Why do some protect bad people?

How is it that even when faced with proof, people will protect and defend a person who isn't nice? Why is it that they don't believe when told that this person did and said things to hurt someone related to them? Have you ever thought there is a good reason this person is nice to you, but then not so nice to someone else? Why say it's a lie just because you haven't experienced it? Is racism not real just because it doesn't happen to everyone? Is domestic violence not real when outside, the perpetrator is as nice as can be to others, but behind closed doors is sadistic and evil towards their own partner? Maybe it's simply that they find it easier to stick by the opinion held by most people around them, and dare not go against it by saying, well maybe this person isn't nice..... In my opinion life is too short to stick around and stick up for horrible people. They don't deserve to be protected. We should be looking after those who need it most, watching out for them.

To those reading this, I assure you that you would not be protecting this person if you knew their past. A past that is worse than mine. All I do is live my life. Long term partner, job, flat, cat. No drinking, smoking, taking drugs or promiscuity. But I guess that matters not a jot to you. Its easier to believe that I am the bad one, so much easier, because the majority also hold this opinion. To those who stick by the bad people, consider yourselves out of my life. You're not allowed to know what is going on, if I have children, you can't meet them, you're out for good. And that's what happens when you decide to stick by a bad person. Off you trot, I know you are reading this. Why do you even come here to read it if you don't like me? Guess I'll never find out.

How the DWP screw you over and keep you poor PART 2

 So I get a date to start the Costa placement. Everyone is nice, too nice. I tell myself it will be fine, I can learn to make coffee, make the most of it. I end up being the cleaning girl. I fill and empty the dishwasher, over and over again throughout the day. The other staff don't touch the dishwasher when I am there, even if there is time without customers, and there was. This was a brand new, very quiet Costa, opened in an area where nobody wanted it. It's not very popular and working there, you see that right away. The store manager tells me from the get go, there is no job here after you are done. Ok great, let me finish this and get the f*** out. I constantly clear and clean tables. Refill the sugar and sweetener. The stirring sticks etc. I finally get a chance to make some coffee. Americano, cappucino, latte and coolers. The coolers are the easiest as the machine does most of the work. Put paninis in to toast, and serve up. Very easy. I make a fantastic cappucino, but since I won't be staying there, it honestly doesn't mean much. I don't even attempt a flat white (the one that always has a lovely pattern on it, takes LOTS of practice). I was made to do all of the cleaning on my first day, the other staff member didn't do any. My back and feet were broken by the end. I was rewarded with sandwiches and cakes with that day's date on for free. Ok cool, I will eat well while I'm working here. Lord knows I need it considering I am sanctioned with no way of buying food myself.

First weekend of placement comes around. I am tired with a banging headache so I call in sick. The manager sends me a text saying he was RELYING on me today. So I give in and say ok, I'll come in. He punishes me by not letting me attend the charity event at the local park, the one that he said he was relying on me for....... OK whatever, be a baby. That same day, I do the usual, clean tables when needed, load and unload the dishwasher. I was due to leave a couple of hours before closing that day, but another staff member says they need me to stay on. She also tells me to go and clean tables I already cleaned. I declined to stay. I told her I just cleaned those tables, why do they need done again? I grab spray and cloth anyway and go off in a huff to do it all over again. Some of the tables are still wet from me cleaning them just before. I clean them anyway, just to make a point. I complain to the manager about how I was treated. He says if she tells you to clean, you do it. He points out things from my CV, jobs that didn't last long. He talks about how he started at TGI Fridays as a plate washer or whatever. How he worked hard to get where he is, and obviously I have done nothing in my life, clearly. I have actually had to overcome many personal challenges, you won't see that in my CV. I went to school up to year 7, after which my parents removed me for religious reasons. I took myself to college and courses to try and get myself looking clever on paper. I left home and lived in a refuge. But you know, he worked at TGI Fridays and became a Costa manager, so who gives a flying f*** what I overcame.

My bus ticket runs out at the beginning of the second week. I try to get another one from the jobcentre, but they refuse, telling me to walk. It's around 2 miles and with my broken feet I am not prepared to do that. The Costa manager, to his credit, bought me tickets for the last few days. I pay him back when I get refunded. It is actually the jobcentre's responsibility to fund bus travel to courses and placements that they put benefit claimants on, but you know, DETAILS.

I have another week left of the placement, thankfully still getting free sandwiches and cakes. I live off them. I eat the sandwiches for dinner when I get back every night. I eat cakes wondering how much they would have cost had I bought them. My partner helps me so I can still feed my cat and buy litter for her. He gives me some of his hard earned money here and there so I can live. I start to hate Costa sandwiches and vow to never go into a Costa ever again. I feel they and the DWP took advantage of a poor person for their own gains. DWP can pretend I am employed for a couple of weeks and Costa get free labour. No need to employ the person after, just let them go and forget them. Never mind the fact they are a major company and can more than afford to pay someone on a work placement. If I am supposed to be experiencing real life work, doesn't that include getting paid? I'll leave that with the DWP. Shame on DWP and Costa for taking advantage of poor people.

How the DWP screw you over and keep you poor

I have had possibly the worst experience in my whole life dealing with the DWP. In January after I lost my job, I signed up for benefits. I was told I had to claim Universal Credit. Ok I said, go ahead then. I was told I would have to wait up to 6 weeks for my money to come through. Fine I said, I have my last wage coming through, I can live off that until the UC comes in. I was still responsible for paying some rent, as I was when I was working. I was advised by my job coach to use most of my last wage on paying rent and council tax, meanwhile I got a food bank voucher so I didn't have to worry too much about buying food. I went on a hospitality course to pass the time while I was unemployed, which was to lead onto a work placement at Costa coffee, with no promise of a job after it, no matter how well I did. The time came for my UC to be paid, and there was nothing in my account. I called to ask why there was a delay. Oh we don't know how many bedrooms your flat has. Ok, talk to the council, they will tell you since they own it. They wouldn't. (I mean isn't it the next obvious thing to do since they didn't believe me that it only has one bedroom?!!) Next day still no money. Oh it will be paid in later today just keep checking. Nothing. I call the day after that and I am told my claim was terminated because I had an 'income'. Yes, my last pitiful wage is now an income. I was being treated like I was a secret millionaire and they had just discovered all my hidden away cash. In reality it was £505 that went fast because I was paying rent and council tax with it. No sympathy for them telling me to spend all of my last wage, leaving me with nothing to live on.

I call up in tears insisting they put me on JSA, there's no way in hell I'm waiting another 6 weeks HOPING they will pay UC this time. No, just get me on JSA, its a much shorter waiting time. I fought for it and got what I wanted. Meanwhile, I was waiting for the Costa coffee placement to start. My job coach decided to put me in job club for a month. Job club is a useless, 10-15 minute gathering of the herd of unemployed to tell them what they're doing wrong when applying for jobs. Why it has to last for a month is beyond me. I start attending job club, but the bus makes me late. 10 minutes late to be exact. I get sanctioned. My job coach then has it out for me, despite me being pretty much penniless. She obviously gets off on taunting people in poverty. I continue to attend job club, despite the fact I will get no JSA for doing so. My hardship allowance gets approved, but it will be paid nearly a week after my sanction finishes. So I 'survive' for a month on zero money, but its ok because JSA paid in £10, as my job coach reminded me, I did get SOME money. Yknow, because £10 is a lot. You could do your weekly food shop and buy gas and electric on that! For a month! While you're sanctioned!! My job coach continues to try and make my life a misery, by claiming that I came in an hour late one day. I was actually 5 minutes early, but you know, DETAILS. I'm guessing she never bothered reporting this lie, because one look at the cameras would tell you I was in there early. So my sanction stayed as it was. We could get you in here everyday if we wanted to, my job coach cackles. Pretty sure she sits around with the rest of the coven when everyone is gone, talking about all the evil things she managed to get away with that day.

Next blog post will be about the truly awful Costa coffee placement that I did while sanctioned. Stay tuned!

Fighting to be recognised

 Ok, so you wouldn't think this, but there are people out there who believe some types of domestic violence are worse than others. I understand not everyone knows about the honour system, but I never thought I was going to be the only one in the women's refuge I was in to come straight out of that background, as opposed to an abusive relationship. I was never physically abused (only as a child) so not many people see it as 'real'. The 'abuse' I suffered was all mental, emotional. I had a lot of anger directed towards me. I was frequently told things like, 'what would other people think?' Keep yourself covered up. Don't draw attention to yourself. You don't need to go out. You don't need to work, just live off benefits because God forbid you go and work somewhere like a cafe. How would my father ever live it down if his daughter was seen working in a Greggs? That's not a suitable job for a woman.

 But getting back to what I was talking about (I will ramble sometimes, be warned), I had someone tell me I made myself homeless. Even the staff at the refuge never said that. Someone in the refuge told me I should go back home to my father, I didn't have a reason to leave. The thing is, it's so easy to judge when you didn't live it. I hid this part of my life for so long. Even when people asked me if I was oppressed, I was so defensive about it. I wouldn't dare admit it. I remember going home after such an incident and telling my mum, well I am oppressed but they don't need to know that. Let's let those rumours about women being oppressed in Muslim households build up, but not actually do anything about it.

 I would have stayed at home if I had a good example of religion, if I had a father who respected my choices even if he didn't like them. I've seen other girls do as I did. They took off their headscarves, started living more freely. They are still at home, they go out with their parents. Their parents are not ashamed of them. I remember one incident last year after I took my jilbab off (long black coat/dress that covered my clothes), and was driving some family members to a restaurant for Eid. My mother told me she didn't want to go out with me. But I was driving the car, so that was a pretty silly thing to try and dictate.

I was talking to someone at work about it, and he said he wants to study to be an alim (a knowledgable person). I told him that was fantastic and we needed more like him, who were born and raised in the UK and understand what that means for the young people. Instead of older people who come from abroad to work in mosques and have no idea what this life means for the young people. They either come in and judge others, or they do nothing at all. The latter is probably the most popular. Ironically it will come down on them as many chose to settle in the UK and have children here. Which means their kids will be the young people they tried so hard to ignore. That won't be so easy when it's in your own household.

I don't know how to get people to understand, and I'm not going to try. But this is my life, I've lived through things that affected me. That nobody else could possibly know or understand. But it's my life and my story, and that's what matters. Someone close to me recently told me that I'm a 'fucking warrior'. So I'll take that. It makes me realise my own strength.

Life in a women's refuge (part 2)

 So it's been a little over two months. I am settled, as much as you can be in a refuge. I have a fantastic group of friends here. Basically all the young people here hang out together, we are all in our 20's. It still doesn't stop the bad days though. I feel as though I am the only one still waiting for counselling. Most women are here because of domestic violence from a former partner. I feel like the odd one out. The one who left home because her father was the problem. It's almost like nobody else can relate. I didn't think I would be the only one in this situation. I do feel a bit alone sometimes. I just want my counselling, I really need it.

Every week we get a donation of food about to go out of date from a major supermarket. I think it's a great idea. It's a bit hit and miss though. Sometimes we get bread that has already gone hard, or fruit that has gone mouldy. But sometimes we get cake, which is the best of all, right?!? We get clothes donations too, but to this date I have not found anything that fits me. It's usually smaller sized clothes and I am a 16. I finally bought myself a new pair of trousers last week but it's put me out of pocket for this week. That's what I have to do, choose between food and something else. It's like there's never enough to do everything. Plus we pay rent here. It's not an obscene amount, but still, you have to budget for it. I really can't wait to get a job so I can do things with ease. I honestly think a lot of these times of me feeling down would also disappear if I had no money troubles.

I think I have cabin fever too. I feel like I am stuck here and I can't do anything because it all costs money. Back in my home town everything was nearby, I could walk or get a bus for cheap. I feel so poor and I hate it. I can't even treat myself ever.

(written in May 2016)

Life in a women's refuge (part 1)

 I think it will really help me to write about how it feels to be here. Maybe I should start before I even got here. I was at home and things were getting worse. Two members of my family were suspicious of everything I did. I felt like I couldn't really do as I wanted. I'd talk on the phone in my room and family members would wonder who I was talking to, when really it shouldn't matter. It's my phone, I pay for it, does it matter who I was speaking to? As an adult woman, it really shouldn't bother anyone what I do. I'm not a teenager who has her phone paid for by her parents and needs someone to keep an eye on her. I know for a fact someone in my family was going through stuff in my room, hoping to find anything incriminating against me. And by incriminating I mean not following what they wanted me to do. Not necessarily anything bad, depends what point of view you believe in. I just think as an adult I should be able to do certain things without being questioned, or being told its wrong or that I don't know how to think for myself, or that I am naive.

I wanted to leave home for a long time, but I was biding my time. I was planning on getting a decent job then following that up with getting a flat and hopefully my own car. My father did not know of these plans as he does not approve of a woman living alone. Despite the fact that men do it all the time, but of course that's not a problem. Nobody ever questions a man's honour or reputation and he is free to do as he pleases with little to no consequences. Anyway, my plan was not really working as I could not get a job in Middlesbrough. No matter how hard I tried, the jobs just weren't there. I struggled to find the minimum of two jobs I needed to apply for per week. I look back and think how ridiculous that is. Retail is my sector, and its thriving in big cities but its just on its knees in Middlesbrough. Its a small town and there is a slow staff turnaround. Once you find a job, you keep it. So there was rarely much recruitment going on. Also the recession hit Middlesbrough really bad. Meanwhile as things were getting worse at home I was wondering how I could make it out. Should I stick with it and put up with the daily crap I was getting from a younger sibling and my father? After all there was no physical abuse. It was just words. Words don't hurt, I'd tell myself. But they did. I felt like I couldn't put a foot wrong in front of anyone. I was almost constantly walking on eggshells. The only respite I truly got was work. I was cleaning a house once a week and it was the only time I was truly alone. Even in my room I felt like I didn't get enough privacy.

I was getting more bad days than good. The situation at home was driving me crazy. I would sit in my room and cry. I just felt down, like there wasn't a way out. When was I going to be able to live life on my own terms? It felt like a long way in the future if it ever was going to happen. Meanwhile, suspicion was rising amongst two members of my family. They wanted to confront me. They kind of did that night. I was asked if I was in a relationship. I refused to answer and I tried to leave the room. I was blocked by a family member who is taller and bigger than me. I just wanted to go upstairs and cry. So I did. I realised I had to go. So I called the domestic violence helpline. I've done it in the past but told myself I didn't have to leave so I turned down their offers of help, believing I was fine. This time I said I wanted to leave, I wanted to go to a refuge. The woman on the phone agreed I had a reason to leave and go to a safe place. I decided to go far from home so I couldn't easily be found. I was given the phone number for the refuge and told to call first thing to get a place. There were only two rooms available so I needed to be quick. I got on the phone as soon as possible the next morning. I barely slept. I kept looking at my phone, wishing the time to hurry up so I could go. I packed as much as I could the night before, but obviously I could not take everything.

I needed somewhere to wait with my bags as my coach to the new place was not leaving immediately. I decided the police station was the best and safest place. Only I wasn't allowed to leave my bags there so I had to call a friend to come and help me as I had not eaten anything that day. I remember we went to Subway and its strange how normal everything felt, even though I knew I was leaving, possibly for good. I am so glad I spent that last bit of time with some good people. I love them and they know who they are. Thank you so much for all of your support and I will see you all again.

Where's my freedom?

 So I have now left home. Some of you may be reading this who know me. I did this because I wasn't allowed to do even normal things at home. My father stopped me so many times from fully expressing myself. I wasn't allowed to do a hairdressing course because it would mean cutting other people's hair, shock horror. I was told if I wanted to be a hairdresser, I could only cut my friends' hair in mine or their homes. So I was thinking, forget that, I'd rather not do the course at all if I can't go out and work in a salon like a normal person. Then came looking for work. I was basically told not to work, not directly but pretty much. My dad would say how if he could he'd buy me anything I wanted. The problem was he didn't have enough money to support me and everyone else in our family. I barely had any clothes, things were getting a bit desperate and nobody could help me. I decided to go on jobseekers allowance to tide me over until I found a job. My dad tried to persuade me not to start claiming. He said it was annoying how you are treated and I'd be better off not on it. I decided to put with that if it meant getting the money I needed to buy much needed clothes and so on. That's the problem, you can tell your daughter not to work, not to claim benefits, but can you give her an alternative? If you can't, then let her go ahead with it. Working is not such a bad thing. You learn how to budget for yourself, basically be an adult. Yes it's not all easy and there are times money is tight, I am experiencing that right now, but it's part of being in the real world. It's something I have to deal with whether I like it or not.

I then started to dress differently. I had always worn a headscarf and a jilbab, basically a black loose dress that goes over your clothing to cover it. I started to get fed up wearing the jilbab. I didn't feel like myself in it. I felt like a foreign woman, like I didn't fit in. I also wanted to get a decent job and I felt like it was holding me back. I know people will tell me I should just keep on wearing it, but I couldn't do it anymore. I was still wearing my headscarf at this point, but no jilbab. I felt comfortable, and I also felt I was covered up. I wasn't showing any skin apart from my hands and face. Everything else was still covered up. My dad wasn't happy with this. He took to explaining over and over again how a Muslim woman should dress. I said I knew, hadn't I spent many years dressed just as he was describing? I knew perfectly well what Islam says about it. It didn't stop him telling me over and over again, and in fact before I took my jilbab, some of my friends took theirs off, also their headscarves. My dad would tell me to tell them how to dress too. I refused, saying it wasn't my job to say it. Also I knew for a fact their parents were telling them to dress more Islamically too. Again, they used to dress that way so they knew how it should be. Obviously they had personal issues, same as me, which is why they had started dressing differently. Many of us had been raised being told one day we would have to dress Islamically. I felt like this like a huge weight on me as a child. I wanted to just be carefree, but in the back of my mind was one day I'd have to wear a headscarf every time I went outside, and to be honest it filled me with dread. It's not easy to do something like that. People talk about how it's expected of Muslim women to dress a certain way, but they never look upon the impact of it, or how that message is conveyed to a young girl who just wants to play and have fun. I mean I am pretty sure little boys aren't even told, oh one day you will have to grow a beard, so remember that. No, I am pretty sure for the most part boys don't have such demands placed on them at such an early age. Some Muslims talk about how non-Muslim girls are sexualised from a young age and wear make up and so on, but we do the same thing in a different way to our little girls. We tell them to dress like a grown woman, to cover herself up so a man won't look at her. What exactly are you covering up on such a young girl? Isn't the issue with men who look at young girls? We need to ask ourselves these questions, instead of ignoring the truth.

Then we come onto the freedom of choosing your own partner to settle down with. Do we really get a choice? I was told it could be anyone, as long as he was Libyan. Great. That's not really a choice. I was looking online, on matrimonial sites. Marriage for me was going to be my way out of home I decided. Even if I had to marry someone of my father's choice, at least I'd be out of the house. I was told definitely no converts, apparently there is a possibility they will leave Islam and go back to their old ways, so I was to avoid them, despite the fact my own mother is English and converted. Hmm. I decided even if I found someone different, I'd get my dad to speak to them regardless. I was the image of perfection when I was looking online. I made it clear to every man I spoke to that my father would be involved from the very beginning as I did not want to go behind his back. I never flirted with anyone and kept it completely business like. I was always told you only ever speak to a man formally, even in regards to marriage. I think I was probably pretty boring back in those days, but I was a good daughter, which was the main point right? I don't think any of that even mattered, despite being a 'good' girl, I was constantly getting told off for something or the other at home. I always scrutinised myself. What was wrong with me? Why was I getting told off? I must be a bad person, I decided. Obviously I wasn't respecting my parents as I should even though I couldn't find out what exactly I was doing to anger my father. Well my mum always seemed pretty happy with me. We got on very well and my mum knew everything about me pretty much. It was only recently I started to keep things from her as I didn't want to shame anyone in my family. I didn't want to tell them I was in a relationship with a man who isn't in our religion. I never thought it would come to that, but to me he is nicer than any Muslim man has ever been to me. I felt like I wasn't treated any better than dirt by some I came across online. They never seemed happy with me. I wasn't good looking, a few told me. Even my own grandmother said I wasn't pretty, so it must be true. I grew up hearing my brothers were handsome, one of them was charming, but no words about me. I avoided mirrors for a lot of my teen years and beyond. I was so ugly I didn't even want to look at myself. My eyes were too big, my skin is scarred from acne. I have fat cheeks and just overall not a nice looking face. Other people telling me I didn't look good just cemented what I already thought about myself in my mind. If other people can see my ugliness then it must be true.

I am now living in a women's refuge, and I have been for two months now. I plan on writing about life in here but I won't use real locations or real names to protect the ladies here and keep the location a secret.