The Real Face of Childhood Sexual Abuse

"We are a celebration of the human spirit and a testament to the power of resilience." (Lee Cooper)

Friends, we’re doing something different today.

Today I give the floor to Lee Cooper.

Lee Cooper

I discovered Lee and his work through Survivor Voices (an organisation I must tell you more about soon; in the meantime have a look at their website and see if any of their wonderful projects speaks to you). Lee is a photographer and trauma-informed community builder based in Manchester, UK, and a survivor of childhood sexual abuse (CSA).

Lee runs the Victorious Voices project, a series of portraits of CSA survivors who have decided to break the silence surrounding their abuse. Victorious Voices connects us with 20 people who have come forward with their stories in order to raise awareness of a devasting issue no one wants to talk about, and help others reject the isolation, wrongful shame and self-blame most CSA survivors live with. Ultimately the goal of Victorious Voices is to show that recovery from CSA is possible, no matter how unlikely that may seem at times.

I dare you to read any of the Victorious Voices stories without getting a lump in your throat.

So I am glad that Lee agreed to feature here and share some of his views on trauma, life, work and art with us.

How many careers have you had so far, and how did you become a photographer?

I’ve had two careers, and a whole bunch of crappy jobs. My first job was as an Office Junior at a law firm in Manchester. I started this role when I was seventeen and progressed to the role of Trainee Legal Executive by the time I left the firm at twenty-two. I walked out on a career that looked very promising on paper, however I hated every aspect of working in a law firm - the environment, the people, the office, the politics. Law suffocated me. It was all rules, not questions. As a creative it went against all of my natural inclinations.

What followed after this brave/stupid move was ten years in a professional no-mans land. I worked as a writer and editor of a website, in sales, and for five years in a bar. I began photography as a career in 2023 when it became apparent I had missed the boat in finding a stable job through conventional roles, I was being rejected outright for positions my skillset was perfect for. So I left my bar job and became a full-time freelance photographer.

What kind of work do you do, and what are some of the projects you're currently working on?

I do portraits, events and street photography. My biggest project is Victorious Voices which is a portrait series of Childhood Sexual Abuse survivors. I take beautiful portraits of people who want to share their testimonies of strength and healing. The project is a year old and has already been a success with exhibitions in Glasgow, Manchester, Leeds and Gloucester.

I also co-founded and run the Manchester Photography Collective which is a community of photographers in Manchester. We meet every couple of weeks at a place called Village Hall in Manchester city centre. In our meetings we connect and share our photography passion and something that has inspired us in the previous two weeks. We also host artist talks and have hosted global icon Martin Parr and renowned photographers like Sean Tucker and Richard Kelly.

I’m also working on a personal project from my travels around the United States.

Lots of CSA survivors prefer to keep their abuse stories secret, or share them anonymously. What made you break the silence and go public?

I broke my silence and went public because I had to.

Most people remain blissfully unaware of what life is like for CSA survivors—how our experiences are dismissed by the systems meant to protect us, and how little understanding there is of trauma and its impact on the human psyche.

When I spoke out, I was at the beginning of a journey through the Criminal Justice System—a system that is not designed for survivors. In fact, it often functions to protect perpetrators. I say this without hesitation, because I have lived it.

Silence is the cover perpetrators rely on.

They count on our shame. They depend on our isolation. They operate with impunity because we are conditioned not to speak.

But I believe there is a tipping point.

I believe that once a critical mass of CSA survivors begin to share their truths publicly, visibly, and without apology—others still suffering in silence will step into the light. And when that happens, silence won’t be safe for perpetrators anymore.

You've met a lot of survivors through your work on Victorious Voices. What are you learning from them?

I’m learning that there are many more survivors out there than even I anticipated. I have spoken to many survivors who tell me it’s the first time they’ve ever spoken about what happened to them outside of their therapist or partner. Holding space for that shift, from silence to self-definition, is the purpose of the project.

I’ve learnt that healing is non-linear. Some survivors speak with defiance, some with softness, some are still in the thick of it. There's no one way to survive our experiences and that's what makes each testimony matter. The variety doesn't dilute the message; it strengthens it.

A lot of what’s out there focuses on “moving on” or “healing gracefully.” But survivors have taught me that anger is not the enemy, it’s often a part of the truth that has been buried the longest. Making space for that rage is vital.

And the most important lesson for me is that survivors are some of the most visionary people alive because we’ve had to imagine a different world to keep going. These lessons have changed how I approach photography, language, everything. Victorious Voices isn’t just a project to me anymore. It’s a living archive of resistance, created by people who were never supposed to be heard, but are speaking anyway.

What do you wish people without CSA or any other trauma history did differently when they were offered access to survivors' perspectives through art or otherwise?

I wish people without trauma histories would treat access to survivors’ stories as a responsibility, not a spectacle. Too often, survivors’ perspectives are consumed like content, something to scroll past, cry over, or “support” with a like, without recognising what it costs to share them, or what it demands in return. It would be helpful if people would listen without needing to fix, frame, or compare.

Art by survivors isn’t always polished, palatable, or trauma-lite, and it shouldn’t be. Let it be messy, raw, contradictory. Let it challenge your assumptions. Don’t filter it through a lens of what’s “empowering enough” or “too much.”

I would also like people to change the way they act, not just how they feel. Feeling moved is fine. But what do you do with it? Do you challenge abuse culture in your spaces? Speak up when abuse is minimised? Vote for survivors’ rights? If not, then what was the point of hearing our stories?

Ultimately, I wish people saw survivor perspectives not as trauma porn, inspiration fodder, or a noble cause, but as part of a living cultural record.

How can people follow your work, or get in touch?

People can follow me and the Victorious Voices story on Instagram at @coopscw and @victorious_voices24.

They can view the portraits on the website www.placesnowhere.com.

And they can email me on lee@placesnowhere.com.

If you would like to take part in the Victorious Voices project or help it grow and reach a wider audience please do get in touch with Lee directly.

Thanks for tuning in,

Adina