Daughter: I put my father in prison for sexual abuse (United Kingdom)

UNNAMED DAD started sexually abusing his daughter at age 9--right after her parents split up and Dad got weekend visitation (this is not an uncommon occurence). The girl was afraid to tell anybody, but after Dad started paying the younger sister "attention," the girl finally said something to her mother. Of course she was labeled a liar in court, even with video evidence (also not an uncommon occurence). The father was eventually found guilty and sentenced to 13 years in prison. The dad still won't admit to the daughter that he abused her though (but another common occurence).

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jul/11/experience-incest-trial

I put my father in prison

Ciara Bradley
The Guardian, Saturday 11 July 2009

I was nine when my parents split up and my father moved in with his mother. My sister and I would stay with my father at weekends as part of the contact arrangements, and it was during these overnight stays that he forced me to drink alcohol before submitting me to sexual abuse that carried on for four years.

As soon as I got my period, the abuse stopped. I put it to the back of my mind and tried to get on with my life. Then, when I turned 16, I noticed that my father was showing my younger sister the kind of attention I remembered. One night, I came in from a party and he was sitting staring at her. Something in me snapped, and I went home and told my mother everything.

She couldn't stop crying or blaming herself. She said it explained so many things - for example, why I was rebelling so much and why privacy had become so important to me. I wouldn't even let people in my bedroom. My mother went to social services and they told her to go to the police. I can't fault the police. They put me at ease before taking my statement by video. Then they interviewed some members of my family and arrested my father.

That's when we moved house. My father lived nearby and we felt unsafe. Our new house was a couple of hours away. I also decided to put off school until the case was over - I felt too traumatised by the whole process, and the prosecution service said it would take only a year to get to court, and I didn't think that was too long to delay my A-levels. In fact, it took three years and I never went back.

When we finally got to court last summer, I couldn't believe how intimidating the courthouse was, and I was terrified of bumping into my father and his family. I was also distraught to learn that the judge had rejected the video evidence I'd given because the camera angle was wrong. He said I'd have to give it again. But I could give evidence in a video link room in a home-from-home opposite the court building. We took to calling it "the house", as we were able to eat meals, make tea and watch DVDs there.

Giving evidence took several days and it felt horrible. It was so intimate in detail and the barrister repeatedly called me a liar, snorted with contempt at my answers and interrupted me, even when I was crying hysterically. There was also a technical fault with the camera, so we had to keep stopping and starting. But an NSPCC volunteer, who sat behind me in the video link room, was able to reassure and calm me.

A week and a half later, just as my evidence was about to end, the judge suddenly brought the trial to a halt. Because of the technical error, it had lasted longer than planned and two jury members were due to go on holiday. I was devastated, and by the time it got back to court last November I was a mess. I hadn't eaten or slept in days because I knew what was ahead of me. On the day of the case, I told my NSPCC key worker I couldn't go through with it, but he made me a cup of tea and convinced me to see how the morning went. I managed to stick it out for the whole three-week case, in part because the new defence barrister seemed less abrasive towards me.

On the day the jury returned their verdict, I went to work - I wanted to have a distraction if it didn't go my way. When I got the call to say my father had been found guilty, I was elated and went to court for the sentencing. His family were all there glaring at me, but I wasn't fazed - he couldn't hurt anyone now. I wanted him to get nine years, because that's how long he'd stopped me having a normal life. I knew that was ambitious, so when he got 13 years, I was so happy I could hardly breathe.

At the sentencing, I applied to give up my anonymity so my father could be named as an abuser. He still hasn't admitted to what he did to me, so it was my way of making him face what he'd done. It made me feel as if I'd been given back some of the power that was taken away from me.
I still have days when I scream and cry and feel I'll never be clean. But most days I'm a happy, normal 19-year-old who loves shopping, friends and going out. I refuse to let him or anything else - even being a survivor - define me. I will make my own life with the people around me whom I trust.