If you read about the survey revealing the scale of sexual harassment experienced by NHS staff, you were probably shocked. The news was not surprising to me. I was sexually harassed for months while my colleagues witnessed much of it; then it led to a sexual assault in a pub after work.

I was in a job that I loved but then had to leave. I was signed off sick for a couple of months after eventually telling my manager what happened. I had been having counselling just down the road from where I worked. I had to walk past my workplace to get there. I would walk quickly, with my head down. I didn't want to see anyone I worked with. Until I got through a few sessions of counselling, I still felt shame.

I used to think that it was all my fault. I should have noticed the signs. There were many times when the office banter crossed a line into the rude, crude, and overtly sexual. It was not directed at anyone in particular, but it gave her permission to behave in a way that made me uncomfortable. For everyone else, it just seemed to be a bit of a laugh.

I used to think that it was all my fault. I should have noticed the signs. There were many times when the office banter crossed a line into the rude, crude, and overtly sexual.

One day, she got me in a headlock at the end of a shift. I kept it together and cried when I got home. It was just a laugh to her. There was the time she tried to undo my bra through my clothes and the time she kept moving her hand across the desk towards mine and made inappropriate comments. All had witnesses. There were intimate questions about my sexuality and my partner's genitalia because he is trans.

I should have seen the signs. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

I didn't know I was autistic at the time, but I always struggled with figuring out relationships between people and workplace banter. I thought it must have been me with the problem. My colleagues were OK with her behaviour. They thought she was great and were sad when she announced she was leaving to "start a new life" somewhere else in the country.

She would apologise. "I take things too far sometimes." I'd even forgive her. Then it would happen again. It was straight out of the abuser's handbook. One day, a colleague asked, "Will you be OK?" jokingly as they finished their shift — leaving us alone. I replied, "I'm a big girl." She was OK with what she witnessed, so it must be me. I'm too sensitive.

She would apologise. "I take things too far sometimes." I'd even forgive her. Then it would happen again. It was straight out of the abuser's handbook.

One evening after work, I went out for drinks with another colleague and her. Others would join us later. Why was I stupid enough to go for a drink with her? I was just being silly. Everyone else was OK with how she behaved.

The pub was deserted. My colleague used the bathroom, and the bartender was out of sight. At that moment, she sexually assaulted me publicly. A hand went up my dress and grabbed my crotch. I pushed the hand away and told her to fuck off. My colleague came back from the bathroom and asked, "Is she trying to grab your arse?" I replied, "Trying to," jokingly. I froze, metaphorically speaking. I couldn't quite process what just happened and that my colleague seemed to have witnessed it and deemed it normal behaviour.

I stayed for another drink. I was still frozen and trying to figure things out. When I went to leave, she hugged me and slobbered over my neck with her mouth. I felt sick.

I froze, metaphorically speaking. I couldn't quite process what just happened and that my colleague seemed to have witnessed it and deemed it normal behaviour.

As soon as I left the pub, I walked quickly and burst into tears. I cried all the way home. My partner drove past me on the way to work and texted me as I looked upset. I told him what happened, and of course, he was supportive.

I didn't know what to do. I thought about attending the Sexual Assault Referral Centre (SARC) but couldn't face it. I tried to forget about it and carried on going to work. I got a crappy apology from her the next time we worked together. Some bullshit about "crossing a line." Like an idiot, I let her shake my hand. She left as planned a few weeks later, and it was a few months before I told anyone else about what happened.

I got a crappy apology from her the next time we worked together. Some bullshit about "crossing a line." Like an idiot, I let her shake my hand.

Looking back, I had some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. I was almost apologising for her behaviour — sympathising with her.

Trying to forget didn't work. The shame burned inside me. I flinched every time my partner even came close to me. Later on, my avoidance of all forms of intimacy or affection almost ended the relationship.

I didn't think anyone would believe me.

It took me five months to tell my manager. She was supportive and subtly suggested there had been previous issues with her behaviour, and warnings had been given. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change, so I decided to report the assault to the police. The emotions that I had tried to bury had only become stronger and burst out all at once.

I had two months off sick, interspersed with conversations with my manager and meetings with Human Resources. I couldn't go back to work there. I wanted the pub to burn to the ground, and I still avoid that part of the city to this day — over six years later.

Nothing would change, so I decided to report the assault to the police. The emotions that I had tried to bury had only become stronger and burst out all at once.

I was redeployed to the same role but in a different team and never set foot in there again. I never got to collect my work mug from which I'd drink cups of coffee. As far as my colleagues were concerned, I was off sick and then worked elsewhere. I thought I would be the subject of gossip. They might have thought I'd done something terrible and had been suspended from work. I'd seen this happen before and be marked as "special leave" or "sickness" on the rota. I started with the other team on a phased return and worried what speculation this would lead to.

The police response once I'd reported the assault was frustratingly slow. Giving my statement at the police station, I felt emotionless and cold. I worried this would lead to me not being believed, but it was a coping mechanism. Being autistic also means my face doesn't work properly — in that it doesn't always show what I'm feeling.

The police tried to treat the assault as a dispute between colleagues and informed her new employer. Later, they decided to interview her, but it was a while before I even heard anything. When I contacted the police in person to check on progress, I was told, "You took your time reporting it, so we're taking our time investigating it." They showed no empathy towards my experience as a victim and why it had taken me so long to report the assault.

Giving my statement at the police station, I felt emotionless and cold. I worried this would lead to me not being believed, but it was a coping mechanism.

Of course, she denied everything, and nothing happened. Human Resources had said throughout that it was up to me if I wanted to report her to our professional body — but they wouldn't do it. I didn't have the headspace to do this alone, so I didn't. Like the police report, it probably wouldn't have gone anywhere. They wouldn't have believed me.

I feel guilty that I didn't report it to our professional body. Guilt that she still gets to call herself a nurse and that she has sexually assaulted a person (me) with no consequences.

Of course, she denied everything, and nothing happened. Human Resources had said throughout that it was up to me if I wanted to report her to our professional body — but they wouldn't do it.

I got through it due to the excellent counselling I received and my own resilience. My relationship survived, and my career progressed. Since then, I've never felt safe at work. I'm sensitive to any "banter" that moves into sexual territory. I avoid any social events associated with work, meaning I miss out on networking and feel isolated from my colleagues.

She got away with it. I can only hope she feels shame like I did for many months. I hope it slowly burns inside her, and then she might begin to understand the pain that she put me through.

I'm far from alone in my experience. Surviving in Scrubs is an organisation campaigning for an end to sexual harassment in the healthcare workforce, and its website is full of survivor stories. I added my story shortly after I was sexually assaulted, and there are many, many others.

Sexual harassment and sexual violence in the NHS needs to stop.

If you are in the UK and experience this while working in healthcare, further details on support are available here. You can also contact your local Sexual Assault Referral Centre (SARC) or Rape Crisis Centre.

If you enjoy reading my writing or this story has resonated with you, please consider donating to Surviving in Scrubs or a local charity supporting survivors of sexual violence.

For more stories about sexual assault and harassment at work, follow Fourth Wave. Have you got a story or poem that focuses on women or other challenged groups? Submit to the Wave!