Why Survivors Don’t Need to Be Inspirational
- Lizbeth Meredith
- 1 day ago
- 5 min read
There was a time, many years ago, when all I wanted was a quiet and safe life for myself and my daughters.
I left an abusive marriage. Four turbulent years later, their father abducted them, taking them out of the country and out of my reach for more than two years. When they finally came home, we were no longer the same people. In the aftermath, I began writing our story in the margins of my life, after work, before school events, and between counselling sessions, trying to make sense of what had happened to us.
After the release of my memoir about leaving domestic abuse and the movie adaptation of the abduction of my daughters, something unexpected happened. People began looking at me differently. People who might have overlooked me at social events when I lived a quieter life would now make a point of coming to talk to me. After a book group or speaking event, someone would linger, often wide-eyed, offering praise or pulling out their phone to look me up before they left.
“You’re so brave,” they might say. Yet, I never quite recognised the person they were seeing.
When Admiration Becomes Expectation
The shift was subtle, but it stayed with me. Some of the admiration felt less like connection and more like expectation. It came with a quiet pressure to live up to a version of myself that felt incomplete. I would find myself wondering what would happen if people saw the full picture. Not just the survival story, but the rest of it. The impatience. The years of financial mistakes. The overwhelming moments. The very human parts that do not make it into books and movies.
The truth is, I have been many things: resourceful, determined, exhausted, and even reactive. At times, more often than I’d like to admit, I have not been my best self. That is the part people do not celebrate.
What Survival Actually Looked Like
Behind the scenes, my story was far less polished. As a young woman determined to build a different life than the one I came from, I rushed into a marriage with the first man who showed real interest. We had two daughters, and over time, the relationship became unsafe. When I left, I believed I was doing everything right. My girls and I went to a shelter. I obtained a protective order and eventually a divorce. I relied on public assistance while finishing college, convinced I was building a better future for my children.
What I did not understand was what could happen when someone leaves a controlling relationship. My children’s father retaliated in a way I could not have imagined. He took them out of the country. It took two years of searching, pleading, and relying on the help of others before I brought them home from Greece.
By then, everything had changed. My daughters no longer spoke English fluently. They struggled to feel safe. Trust was fragile. Even my role as their mother felt uncertain to them. Not long after they returned, my mental health collapsed. The years that followed were marked by sleeplessness, anxiety, and a deep sense of instability. Poverty and unresolved trauma shaped much of that period. I scorched relationships. I struggled to regulate my emotions. There were long stretches where I did not like my life very much. That is not the version of survival that gets applause. It is, however, a very real one.
The Problem with Putting Survivors on Pedestals
Later, in my professional work with survivors of intimate partner violence, I began to notice something familiar. When people positioned survivors as strong or inspiring, it was often well-intentioned. Encouragement can be powerful. But it can also create pressure.
“I knew you were strong enough to leave,” someone might say. It sounds supportive. But what happens if that person goes back? What happens if their path is not linear or clear? Research shows that many survivors leave and return multiple times, with an average of seven attempts before leaving for good. Financial constraints, emotional attachment, shared children, and escalating safety concerns are just a few of the reasons commonly given.
When a survivor returns to their abuser, the response from others can shift. There can be a quiet, unspoken sense of disappointment, as though they have failed to live up to the version of themselves others believed in. Instead of reaching out for support, many withdraw. They may avoid services, not because they no longer need help, but because they do not want to face judgement. Some may also withdraw from friends or family, worried they have disappointed those who believed they would leave for good.
There is another risk we do not talk about as often. The same people who place survivors on pedestals can, sometimes quietly, withdraw that admiration when the survivor does not meet expectations. What once felt like support can begin to feel conditional. For the survivor, that shift can feel unsafe. Even subtle expectations can shape behaviour in ways we do not intend.
What Survivors Actually Need
The reality is that survivors do not need to be idealised. By definition, they are continuing to live after a dangerous or life-altering event. What they need is far less symbolic and far more practical. They need to be heard and believed. They need support that is steady rather than conditional. They need access to safe housing, counselling, legal advocacy, and financial stability. They need space to make decisions at their own pace, even when those decisions are difficult for others to understand. Above all, they need to be treated as capable people whose lives are not defined solely by what has happened to them. Experiencing something traumatic does not mean they need to be rescued from every future challenge.
As a probation supervisor and trauma-informed care trainer, I learned how trauma affects development. It can shape how people think, react, and relate to others. Trauma can stunt emotional growth. It does not resolve on its own with time. Healing requires effort, support, and often repeated attempts. It includes setbacks, anger, confusion, and contradiction. None of that fits neatly into the idea of a survivor.
Letting Survivors Be Human
When we turn survivors into symbols of strength or resilience, we risk flattening their experience. We make their stories easier to admire, but harder to understand. We also create an unspoken expectation that they will continue to behave in ways that inspire others. That is not a fair burden to carry. Survivors are not meant to represent an ideal. They are meant to rebuild their lives in whatever way is possible for them. Sometimes that looks strong. Sometimes it looks messy. Most often, it is both.
Just as victims are not children of a lesser God, survivors are not patron saints. I am not a hero. I am a person who made some good decisions, some poor ones, and kept going anyway. Just like every other survivor. That, it turns out, is enough.
This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.