'I turned to alcohol to numb the effects': The forgotten victims of the domestic violence crisis.

Content warning: This story discusses domestic violence.

Conor Pall can't remember a time during his childhood when his life wasn't plagued by family violence. 

The perpetrator, Conor calls The Shadow. The Shadow’s victim—officially—was Conor's mother. 

"My earliest memory was when emergency services were called to my home, when I was about eight years old," shares Conor. 

When his parents separated, the courts referred to Conor as "the victim’s child", and he was forced to spend time at both homes, despite his pleas to remain with his mother. 

"I was never seen as a victim in my own right," says Conor. But he was a victim. Is a victim. 

"Having access to kids is not an inherent right any parent should have, but a privilege that should be earned through respect, safety and unconditional love. Today, children are treated as objects that require shared ownership — we're viewed as commodities that too often become weaponised."

Watch: How to recognise coercive control? Article continues after the video.

And they rarely escape unscathed, their pain deemed little more than collateral damage, if it's recognised at all. When Conor went to The Shadow’s house, he would call his mother, begging to return to her. Sometimes he blamed her for not coming to get him. 

"But now I understand that she didn't have a choice."

As the years passed, Conor felt increasingly isolated and alone.

"I wasn’t voiceless, I actually had a voice — but no one was leaning in and listening to it. Workers, teachers, police and the court… no one. I was in fear. I was scared about what The Shadow was going to do to me, my brother, but most of all, to my mum."

At 15, Conor began to self-harm, and within a year, he started drinking excessively.

"Life became so loud and messy that I turned to alcohol to numb the effects. There was no youth-specific family violence service for me to access. So instead, at 16, I was prescribed anti-depressants to numb the pain and trauma. I thought I was the problem and that I needed to be 'fixed'.

Soon after, Conor was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety, which impacted his friendships and relationships. 

The court's refusal to listen to Conor's wishes, also put him in physical danger. 

"I began to be the primary target, as there was no one there to protect me," Conor says. 

"When I reached out for help to a family violence service, I was asked if I was a perpetrator. When I responded 'no', I was told that I couldn't access the service without parental consent. After this, I didn’t reach out for help for another 18 months. 

"All I needed was one person to tell me there was nothing wrong with me—and to support me through recovery."

Growing up with coercive control. 

Alena Turley. Image: Supplied.

Alena Turley didn't witness any physical violence growing up, but ever since her step-father entered their lives, there was always a sense of "treading on eggshells". 

"It was death by a thousand paper cuts rather than one or more big events," Alena says. 

"Children don't really remember things in terms of categories such as domestic abuse but rather they might remember feelings and experiences punctuated perhaps by a few distinct postcard flashes."

Emotional control, financial control, gender inequalities; as a child, Alena didn’t have a name for the coercive control her mother was experiencing. 

"The abuse was covert, and even hidden in innuendo and subtle digs, so I didn’t honestly label it until very recently as 'coercive control' but now that I have studied family violence, and with the passage of time, I see it was a textbook case.

"The situation grew further and further away from healthy as the years went by. I felt more and more like I was left to my own devices whilst my mother was doing her best to make a difficult situation work."

By her late teens, it became clear to Alena that growing up in a coercively controlling environment had shaped who she was as a person. 

"I recall having almost a panic attack one day in the city at the shops," she says. 

"As a child I was either very quiet, or adopting a persona that was loud and performative. I was a quiet observer for the most part, and often felt like an outsider."

At school, Alena was constantly trying to prove her worth, through overachievement, but deep down she lacked confidence and was afraid to step outside her comfort zone.  

"My teenage friendships were very up and down, probably because I needed so much reassurance to offset feeling so insecure."

As she got older, Alena began to attract relationships that mirrored the kinds of experiences she had as a child. 

"I was drawn to intimate relationships with power imbalances — without any awareness that I was running a pattern from early life. 

"At times I was pretty self destructive and took unnecessary risks which led to a high degree of precariousness for many years.

"After the birth of my first child, my relationship ended after just a few months, bizarrely mirroring my mother's story with me. I found myself alone with a young baby, financially struggling, and emotionally bereft. By the time he was two, after a brief period of homelessness, I became determined to make good."

The forgotten victims. 

Dialogue around domestic and family violence almost always takes place through the lens of the adults involved. The impact on children rarely forms part of the discussion — until it’s too late. 

But while filicide is the tragic worst-case scenario of DFV, children who bear witness to the abuse, are also victims in their own right. Even those who are not directly abused by their parent's perpetrator, will be impacted observing it, more than most people realise.

For starters, growing up surrounded by DFV can have a lasting impact on emotions, behaviour and future relationships.

"Picture the impact on a child witnessing their mother being strangled by their father and the impossible position this places them in—overwhelmed by fear and yet not able to intervene or to be soothed or calmed by either parent," says Heidi Reid, Executive Director, Strategic Engagement at child welfare organisation, Berry Street. 

"Babies are often in the arms of their mothers when the violence occurs. Children may not have a physical injury, but they experience utter terror in that moment."

While adults can—sometimes—rationalise the violence they experience as not their fault, children often internalise it and blame themselves. 

"Each child is impacted differently, but we do know that children are often invisible in their experience of the violence and are left alone to navigate its impacts," Heidi says.

According to Berry Street, infants and young children exposed to violence may experience delayed development, impaired cognition and emotional regulation. 

"Babies and toddlers, completely reliant on their primary caregiver are even more vulnerable to the impacts of trauma," says Heidi. 

"Toxic stress during infancy can disrupt the intricate processes of brain development, damaging the formation of neural pathways crucial for learning, emotional resilience and later, the development of healthy relationships."

A traumatised child is more likely to respond with a flight or fight response because they're constantly alert for danger, even when in a ‘safe’ environment. They may struggle to relax and engage with others, perpetually on edge and unable to fully embrace childhood play, which is critical for learning and development.

In other parts of their life, the signs of that trauma may be misinterpreted. Fear and anger are often expressed through behaviour that generates punitive responses from teachers or other children, and the impact of this violence continues to isolate children who have experienced or witnessed abuse in their homes. 

"Children are present in around 1 in 3 family violence incidents where police are called, and one in three of those children are under the age of five months," Heidi says. 

"The most likely times for a woman to first experience physical violence from an intimate partner is during pregnancy or post-birth, further heightening the risk of the impact of the violence on delicate brain development.

"It’s hard not to wonder, are we doing anywhere near enough to help these children recover? The answer is 'no'."

Recognising children as victims in their own right. 

Conor Pall. Image: Supplied. 

"Children must be supported as victim survivors in their own right and vital support systems to help them deal with the trauma of navigating a relationship with an abusive parent must come into focus," Heidi says. 

Programs like Berry Street’s Restoring Childhood can help children to heal and recover, but the organisation has a large waiting list, and is forced to prioritise the most urgent cases.

Conor, who now advocates for greater recognition of and support for children who grew up with domestic violence, says too often children are seen as extensions of their protective parent, without individual needs or risks.

"This needs to change. The ability for children and young people to access age-appropriate support as victims in their own right is something that should not rely on parental consent. We can’t bear the burden of breaking the cycles of violence in our families without support to heal and recover.

"As a young boy, I never saw myself represented when people were talking about family violence and who it can impact. I do this work so no other young person has to suffer what I’ve been through—both at the hands of The Shadow, and the system."

Alena is also using her experience to help others through advocacy, and her facilitation of women’s healing groups and retreats. 

She believes the link between the health and safety of a mother and the health and safety of a family is often underplayed. 

"It’s also every human’s right to feel seen, heard and safe. We have this illusion domestic violence, young people’s mental health, children’s mental health, are all very separate issues, but sometimes we overlook that humans are naturally inter-dependent and interconnected."

Children are the unseen victim-survivors in this crisis of family and domestic violence. Rather than stigmatising and marginalising them, Heidi says society must prioritise trauma-informed care.

"We can turn these scars into strength by drastically increasing support to undo the harm inflicted on our nation's most vulnerable and break this cycle of suffering. Our job is to listen to their experiences, rather than leave their story and distress unspoken," she says. 

"Let’s rewrite the future for children impacted by Australia’s domestic and family violence epidemic and ask - how did we get here? If not now, then when?"

If this has raised any issues for you, or if you just feel like you need to speak to someone, please call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) — the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service.

Mamamia is a charity partner of RizeUp Australia, a Queensland-based organisation that helps women and families move on after the devastation of domestic violence. If you would like to support their mission to deliver life-changing and practical support to these families when they need it most, you can donate here.

Feature image: Supplied. 

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