my back and carried them for me.

I received help from a lovely lady who was a free counsellor that I accessed through an organisation called Maximus, who helped me also get back into work after I shut myself away from responsibility for almost 4 years. Talking was honestly what stopped me from getting those urges. My jug wasn’t overflowing with guilt and pain anymore. My thoughts were out there for someone to listen to and validate. The professionalism helped from the counsellor, but even just speaking to my friends and family quietened that dark voice in the back of my head. For the first time in months, it was silent.

Healing through nature

I moved to the countryside and found a love for hiking. Everyone knows that exercising is good for your mental health, but for ages I just thought it was another stupid myth made up by capitalism to trick you into spending £200 on sportswear. But when I am outside surrounded by fields, sheep and beautiful views, my mind is at peace. Before, I stayed inside all day and rarely ventured out to appreciate nature. Moving from a busy city that drove my ADHD mad due to overstimulation, to a tiny village in the countryside, forced me to find a hobby other than partying/shopping. I knew I had to get myself up and active before I lost my mind completely.

“Each step was a reminder that I had left, I had survived, and that I deserved peace.”

Reclaiming my freedom and identity

Being in the middle of nowhere with no sight of civilisation reminds me I am free from that life. There are no four walls around me, limiting my happiness and ability to express myself. Now there is nothing I love more than packing myself a picnic, chucking my walking boots on and blasting my favourite music to go for a hike with no destination — just each step healing my wounds. Even in the wind and rain, the elements on my skin remind me I am alive.

Replacing harm with healing

For once, it felt like I was giving something back to myself, instead of taking more away. Self-harm felt like I was trying to prove I was hurting, but being outside, moving, exploring, breathing in fresh air — it reminded me that I was still here, still standing. Hiking didn’t just release emotions in the moment like self-harm did; it gave me something to look forward to, something that built me up rather than broke me down. Nature doesn’t judge or demand — it just is — and that calm, that stillness, helped balance the chaos I had lived through for years. It gave me space to think, to cry if I needed to, or just to be quiet and breathe. Each step was a reminder that I had left, I had survived, and that I deserved peace. And unlike self-harm, hiking never left scars — only strength.

“I know who I am again — or at least, I’m getting to know her — and I quite like her.”

Life now: calm, connected, and hopeful

Right now, life is calm — and that’s something I never thought I’d say. I’m back at work, in a routine, and surrounded by people who genuinely care for me and don’t try to chip away at my sense of self. I am starting a Master’s in September; working on something I feel so passionate about. I laugh more. I sleep better. I don’t flinch at every message notification. I know who I am again — or at least, I’m getting to know her — and I quite like her.

What I’ve learned

Now, I don’t bottle it up like I used to. I talk — even if it’s messy, even if I cry halfway through a sentence. I’ve learned that people can’t help if you don’t let them in. I hike, even if it’s raining or I’m exhausted, because the movement clears my head. I write things down when I don’t have the words to speak out loud. I listen to music that feels like a hug or a scream, depending on what I need. I still have bad days — I won’t pretend it’s all perfect now — but I ride them out rather than letting them take over. And I remind myself: I’ve already survived so much worse. I’m not that trapped, silenced person anymore. I made it out. And I’m not going back.

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