Survivor of child abuse and neglect as a child tells her story

Collette Elliot tells the story of her childhood in support of Action For Children Campaign to update the law on child neglect

A review of the case of Daniel Pelka, the four year old boy starved and beaten to death by his mother and her partner, describes the little boy as having been ‘invisible at times’ to the professionals who could have saved his life. This sobering statement can’t fail to hit anyone straight in the heart, because each and every one of us has been a child and many of us have children of our own.

But for Collette Elliot, a 30-something mum from Birmingham, the story of Daniel Pelka’s abuse and murder by his own mother brings to the fore memories of her own childhood that are still hard to deal with.

Collette was neglected as a child by her mother and her stepfather and went on to sue her local authority for their inaction. She is now a staunch supporter of the Action For Children campaign for an update on the law on child neglect and is sharing the story of her own neglect to help raise the level of understanding about the effect that inaction, by the very people who could have helped her, has had on her life.

This is Collette’s experiences and thoughts in her own words…

As a child I had to deal with three kinds of abuse  – physical, mental and sexual.  Of the three it was the mental abuse that was worst, because it has stayed with me. My life has been designed around the mental torture I endured.

I’m mixed-race and my mother is white. She would call me all sorts of names, anything from nasty playground slang like ‘slag’ and ‘bitch’ to racial abuse, calling me a ‘paki’ and a ‘nigger.

I would be told off for the slightest thing, including things that weren’t anything to do with me. On one occasion my sister had fallen off a speaker and broken her arm. I got a beating for it. Another time, my brother was in a neighbour’s garden and fell and cut his nose open. I got a beating. Even though in both cases I wasn’t there when the accident happened.

The reality of the situation was that my mother was scared of my stepfather, the father of my sister and brother, so she would blame me for things going wrong. Instead of my mother getting a beating it would be me.

Normal everyday things were a mental struggle for me. I would go through a daily checklist in my mind of all the things I needed to do each day, like making my bed and my sister’s bed, putting all our washing into the bathroom, because if on ‘inspection’ these things hadn’t been done properly, I would be sent to sit outside to eat my dinner, no matter what the weather.

My bedtime was always 6pm, even as a teenager. The bathroom was downstairs in our house, but once I had gone to bed I wasn’t allowed back up. So I often wet the bed or even the floor, as I didn’t want to get shouted at.

These things still haunt me as an adult. I won’t go downstairs once I’m in bed, I freeze and my heart feels like it is in my throat. I make sure all the beds are made before 8.30a.m. I clean the whole house every Sunday – I had to do this as a child, it feels like the routine is embedded in my brain and if I try to change that routine I panic. I sweat, shake and often sick. I give my children simple chores, but if I give them anything more I feel guilty.

I tried to ask for help but it never came

I asked my teachers for help. They in turn would speak to social services, but I didn’t know they were doing this. In fact I didn’t find this out until I read my social services file years later.

I remember when I was around 10 years old; a teacher notices bruises on me. When I said where they came from, social services were called in. But instead of speaking to me, social services chose to speak to my parents and take their version of events, which was that I’d fallen over and sustained the bruising that way.

I was sent back home with my parents, where I received the usual beating, hair pulling, biting, pinching and punching. The next day my parents pulled me out of the school and sent me to a new one. When I started the new school I didn’t speak to the teachers, in fear of what might happen.

In secondary school there was a teacher I spoke to quite often. She would allow me to release all my emotions. I would cry, scream, shout, and sometimes I would say nothing. This was when I found school to be my safe haven. But the school never sought to investigate further.

The abuse at home left me vulnerable in wider society

At the age of 14 years old, I was raped by a group of boys who were the same age as me. Two of these boys were in my year at school. I told my parents. After calling me some horrific names, my parents sent me back to the school to face my attackers. My mother said it had been my own fault that the boys raped me. My auntie contacted the police, who informed social services, but again nothing was done.

By the age of 15 I couldn’t take any more

By the time I was 15 years old I couldn’t take anymore. After another night of beating and venom, I took myself off to social services and begged for them to take me away.

By this time I had been beaten to the point that I no longer wanted to live, my mother had even held a carving knife to my throat and instead of struggling I told her to do it. I wanted out.

I told social services my story, but they did nothing. Instead, they sent me back to school and told me to carry on speaking to my teacher. I was crushed.

I first tried to kill myself when I was 18 years old

I took my first overdose at 18. I’ve taken several more overdoses since. The physical and mental abuse that my mum and stepfather put me through made me feel like I shouldn’t have been born. I’d been told it often enough. I would watch how my parents would be so different with my younger siblings – my half-siblings – and burn with anger and jealousy.

I was placed under the mental health act at 18 years old and have been receiving help ever since. After trying different medications and different counselling I was finally diagnosed with severe depression, post-traumatic stress syndrome, bi-polar and anxiety.

Starting to see that my life wasn’t normal

I had my first daughter when I was 19. I felt such an overwhelming love for her. Looking at my baby girl I knew I could never hurt her in any way. That’s when the penny finally dropped that what I had endured as a child wasn’t normal, but I still found it hard to break away from my mum and my stepfather. They tried to tell me how to raise my baby, even down to what name to call her. I got such a beating when they found out I had given my child her father’s surname.

If social services had protected me my life today would be very different

Social services would visit my family home once every six months when I was a child. However, they never once spoke to me. It would be a meeting with my parents to make sure everything was ‘ok’.

There were so many times I wanted to whisper; “I need to talk to you on my own”. But I rarely got chance and when I did get the chance, I was too scared, so I kept my mouth shut.

I was placed into care on one occasion and that happy memory still lives with me today. I was around 3 and what I remember most was that I was allowed to be a child. I had toys to play with, children to play with, and adults who met my needs. I believe if I had been placed with foster parents that my ongoing mental state wouldn’t be as extreme or painful as it is.

My mum never once fought for me when I was in care. She was only worried about her family allowance and milk tokens. Reading my files I can see that my parents themselves had even told social services that I was not wanted.

However, social services told my mother that if my stepfather didn’t want me, then she should re-think her relationship with him. The result was they treated me like a Cinderella of sorts, but without the royal ball and the happy ending. I was the live-in maid, the babysitter, the cook and the punch bag.

My parents have never been held accountable for the abuse they inflicted upon me

Two years ago I tried to press charges against my parents for the mental and physical abuse they had put me through for 30 years. I was told by the police that unless I was permanently physically damaged, i.e. in a wheelchair, visibly scarred, etc, there was nothing they could do.

Even though my mental health records said differently, the law states that mental abuse is not recognised. I was floored. To my mind the mental abuse was the worst aspect of what I went through, because I still live with the horrifying flashbacks, nightmares and panic attacks today.

I feel guilt when I try to reprimand my own children so I back down. My relationships have suffered because I have been attracted to men who wanted to control me.

The law on child neglect needs to be reviewed and updated

To me, mental abuse seems almost like a taboo area of child abuse. Children who suffer mental abuse grow up (if they’re lucky enough to survive) to suffer with mental health issues as adults. And because mental abuse of children it is not officially recognised, it runs the risk of not being dealt with until it is too late.

Yes, children are dying from physical abuse, but adults are dying because of the mental torture they endured as children. This needs to be recognised early on. If a child shows no signs of physical abuse, then the next step should be to check for mental abuse.

I firmly believe that social services and the police should have new and up to date guidelines on removing children from abusive parents and situations. There’s a saying that ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me’. It isn’t true. Words hurt and the effects of mental abuse last a lifetime.

Collette is campaigning with Action for Children to update the law on child neglect. Together they are pushing the issue up the political agenda, but they need your help.

If Collette’s story has struck a chord with you and you’d like to take action, please ask your MP to sign the joint letter to Government Minister Damien Green.