Neglected by my parents, abused by my uncle, then I watched helplessly as my daughter was taken from me at 19. I lived a life of utter misery – but my story proves it’s never too late to reclaim your life

At 64, Judy King sat on a psychologist’s couch, her life poised on the edge of a revelation.

Memories she had long buried erupted like a landslide, leaving her breathless and in tears.

For decades, the Sydney-born woman had locked away the pain inflicted by those meant to love her most. But as the walls of repression crumbled, a harrowing picture emerged – one she could no longer ignore.

Piece by piece, Judy began reconstructing her fractured past, tracing her journey back to when she left Australia so many years earlier. What surfaced was a lifetime of trauma that would break most: a childhood marred by abuse from her father, a teenagehood violated by her uncle’s rape, and the heartbreak of giving up her baby girl for adoption at just 19.

‘I didn’t just feel worthless – I believed I was at the very bottom of humanity’s ladder,’ Judy shares. ‘I was a prisoner of my own inner chaos, completely disconnected from the world and how others saw me.’

‘I was afraid of everything as a child,’ she continues. ‘Self-confidence wasn’t just low – it was non-existent.’

Now 82 and living in Mallorca, Spain, Judy exudes a strength forged through decades of healing. Though she misses her homeland, she’s finally ready to share her story – a testament to resilience, survival and reclaiming the self.

As a child, Judy’s life was marked by isolation and sacrifice. While her two younger brothers were sent to boarding school, Judy was left behind, ‘sacrificed’ to stay home with her parents.

Her father, a salesman, was often away, leaving Judy at the mercy of her mother – a woman she describes as volatile and incapable.

‘When dad wasn’t around, my mother relied on me – she was quite hopeless – but when he came home, she wanted nothing to do with me,’ Judy explains.

‘She was a strange woman – very hot and cold. Looking back, she was probably a psychopath. She was never a good mother and was incredibly lazy.’

Judy recalls her mother spending days lounging on her bed, adorned with expensive pearls, yet utterly indifferent to the world around her. ‘She would call me from another room to fetch her a packet of cigarettes from her bedside table – something she could have easily done herself. That’s how lazy she was,’ Judy says.

Both of Judy’s parents were abusive and neglectful. They never picked her up from school or attended assemblies, treating her as though she were invisible.

Her mother, whom she describes as a ‘living embarrassment’, always seemed to need help with the simplest tasks. Yet, despite her mother’s erratic behaviour, Judy still felt a deep sense of love and a need to protect her.

Growing up on Sydney’s North Shore, Judy endured horrific abuse at the hands of her father, while her mother turned a blind eye. Adding to the emotional damage, her parents branded her with cruel labels.

‘You were always a dreadful flirt. Everyone said so. You were a classifiable delinquent. Everyone thought so – your school, your grandmother, all the family!’ they would taunt.

Judy had no idea what words like ‘provocative’ or ‘flirtatious’ even meant as a child, but their accusations stuck, leaving her grappling with misplaced guilt and shame.

Judy’s life took a harrowing turn when she was sent to live with her uncle and aunt in Maroubra. It was there something utterly baffling happened that would take her years – decades – to properly explain.

She became convinced she had accidentally set the kitchen on fire – a belief her relatives denied, insisting no such event had occurred and dismissing her as ‘mad’.

Years later, a flashback prompted by therapy unveiled the truth behind her confusion. Her uncle had taken her to the basement of his Newtown pub, where he assaulted her on an old iron bed, surrounded by beer barrels. The imagined fire was her mind’s way of processing the trauma – her way of interpreting the blood and pain she couldn’t understand at the time. Though the fire never happened, its emotional weight burned within her for decades.

By 17, Judy was out of Maroubra and sought refuge in a home for the elderly in beachside Coogee. So fraught was that period of time that she still doesn’t quite know how she ended up there. Pieces are still missing to this day.

But the new living situation brought no respite. As her awful teenage years drew to a close she became involved with an abusive and controlling boyfriend. He got her pregnant – another catastrophe.

‘I was so naïve I didn’t understand how I could fall pregnant to such an terrible person,’ she says. ‘I went to the priest to confess and confided in him, despite having committed every sin in the book.’

The priest connected her with a kind-hearted nun who became a lifeline in her darkest hour. ‘She was the first person who admired and defended me,’ Judy recalls.

The nun helped Judy navigate her pregnancy in secrecy. Together, they decided Judy would give her baby up for adoption, and to protect her identity, she took on a false name: Catherine Johnson.

This new identity, though temporary, brought Judy a sense of escape and empowerment.

‘It was thrilling and exciting,’ she says. ‘I worked at the nursery, getting up at 6am to care for children and change nappies before heading to the office.’

Amid the chaos of her life, Judy finally found a fleeting sense of stability and purpose.

After giving birth to her baby girl, Judy had only a brief moment to bond with her. If she’d had the chance, she would have named her Rebecca Lea.

By the age of 20, Judy was working in real estate and property development in Paddington, finding solace in restoring old houses. The work became a powerful outlet for her.

‘The desire to repair and restore old houses that had fallen into ruins was an external metaphor for what I longed to happen inside me,’ she reflects.

Despite the emotional weight she carried, Judy threw herself into her work. ‘I worked hard seven days a week but had a marvellous time. The houses in Paddington are beautiful, and I still adore them to this day. I still know the area like the back of my hand.’

In 1968, Judy’s father died from an infection that caused his throat to swell shut. He was rushed to Liverpool Hospital but died shortly after arrival.

A year later, at 27, Judy left Australia with her future husband to explore the world. Over the years, she lived in London, Kuala Lumpur, Sri Lanka and eventually Mallorca.

Her marriage, like much of her life, was marked by pain. It lasted seven years and was abusive. Moving to Spain wasn’t Judy’s dream – it was her ex-husband’s – but she’s since grown to accept it.

‘Relationships were never my strong point. When you have an abusive childhood, you gravitate towards toxic people,’ Judy says.

‘You can’t control it; it’s like I was going back to my parents in a way. You gravitate towards what you know and what feels familiar.’

Judy never had the chance to meet her daughter.

After her mother’s death, Judy’s brother uncovered a box of letters addressed to her, letters she hadn’t known existed. By then, it was too late to reply.

‘My brother called me saying he’d found these old letters addressed to me, but he had no idea who they were from 0 he still didn’t know I had a daughter,’ Judy says.

‘I didn’t know what he was talking about until I saw the letters myself. I tried my best to find her in 2006 but couldn’t – it was impossible. To this day, I have no information about her.’

Though she has made peace with the situation, Judy admits it still weighs on her. ‘It’s always in the back of my mind. I had no option but to give her up when I was younger because I had no money.’

Today, Judy focuses on herself – a form of self-care she never knew growing up. She doesn’t resent her parents anymore. In fact, she feels nothing for them at all.

Despite the painful memories tied to Sydney, Judy has managed to reclaim the city in her own way. Seventeen years ago, she returned to launch her book, Agnes: A Childhood Betrayed and Reclaimed.

‘I dream about Potts Point. I would live in Australia again if I could. Sydney is one of the most beautiful places to live, and I miss it,’ she says.