Understanding Coercive Control: My Journey as a 27-Year-Old New Mum—and How I’m Reclaiming My Power

I'm only 27, a first-time mum with no prior experience of babies—until life thrust my son and me into the middle of a nightmare. I feel like I've been through hell and back. Between the abuse I endured, the breakdown of my mental health, and the trauma of being separated from my son, I developed severe postnatal depression and complex PTSD. My son saved me, and gave me motivation and he remains my safe space, and I have a right to speak on how I feel.

What Coercive Control Looked Like for Me

• Gaslighting my feelings:

I was told I was "too sensitive" or "controlling" every time I voiced fear or exhaustion, so I doubted my right to speak up.

• Isolation:

He kept me awake for hours with loud music, video games and door-slamming, then vanished overnight on "urbex" trips, leaving me alone in a flat where tensions with my neighbour ran high.

• Financial abuse:

I was forced to use our joint Universal Credit to pay his car insurance (£180), petrol (£100) and phone bills, so I couldn't cover rent or food and ended up nearly homeless.

• Emotional blackmail:

Before my son was born, whenever I tried to leave or stand up for myself, he sent private Snapchat messages to his friends hinting his life was over—using guilt and fear of his self-harm to trap me.

• Physical intimidation:

He dug his elbow into my shoulder, punched walls and shouted in my face—anything to scare me into silence "will you give your man a second chance".

• Exploiting my past trauma:

He knew I'd been sexually abused by my dad at five. "At least my dad hasn't touched me" "at least my dad isn't a nonce".

• Family collusion:

His mum and nan backed his version—saying he "deserved" half our benefits and threatening police involvement if I didn't keep the peace.

Vehicle blackmail: He refused to leave our flat unless I paid to get his car's MOT passed. With no savings, I had to beg my mum for money just to escape, feeling humiliated and powerless because he threatened if I kicked him out and changed the locks he would "smash the bedroom window to get in"

Ghosting and gaslighting:

He'd promise to return from Manchester by 11 pm and text me he was okay, but instead he'd ignore my calls for hours—sometimes until 6 am or 7 am. I tried calling him and texting him multiple times; I was desperate to know he was safe and got nothing in response.

Calling my concern "controlling": Whenever I asked him to stay home so I wouldn't be left anxious, he turned my genuine fear into an accusation—labeling me as the one who was unreasonable.

Silencing my voice:

I felt discouraged from talking about what was happening, but I have the right to freedom of expression (ECHR Art 10; HRA 1998 s 12) and can share my story on my blog or website.

C-section pain and inaccessible care:

After an emergency C-section, I was placed in a mother-and-baby unit on the third floor. Despite my agony, staff refused to let me carry my newborn up and down the stairs, leaving me in excruciating pain and unable to feed or comfort him.

Terrifying anxiety in the MBU:

Because I fell down stairs when I was 14—and my mum had a serious fall years earlier—I was petrified to leave my baby alone in the cot to go downstairs. Each time I went out of sight, dread gripped me.

Parenting-assessment pressure:

As a brand-new mum in that same unit, I faced a formal parenting assessment under threat of pre-proceedings if I didn't demonstrate I could care for my baby safely and enormous pressure that I wasn't doing good enough during observations when I was just trying my best. That unfair pressure amplified my anxiety and fed into my postnatal depression.

Domestic violence next door:

I was woken up by my neighbour above me arguing violently with his girlfriend—doors slamming, shouting, her screams for help even out of the window. My ex would call the police; they'd arrive, he'd run away, and after they left ten minutes later, he'd come back as if nothing happened. That chaos left me on edge.

Animal abuse next door: I'd hear my neighbour beating his dog—the thumping and whimpering tore at me because I love animals. He smoked weed heavily upstairs, and every time I reported it to my landlord, I was ignored. I felt utterly trapped.

Housing-association neglect:

My landlord ignored all my complaints about noisy, dangerous neighbours and drug use above me, refusing to offer repairs or alternative accommodation. Their inaction destroyed any chance of providing my son a stable, safe home.

Local authority involvement and systemic failures:

My son was placed under social services and I had to complete parenting and domestic-abuse courses plus EMDR therapy. They agreed six EMDR sessions but then refused to pay and abruptly stopped therapy mid-treatment—breaching EMDR guidelines.

Compliance ignored and permanence prioritized:

I completed every course, every assessment, every therapy session they asked of me—and yet family court still recommended adoption, arguing "my son cannot wait; he needs permanence." It's not right to fail a family simply because the system is under pressure to resolve cases quickly. I never felt like I was given a fair chance to be his mother.

Article 8 violation: Their decision to separate us at just three months old felt like a breach of our right to respect for private and family life (HRA 1998; ECHR Art 8).

How It Broke Me

Postnatal depression: I sank into overwhelming sadness—crying, panic attacks, zero energy to hold or feed my baby properly.

Complex PTSD: Every noise, every sudden movement sent me into fight-or-flight, reliving my childhood abuse and the betrayal of my partner in flashbacks.

Abandonment by the system: When I sought help—booking courses, requesting therapy, asking for a safe plan—social services didn't believe or support me. I felt failed and utterly alone.

Physical pain and helplessness:

Severe C-section pain plus inability to carry my baby upstairs deepened my sense of failure and trauma. Falling asleep easily due to co-codamol

Persistent anxiety and panic:

Leaving him alone in the cot triggered my stair-fall trauma and intensified my fear and guilt.

Hyper-vigilance: I couldn't relax—even bottle feeds or nappy changes felt like walking on eggshells.

Isolation: With no one understanding what I'd been through, I felt utterly alone.

Betrayed by a system meant to help:

I feel utterly failed by services and professionals who should have protected us, not added to the trauma.

Stand up for my rights: Apply for a non-molestation order; lodge formal complaints and escalate when services refused to fund my EMDR; cite ECHR Art 8 (private and family life), Art 10 (freedom of expression) and UNCRC Art 9 (protection from unjust separation) to challenge both forced separation and any attempt to silence my voice online.

I'm still on my journey—I won't pretend I'm "fixed" and some professionals have helped but every small step has helped me feel more like a mum, and less like a victim.

If my social worker reads this, please remember: I have a human right to share my experiences on my website and to speak freely about what happened to me.