I’m collecting a collection

(trigger warning relating to SA)

Just over a year ago, I sat in a courtroom and watched the man who assaulted me be sentenced to six years in prison. It was a moment filled with complicated emotions. I sat side by side with other women, our only similarities is that we visited the same physiotherapist. It was a strange mix of feelings, but predominately fury. Not anger, but this visceral hate that is so impotent and fades into nothing. He will only serve three years of that sentence. In two years’ time, he will step into the sunshine. I don’t expect my healing to work to the same timetable.

Recovery is not linear, and it isn’t always visible. There are days when I feel I’ve moved forward, and others when everything crashes back in. Sometimes, my heart races with pain and my mind is full with moments and snapshots of anger and hurt. In the months since that day in court, I’ve been focussing my energy into something purposeful. I’ve written to my MP. I’ve raised concerns about the gaps in our system, such as how physiotherapists who are struck off by the Health and Care Professions Council (HCPC) for sexually assaulting clients can still go on to work in the NHS in other roles. I don’t think that should be allowed, and to me that seems so outrageously obvious that it should even have to be said

I believe it’s entirely possible, in fact, likely, that he assaulted many more women who, for any number of reasons, haven’t come forward. Some may not have felt able to go to the police. Some may have tried and been ignored. So I’ve been calling for an investigation. Not just for justice but for recognition for all those other potential women that doubt themselves daily.

In the midst of all this, I’m trying to heal. And part of that healing has become something simple, quiet, and meaningful: I’m collecting a collection.

That phrase, “collecting a collection” is something Lola from Charlie and Lola said and I remember it from years ago . I’m her childish and gentle tone, it’s a reminder that not everything in life has to be serious or explained. For me, the collection is of feathers.

Nature has become a kind of sanctuary. There’s something grounding about it, the way it carries on, indifferent to chaos unless it's the cause. Trees still grow, birds still fly. The sunlight still shifts across petals, the leaves and wings. It reminds me that beauty can still exist, even when the world feels so very heavy. Feathers are light, fragile and so beautiful. Their colours may dance in the light but other times they may unnoticed until you really look for them.

When I find a feather, I pick it up. Not because it fixes anything but it reminds me that something delicate can still exist in the same world as violence. That something that is so soft, looks like it can be broken or can be carried by the wind, can help a bird soar through the air

So I’m collecting a collection. Not for display. Not for meaning, but for me. I put it in and out of boxes and bags and that repetitive act of organising, putting in order, finding out more about the feather and bird, takes me away from difficult thoughts for a moment.

I’m collecting a collection, to just stop and be.