unseen echoes
domestic abuse
Challenging Our Perception
The Unseen Echoes project challenges how we perceive domestic abuse. Too often, our understanding is shaped by what we can physically see—bruises, broken bones, and visible scars. But the reality is far more complex. Many survivors bear no external wounds, yet they live with the deep and lasting impact of psychological, emotional, financial, and coercive control.
The numbers tell a sobering story. In the UK alone, 1.7 million women and 699,000 men experienced domestic abuse in the past year. While public awareness has grown, much of the abuse remains hidden. 95% of survivors report experiencing coercive control—manipulation tactics designed to dominate and isolate them, from restricting access to money to controlling social interactions. Unlike physical violence, coercive control is often difficult to prove, making it harder for victims to seek justice.
Despite its prevalence, domestic abuse remains one of the most underreported crimes. Only 1 in 5 victims ever report their abuse to the police. Many fear repercussions, feel trapped financially, or worry they won’t be believed. For those experiencing psychological or economic abuse, the barriers to seeking help can be even greater, as these forms of abuse are less understood and harder to recognise.
Unseen Echoes forces us to look beyond the surface. Through powerful photography and personal testimonies, the project reveals the hidden realities of abuse and its long-term effects. It urges us to move past outdated stereotypes and recognise that abuse does not always leave visible wounds—but it leaves lasting emotional and psychological scars.
This project is not just about showcasing survivors’ experiences. It’s about shifting perspectives, challenging misconceptions, and encouraging society to truly listen. If we fail to acknowledge the invisible impact of abuse, we risk leaving survivors without the recognition, support, and justice they deserve.
Unseen Echoes is a collaborative photography and storytelling project designed to shed light on the unseen realities of domestic abuse. It brings together survivors, charities, and organisations to share untold stories and challenge the way abuse is perceived.
At its core, the project gives a voice to those who have been silenced. Each participant’s story is captured through both powerful imagery and deeply personal testimonies, allowing audiences to connect with the emotional reality of abuse. By presenting a diverse range of experiences, Unseen Echoes highlights the many forms abuse can take—whether it’s psychological manipulation, financial control, emotional degradation, or the long-term trauma that lingers even after an abusive relationship has ended.
The project’s exhibition format ensures that these stories reach as many people as possible. Whether displayed in galleries, community spaces, or online platforms, the images and narratives serve as a powerful reminder that domestic abuse is not always visible, but it is always impactful. By removing the barriers of statistics and legal definitions, Unseen Echoes brings the reality of abuse into sharp focus, making it impossible to ignore.
More than just a display of personal experiences, Unseen Echoes is a call to action. It encourages conversation, fosters empathy, and provides a platform for survivors to reclaim their stories. It also serves as an educational tool for organisations, policymakers, and the wider public, reinforcing the need for better awareness, support systems, and prevention strategies.
Ultimately, Unseen Echoes is about transformation—of perspectives, of policies, and of lives. It reminds us that the echoes of abuse do not fade when the violence stops. They linger in memories, in fears, in relationships, and in the way survivors navigate the world. By acknowledging these echoes, we take a step towards breaking the silence, challenging stigma, and building a future where no form of abuse goes unseen.
about the project
I had this book where I wrote down everything she did, like my own secret diary. But she found it, and she burned it all. All my words, all my proof, gone.
I felt so small, like I couldn’t do anything to stop her or prove what she did.
She would leave money on the table. It made me feel cheap that she would never give it to me. Said it was for the shopping. I had to make it stretch, get everything on her list, no excuses.
Sometimes, though, it wasn’t enough, and I’d have to beg or steal to get everything. Couldn’t go back without it all, it made her mad.
I tried to use it once to make a break for it, but she tracked me down. There was no escape.
I began receiving cards in the mail from my friends, filled with well wishes for a speedy recovery. I was so confused, I wondered why they thought I was sick. Turns out he had told all my friends that I was sick and couldn’t see them.
It was like he was isolating me from the people who cared about me, manipulating them into believing his lies.
He would put sleeping powder in my drink. I’d wake up confused, not knowing what happened or where I was. Sometimes, I’d also feel pain, you know, down there. Maybe it was a good thing in a way, because I wouldn’t remember what he did.
But it still left me feeling violated and scared.
He’d go days without speaking to me, always with the radio blaring. Whenever I tried to talk to him, he’d just crank up the volume, drowning out my voice.
He never said why, just completely ignored me like I didn’t even exist.
She had this diary, but it wasn’t for remembering fun stuff or happy times. Nope, it was all about the times I messed up. Every little mistake or thing I did wrong, she’d write it down like it was some kind of crime.
It felt like she never missed a chance to point out my mistakes, but when it came to the good stuff? Forget about it. It’s like it never even happened.
It made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right, always walking on eggshells around her.
He knew when I got paid on Fridays. The money would go straight into my bank account, but he’d make me go to the cashpoint to withdraw it.
I worked my butt off all week for that cash, but I never got to keep any of it. It felt like all my hard work was for nothing, like he was just using me so he could go to the pub.
I wasn’t allowed on the bed. Every night, I’d try to sneak onto it, hoping for a moment of comfort, but she’d always shove me off.
I made it as comfortable as I could, with a cushion and a blanket, but it still felt like I was being treated like an animal. Lying there, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being less than human, undeserving of even a basic place to sleep.
He was a control freak. He made schedules for everything, even when I could eat or sleep. I was too scared to do anything differently.
I didn’t have the freedom to choose for myself.
I loved that bench. It became my sanctuary, a place where I could find peace away from the chaos. I couldn’t stay for too long though, he would notice I was gone and come looking for me.
Those precious moments were all I needed. A sense of calm that I could hold onto.
He boiled a pan of water on the hob. He kept telling me that I had to stop upsetting him. He said it over and over again, but wouldn’t say what I was doing.
Then he called the dog over and held it near the water. He kept telling me to stop upsetting him.
I couldn’t. I didn’t even know what I had done wrong.
She’d snatch my phone every chance she got, always poking around in it, reading my messages, and checking who I’d called. It felt like I had no space to breathe, no privacy at all.
My phone wasn’t just a device anymore; it was a leash, and she held the other end tight. Freedom? Forget about it.
I would run and sit by the river. One day, I’ll be free, one way or another. Somewhere where nobody can hurt me.
Life is just too hard here. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I don’t want to be anywhere anymore.
I used to leave flowers in the window, like my own secret signal to the world. It felt comforting, like a silent message saying I was okay.
But on days when I forgot, I got scared. What if someone noticed the missing flowers and came looking? What would happen if she answered the door? She would find out what I was doing.
I still put flowers in my window now. Now that I am safe. I just want to let people know.
At first, it was just a bit of harmless fun, just a game we played.
But he started leaving for longer periods. He would go to the pub. I was scared. I dreaded his return and what he might do. I didn’t know what state he would be in.
Sometimes he would bring other men home. To use me for fun or to pay off his debts. I would lay there. I couldn’t run away.
I wanted it to stop. I wanted to die.