Between the age of seven and nine, I was groomed and sexually abused by a family friend.
I didn’t comprehend what had happened to me until basic sex education in my final year of primary school started to expose the truth.
I was 11 when, in a tiny classroom, my male headteacher explained the human life cycle, topping off the final lesson with a graphic video of childbirth.
For the first time since the abuse ended, I felt a glimmer of understanding – but it didn’t feel right.
My experiences didn’t match the sexual contact my teacher described – he said it only happened between consenting adults.
That wasn’t what happened to me.
While the pieces didn’t align immediately, these lessons cracked open the door – letting a chink of light fall over the darkness and confusion that poisoned my childhood.
It’s why I think that the government’s plans to further tighten restrictions on sex ed is abhorrent.
See, if I’d been taught about what was happening to me from a young age, without shame or judgement, maybe things could have been different.
Thanks to (very basic) sex ed, I started asking questions and reading more books about puberty, the life cycle, and what sex was.
Looking back now, I understand that these were attempts to contextualise my experience of childhood sexual abuse into something my pre-teen brain could compute.
The final cogs clicked in two stages. The first came when my peers started to talk about sex, and their naivety and innocence shone through. I realised that we should be on the same level of cluelessness, yet we were miles apart in experience and knowledge.
Secondly, in our final sex education lesson, my teacher stated that sexual contact is for babymaking only, which became my final red flag.
As realisation set in, shame bubbled up in waves of disgust. I blamed myself for the abuse. I cursed myself, asking: ‘Why didn’t I speak up when it was happening?’
Although I now know it’s because I didn’t have the right knowledge or language to do so, I tortured myself with unfounded guilt for years.
At 13, I told my family. It felt almost as traumatising as the abuse itself.
While everyone, especially my beloved mum, was supportive, I could see the pain in their eyes. It hurt to realise that those eyes, coloured by pity and shared trauma, may never look at me the same way again.
My mum reported the abuse to the social services, who visited both myself and my abuser. Despite my abuser admitting most of the abuse to the police, I didn’t press charges.
The social worker said it would likely be my word against his, and how could I win a court case when I barely had the words to describe what happened to me?
I couldn’t relive that trauma again.
It’s why, when the government announced new guidelines suggesting tighter restrictions on sex education for children, my heart sank.
These guidelines state that teachers shouldn’t teach puberty before Year 4 – aged eight to nine. It also suggests delaying sex education until at least Year 5, aged nine to 10, and that it’s best to wait until children are in Year 7, aged 11 to 12, before teaching them about sexual harassment and abuse.
The guidance also recommends not teaching about harmful sexual behaviours, including sexual harassment, grooming, unsolicited sexual language, attention or touching, before Year 7.
Considering research indicates that high-quality sex education encourages children to report abuse and lowers the likelihood of being in a violent or abusive relationship, I cannot comprehend the logic behind these traditionalist-fuelled guidelines. Nor trust that they’ll have any positive effect.
These measures aim to protect children from undue influences. And they’re right. Kids should never watch pornography or experience grooming and sexual abuse. Of course not, but they are – and will!
In the UK, 10% of nine-year-olds have seen porn, rising to nearly 30% by age 11. Before the age of 16, it’s estimated that one in six girls and one in 20 boys will experience sexual abuse.
These guidelines operate in a fantasy world where kids are never abused, groomed, or exposed to sex far too young, and there is no need to invest in preventative measures.
I’d love to live in that world, too, but we don’t. To pretend otherwise is naive and extremely dangerous. Enforcing these guidelines will not save children from anything – it will only make them more vulnerable to abusers.
Instead of receiving comprehensive sex education in a safe environment in an age-appropriate way, children will keep learning about sex from sources that hypersexualise and denigrate people of all genders, like porn and social media.
We need to take back control to get ahead of the internet and protect children. Surely, children should learn from well-trained, objective teachers instead of wildly inappropriate online strangers or uptight, old-fashioned teachers.
I want to see children taught from reception age about ‘good touch, bad touch’ to educate them about bodily autonomy. The basics could start with accepting/refusing hugs and spotting signs of unsafe adults before expanding as they mature.
We also need more safe spaces for children to share things. Creating pockets of community where kids feel safe and seen will make it easier for them to disclose abuse.
Receiving such an education at a young age could have saved me from years of abuse, and my heart aches for the kids who could be left vulnerable to grooming and abuse by this atrocious guidance.
I would have spoken up sooner if someone had taught me about ‘good touch, bad touch’.
I would’ve sought help if someone taught me the warning signs of an unsafe adult.
If I had received more robust sex education earlier, I could have recognised the abuse earlier and reported it.
My lack of knowledge made me an easier target for my abuser. This guidance will allow that same target to be painted on the backs of children across the country, exposing them to preventable abuse.
Parents, schools, and the government need to collaborate to counteract this country’s epidemic of childhood sex abuse. Sex education is a foundational part of this work because we know it’s effective in reducing the commonality of abuse.
I’m begging schools to ignore these guidelines and for the government to re-educate itself because only empowering children with knowledge will protect them and enable them to speak up about abuse.
Keeping them in the dark, like these guidelines aim to do, is not the way forward.
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