My name is Sophie Olson.

I was sexually abused by a close family member in the family home until I was 14. I was subjected to other forms of abuse—much of it hidden from others in the family—that continued into adulthood. I am from a middle-class background and was privately educated. As a child and young person, I showed many signs and indicators of child sexual abuse, but they were misunderstood or dismissed by family, schools, and healthcare professionals. I made partial disclosures to professionals at 18, 25 and 30, but I do not consider them full disclosures because I could not say most of the words I needed to—especially the word ‘rape’. I couldn’t.

Like many survivors in distress, I reached out for help and ended up in the mental health system. It was a system that caused immense harm. When the ‘treatment’ made no difference to the distress caused by child sexual abuse, my psychiatrist said my ‘illness’ was ‘severe and enduring’ and that I would never recover or live without community support or medication. I was also told I’d be on lifelong benefits. 

The turning point for me was the death of someone I knew. She died by suicide after giving evidence in court. I rang a helpline and was told about a local charity that could help me. 

Accessing peer support helped me find validation. I connected with other survivors and, for the first time, felt less alone in my experience. A few years later, I disengaged from the mental health system entirely and asked the facilitator, Pat, whether she could take me on as a private client. 

I tried different creative methods in therapy to express the ‘unspeakable’: art, collage and, eventually—and most successfully—writing. I wrote about the abuse in the style of a fairy tale—immersing myself in my own story with considerable support from Pat. Speaking the words and sharing my story was the most vital part of the healing process. I wrote a lot of poetry too, always to express the words I find harder to say. Regular writing practice continues to help me, as healing from child sexual abuse doesn’t have an end point. The impacts of child sexual abuse are lifelong, which is why I am passionate about improving the current response to victims and survivors. 

Pat worked intuitively, was safely flexible with her boundaries and was able to offer more communication between sessions. She didn’t stick to scripted platitudes or a formulaic approach. After my previous unsuccessful attempts at therapy, this was what made the difference for me. It wasn’t a linear process. In processing my story, I fell backwards into the familiar abyss. It was overwhelming to reveal, accept and process the abuse because I had minimised it for many years as a form of self-protection. Overcoming these setbacks were only possible because of the support of a skilled, patient, experienced and wise practitioner who not only helped me process the abuse but also believed that I could achieve my greatest ambitions and fulfil my potential. 

Up until therapy with Pat, I had been waiting for someone else to ‘fix’ me because I was told I needed fixing by a mental health system that diagnosed survival as mental illness. It was a lightbulb moment when I realised Pat might be able to guide me from the darkness, but she couldn’t save me. Only I could do that. Over time I realised I didn’t need fixing because I wasn’t broken. I had been sexually abused. I was reacting normally to trauma. Because of her empathy, understanding, kindness and non-pathologising support, I found a way to tell the whole story. Finding the words set me free. 

But in sharing my story with a wider circle, I realised not everyone was able to stand by me. A couple of friends ghosted me. This was devastating because it made me feel ashamed of speaking out. Then it made me angry. Why, as survivors, are we so hard to see and hear? Yes—the subject is difficult, but negative societal responses to survivors in workplaces, communities and families often exacerbate deep-seated feelings of shame. The shunning, pathologising, disbelief and victim-blaming serve only those who commit these crimes against children. 

Over time, my experiences both pre- and post-disclosure became the driving force behind the establishment of my own community interest company: The Flying Child CIC. I was determined that survivors should receive better recognition, opportunities and support. We received funding from The National Lottery Community Fund to provide support for adult survivors. Our training arm—Side By Side CSA—works across all sectors to improve professional confidence in addressing the subject. 

We support professionals to explore and overcome their own barriers to engaging with a deeply uncomfortable subject, and invite them to respond to the needs of survivors in a way that does not compound trauma. Our training is delivered by people with lived experience and professional allies from within the system. In September 2026, we began working internationally. My first book, The Flying Child – A Cautionary Fairy Tale for Adults, was published by ZunTold in 2024. It documents my journey through therapy and was co-authored with my therapist, Patricia Walsh. 

Today, my work as a writer, researcher, educator and speaker means more to me than I can even put words to. This is because my own education was cut short by a university professor who threw me out of my degree rather than asking why I was struggling and falling behind. I started far later in life than I would have preferred, but I am proud of my professional achievements. For so long, I believed I was incapable of work.

 I have a few words of advice to other CSA survivors on their healing journey. Firstly, we are all different and what helps one survivor might not help the next, so don’t give up if whatever you’re trying isn’t helping. It says less about you and more about a systemic rigidity in terms of what support is offered to survivors. In my case, a medicalised approach based on medication and diagnosis did not help, but I was unaware that other options existed because no professional ever told me. There may be another option, although it can take time to find it. 

Secondly, there is no such thing as a ‘perfect survivor’. Try not to compare yourself to others. Life can be very challenging, and sometimes simply putting one foot in front of the other is enough. Survivors sometimes contact me and say, “I can’t do what you do.” I really do understand this mindset and the erosion of hope that can happen over time, but I would say, ‘Never say never.’. You might come across people who make you believe you are too

‘damaged’, ‘complex’ or ‘fragile’ to ever live a ‘normal’ life. Don’t buy into it because it’s simply not true.

There are doors open to me today as a survivor of child sexual abuse that I never knew were there. Good support and the relationships I built within the survivor community led me to places I once believed were firmly out of reach. I continue to reclaim a sense of identity and agency by working and contributing to society—something I had believed, and had been told, was impossible.

I’m not a fan of self-care - as I still find it hard to recognise my own needs in this respect, but things that are important to me are: Writing. Working. Advocacy. Activism. I do not see myself as ‘recovered’, because I will always be a survivor. My experiences still affect me in many ways, but I now have a strong sense of purpose that was missing before. I loved (and still do) being a mum of four, but I also needed something for me. 

You can find out more about The Flying Child CIC—a non-profit organisation leading conversations about survivor-led training, campaigning and support—at www.theflyingchild.com and on social media at @TheFlyingChild.

#SocietysShameNotMine #SideBySideCSA #TheFlyingChild