What happened next.

So after telling someone and being taken away, I stayed with my grandma for a little bit. And in no imagination was I a perfect child. I stole the things I wanted, clothes, food, cigarettes. I ran away, I took overdoses to make me sick. I probably wasn’t very nice. So I understand when they say they couldn’t cope. I lived with my nan and granddad for a little bit but they couldn’t deal with me either. I suppose I wasn’t an easy child, I was upset, angry, had been majorly abused but no one was acknowledging it like a bad thing.

Anyways, I went to a Foster family. Foster family’s are meant to be filled with love. And some times it was were. Recently I’ve done a course courtesy of Elizabeth Shaw (please look her and the course up, it changed my life), regarding narcissists and they absolutely were narcissists.

Things started well but in reflection seeing a Foster dad belittling his sons and the other Foster child there was bad.

Nothing was ever good enough. I was a child that needed love, caring, understanding and what I got were strict, highly religious, racist, homophobic abusers.

As I started to act up or steal (it was a horrid habit that luckily fizzled out) they would belittle me, they would tell me I was a waste of space, no one would love me. Bare in mind I’ve come from an abusive background.

I was so angry all the time, I got in arguments because things were unfair. Yes unfair. Not just a teenager thinking there parents are being silly. But people that make a 13 year old drink wine and tell them their a hethan if they don’t, or saying no one will love you because your room is a mess isn’t fair.

I remember they didn’t let me go on a huge Disney land trip at school because I didn’t get my Grandad a birthday card. I mean that’s a bit of an over reaction.

Daily the dad would belittle and be mean to his wife. Calling her stupid woman or just shouting at her. No wonder she was depressed. He would do the same to his sons. Now, they say see you were treated like us, like family ;well that still doesn’t excuse the behaviour.

Nothing was ever good enough, tidy your room; one thing out of place get shouted out, didn’t bring that 5p back from a fare; get shouted at. Don’t want to eat your dinner because you’re full or food you didn’t like; forced to eat it.

I suppose I was rebellious because I didn’t think things were okay, I knew it wasn’t okay. I wanted to tell social services but my Foster mother would say noone else would love you, you wouldn’t find another nice family. I thought they were nice enough but they made out like I was going to be taken to a children’s home. So I stayed I was scared, miserable, I wanted to die.

As I got older it didn’t get better I just got more wise and pissed off. I deliberately failed my GCSEs because they said I would never amount to anything and I would get pregnant and just stack shelves for the rest of my life. So unfortunately instead of proving them wrong I went the other way and gave up.

Speaking of giving up: I wanted to die, I needed help and all I was getting was mistreated. I took overdoses making me sick, I cut myself, cut my wrists deep. I wrote poems about suicide and when they found them all I got was how selfish, you’re going to hell. I have to say I wasn’t an easy child /teenager, I stole money, food, stuff out of my Foster brothers room which I so wish to this day I didn’t.

I went to a therapist because they said there was something wrong with me and I told them about what was happening and of course the report went to the Foster parents and so I never got that help again. Just shouted at for blaming someone else.

But I did blame myself everyday. Blame myself for not telling someone sooner about all my abuse, or not killing myself sooner.

My father killed himself in a car crash when I was 19 and for years I was sad I didn’t get to see him more. I even named my son after his middle name. Unfortunately I’ve found out some horrific things about him which I can’t share unfortunately due to someone else’s safety. But yeah both parents and fosters parents just not nice.

I have to sign off now and hug my children. They will never go through any of this. Until next time!!!!

Family and abuse.

Welcome back lovely people!

Today I’m going to be telling you my story. The things I remember so they may seem all over the place, I will try and be as linear as possible.

This is about child abuse so please mind your own mental health when reading this.

I won’t get any justice for what happened to me but I will write it all down so you can see and maybe it’ll inspire you.

From a young age I was subject to abuse. But I’m still here, I’m still fighting to not give up.

I’m 31, I have 2 lovely children, I’m a lesbian, I have binge eating disorder which is where you eat so much in a short period of time, it makes you feel so awful, makes you feel disgusting and due to it I am over weight. I used to have depression, I thought I had bipolar but that was just the circumstances I was living in and being made to believe I was crazy.

Anyway, I love my family and friends that had stuck by me. Supporting me, loving me, realising I’ve messed up in the past but I’m not a bad person.

I’ve been told when I was born until around 2 I was pretty well looked after and loved.

My grandma has a big house. Sitting room, kitchen, a back room because it was the back of the house. My mother and father lived there for a little while, as have my aunties, uncles, cousins. Even me.
Up stairs was bathroom, 5 bedrooms I believe. The house is massive! Grandma had 9 children.

Now one of my Auntie’s is definitely a huge part in my story because I have a bond with her I never thought was possible. She’s my mum (well to me anyway.) She’s the mother I wish I’d had, the caring, loving, stern but nice, hardworking and with an amazing family herself.
She is strong but that’s not all she is. She is selfless, cheeky, beautiful,she puts others needs way before her own.
I’ve been told she would hear my mother and my father arguing while I was screaming as a baby on the bed and she would go and say “oh grow up” whisk me away and feed me milk. Not bad for a 12 year old.
Apparently I started following her around the house and even started to call her mummy. Poor kid not the thing you really wanted when you are a teenager.


My mother was 16 when she had me and my father 19.
Somethings in this story may seem out order or not detailed enough that’s because the abuse started when I was young. But I ensure you it is real. I wish it wasn’t but it is.
I want to write it because for too long people have gotten away with having a happy life, when mine has in parts been crashing down.
I will always have the physical and emotional scars of what happened long after the abuse stopped.

First memory was being locked in a cold dark room, I think I was about 3 because the room and the door was massive. I was crying, screaming, scared where is everyone? I had just a soiled nappy on, poo was everywhere.

In one of the houses, I was very young I would hear my mother and him fighting, and my mother shouting ow ow ow.
She would then whisk me off into the night, we would be walking in the dark, I was terrified, my mother said we have to hide from him but he would come find us in his car or we would go see Nanny and Grandad.

The next things I remember was when I was around 5 and this happened a few times.
My room was full of stuff/toys/clothes etc.
My mother’s boyfriend would say I was naughty and empty all of my things into a pile in the middle of the room and say tidy it up! And because I took too long to tidy up. He would kick my bottom so hard. Now he was a big, black fat man.
And it would send me flying.
Or he would pick me up by my hair and smack my bottom so hard.


He used to time me eating too and take it away if I didn’t eat it quick enough. I remember I was too scared to even ask for food or a drink so sneaked off to the bathroom to drink out of the tap.

One time I asked for food because I was hungry he made a jam sandwich and smashed it into my face really hurting my nose shouting: “you want a sandwich!”

I think I had something wrong with me because as a child I was always hungry I even started stealing from the school tuck shop or the local petrol station.
When my mother found out and the school had told her. She took me home nearly crushing my wrist saying “why do you do this to me?”

I started stealing from my friends lunch boxes because they were kept in a room at school and I would sneak in at break time. I must not have been fed right. My friends started to get angry and their mums would tape up their lunch boxes. Something I truly regret doing.

The abuse wasn’t so bad then. It did get worse. I remember my mother being my saviour because she wouldn’t hit me. And I remember constantly telling her I loved her.
And I hated her leaving for work. She worked a lot.

When my brother was born it was the only day I’d seen her boyfriend so happy and I thought maybe this would be a good change.
But it didnt.
I would be the one to always change my brothers nappies. Sometimes I would watch him I think I was 8. And if he fell due to being a baby I would get shouted at saying I hurt him on purpose.

I spend a lot of time by myself. Making my own crosswords and completing them. I used to talk to myself. Dream about going to a boarding school.
When I started secondary school they used to say they would send me to a boarding school and I wanted it so much.
I remember moving houses a lot.
In this new house the abuse would get worse and my mother would join in.

By this time I had been stealing a lot from shops to fed myself. When I was sent to school I would have sandwiches but normally really mouldy so I had a friend that would share her lunch with me, and her mother started making two sets of sandwiches so we both ate. I had no idea about that until recently; I’m so touched.

I feel like this is the time the abuse got worse mainly because of trauma I’ve blocked alot out.
So maybe there was more but I just can’t remember.

I remember in primary school my head teacher asking me why I had bruises on my face. I was so used to being hit on the face that it didn’t occur to me to tell her that was what caused them. I’m sad I didn’t.

As I got older the abuse got worse.

  1. I was told i was a nasty child.
    I wasn’t t allowed to sit and watch TV with them and if I was caught I would get in trouble.
  2. Mothers boyfriends mum would beg her son not to take me out of the sitting room because he knew what he was doing to me. She was very vulnerable.
  3. I remember because I was stealing food a lot they couldn’t trust me. So I started to get locked in my bedroom, I had a pot to wee in and rarely got food /water.
    Her boyfriend would also strip search me when I got home.
  4. I remember they put a baby monitor in my room so I could call it if I needed something but I was to scared too. Even when I had diarea or was sick.
  5. Writing lines was a massive punishment. They would get me to write over and over how naughty I was, how worthless I was, what a bad child I was and no one could love me.
  6. My mother told me so many times how much she hated me and she wished I wasn’t here. She would pack my clothes and take me to the police station or social services and say how she can’t cope anymore.
  7. Her boyfriend would come into the bathroom when I was having a bath and scrub me raw, they would smack my bottom for no reason. They always seemed so angry at me.
  8. They would find excuses to interrogate me about my stealing or lying and it would always end with my mother or her boyfriend beating me. They loved the belt and my mother would go to town on me over the silliest things. I remember I took a bite out of some defrosting hot dogs and she went mental, beating me, crazed eyes and yelling.
    I would be left sobbing, shaking and terrified on the bed.
  9. I remember one half term being in my room the whole week and feeling like I was going to die, I wasn’t fed and all I had was a little water.
  10. They had lost £50 and up ended my room. He picked me up by my hair and beat me. I didn’t know where this money was.
    They took me to a police station getting an officer to scare me. Bare in mind I was 12. How on earth did the police not notice anything? That was when I told someone about my abuse.
  11. It was normal daily occurance to be beaten. Normally around my head.
  12. One time I was smacked across the room. I was dizzy and felt like I was blacking out. My mother said well at least you’re not in hospital.
  13. He used to hit me so hard I would fall over and my head would crack on the side of the stairs.
  14. They would set the dog on me. I have scars on my hands where he would bite me.
  15. He would beat the dog so hard, and slam the dogs head between a door if he dared growled at him. I would scream at him to stop I didn’t care if I got beaten. I couldn’t bare to hear that dog whine.
  16. He would sit me on his lap whenever he wanted to ask me questions. Then slowly get more angry if I didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. I would get beaten by frying pans, metal poles anything.
  17. He would show me food he was cooking and say you can’t have any then laugh.
  18. I would be their skivy. So I would clean the whole kitchen wearing rags really. If I didn’t do it right or quick enough he would kick and hit me.
  19. I remember one Christmas being locked in my room because I had stolen some chocolate, I could hear them all laughing, fireworks outside. I prayed someone would come save me. I used to pray a lot. I used to pray someone to take me away or for me to die. Because I couldn’t deal with the pain anymore. I was petrified. Hearing their foot steps on the stairs, the jiggle of the door handle. Those things still scare me today.
  20. My mother used to clean my mouth out with soap for no reason saying I was a disgusting child and she hated me.

What gets me is no one helped. I had bruises, even my grandparents knew, other school parents, adults knew. I’ve worked with children, I’m working with adults now and I don’t care what kind of trouble I would get in! If I knew/ suspected someone was being abused I would stop at nothing to get them help.


My Aunty was my savour where everyone would be mean and say I was weird, or get mad because I stole, or blame me for anything ; she helped me. I never took anything from her and when I told her about my life she phoned the police right away! She said you are not going back there.


I had told her because I was 12 and I feared that when I went back after the summer holidays I was going to be killed. I was sick of my family blaming me for stuff all the time. How dare they, why didn’t they help me?
Even when social services got involved and took me away it still felt like it was my fault. Both sides of my family couldn’t cope with me and basically shipped me off.
My grandparents all made a huge deal about how I was to much to handle. I was a child that had been severely damaged! And by their own daughter! They’ve never cared about it. They would even tell her when I’d stolen money or food and I would get severely beaten for this.

I’ve been told by my nan, grandad, uncles, aunty’s, even my half brother to move on. Here’s an example.

My nan died due to cancer. I feel bad because I dont really care. I used to. I used to feel sorry for the people it affected, I didn’t want to be bitter. But what had they done for me? Yes it sounds like self pity and maybe it is but as I grew up I realised what actions people that love you take. My nan would say I was too sensitive. People never helped me.

So at my nan’s funeral, mother would go around saying how happy she is she found her daughter again. I was 29, heavily pregnant.
My half brother couldn’t understand why I won’t make up with mother. I even told him some stuff she did or let happen, his response was: she’s so sorry for what she did as if it was a little row.

I’ve endured abuse from the people he loves!

I’ve been subject to so much abuse even by my Foster parents. But I’ll go into that another week. They would tell me what a waste of space I was and no one would love me.
Yes I was a difficult child but why would “caring” people say these things.
My Foster father would get me to sit on his lap while he was half naked and get me to hug and kiss him, so creepy.
He was always angry. Calling his wife names, stupid woman etc.
Women were just a tool for him. To do as he bidded. He was also an alcoholic. He enjoyed shouting at people, making people miserable. I died because of him. I killed myself and died for a few seconds because of that life. Of constant unfairness. I would tidy by room but there was a huge punishment if 1 thing was out of place. He would belittle his own sons. They wonder why we have severe depression.


I was subject to that for 9 years and if I told social services the Foster parents would say well if you go anywhere else you won’t be loved, you won’t find anyone to take care of you. I was used to abuse so I dealt with it. They isolated me not letting me see friends, family. They would do all this abuse yet wonder why I wasn’t grateful.


Even when I left I told them what I thought of them and they twisted on me saying how bad I was. I was 19 I think. Angry, bitter. All I wanted was people to understand my hurt and no one did.
My family blamed me for causing arguments when I stood up for myself. I wanted people to realise what pain they had caused.

This is what this is so about.
It needs to get out there so people know.
For instance my mother had been to prison due to fraud yet not child abuse.

I am now finally taking control of my life but struggling. I’m 31 I have 2 children and I’ve gotten out of an emotionally abuse relationship.

I have taken overdoses, I have cut myself, I was nearly sectioned!

I’ve been in so much pain yet these people will not take responsibility for their actions and even though the police may help I’m sceptical.

But it will always be in my mind. It will always be a part of me.

I am angry, I’ve been betrayed by the ones who are meant to love you the most.

This is to help inspire you and see what you must do for yourself. I’m moving on, with a new job, new friends, only people in my life that love and support me.

I don’t know how I’m still alive. I don’t know how I’m still a nice person. But I’m looking forward to enjoying my next chapter of my life.

Thank you for reading. I hope your life is filled with endless love and joy.

Until next time!


I have started to make some essential oil natural products. I love essential oils, they calm me and help keep my mind busy. I’m opening up shop soon!!

Welcome to my journey

Hello and welcome!

This is a blog to help inspire people not to give up.

But first I have to say it may be triggering. It is a blog about abuse after all. And as we go on this journey I’m sure they’ll be tears, smiles and reflection. But I just want to be open and honest about my life. Some bits will be nice. Some bad but it’s all out there, nothing hidden.

Let me introduce myself. I am Kayleigh, I’m a 31 year old with 2 children. Patrick Moore (3) and Zara Moore (2). My son is diagnosed with Autism so I’m looking forward to sharing our experiences along the way. You can watch us grow. Zara is a bossy girl who right now is demanding I blow up all 50 balloons I got for her 2nd birthday. I’ve managed 5 so far!

I am currently in a refuge after escaping domestic abuse so unfortunately I can’t do videos/pictures which it gives away where I am.

Now, this post is just introducing ourselves , going over what I’ll be talking about and hopefully you’ll be interested.

Firstly I will be writing about my life past and present. I will be starting from the past and as we catch up you can see my daily /weekly life.

I’ve struggled with depression, anxiety and ptsd all my life. It’s distressing, horrid and I wanted to die a lot. But I’m overcoming this. As my story goes on I hope to inspire you not to give up, not to give in to that dark voice in your head.

My story is a long one, it’s distressing and even hard at times for me to relive it. I will post in segments and hopefully eventually get to a place of self enlightenment /discovery.

Before my children decide to make their own breakfast by plastering the walls with jam I will sign off.

Please feel free to comment and speak out if you’re suffering from abuse, from depression, anxiety, ptsd. I’d love to hear your amazing stories.