Fitting in is a mask that I always struggled to wear. My entire childhood, all I ever wanted was to be the same as everyone else; to not be the outcast. But I stood out in the all the wrong ways.
Looking back, I’ve always been outspoken and opinionated, a little bit confident, even when the world tells me I shouldn’t be. But I just wanted to be accepted. I spent so many years wishing I wasn’t this person. I was “Natasha the weirdo”; always told the seat was taken. Eyes would roll when I spoke.
As a teenager, I locked myself away in the school bathroom, spending my lunchbreaks sitting in a cubicle – that was easier than feeling unwanted.
A memory that really stands out is something that happened when I was 14. I was eating my lunch in my usual spot – alone in the bathroom stall – and I noticed a hand coming over the top of the partition. Before I knew it, I was drenched. A bottle of water had been emptied over my head. I was shocked and furious.
I ran out to confront whoever had done it. That’s when she lunged at me and started kicking me. Then she had me in a headlock, and all the girls started laughing, standing around, encouraging her. I just remember feeling being completely alone, in the middle of this group of girls.
That was the type of moment that taught me to stand up for the others. The relentless bullying I experienced means I will never be the person who ignores someone else’s suffering.
My entire childhood I came to learn the impact that silence has. Silence can cause lasting damage.
Fast forward to April 2022: I was walking home from work one night when I saw a young man being harassed by a group of men. They were shouting homophobic slurs at him.
I could never have just continued walking. It has been coded into my DNA to be the person to speak up, because nobody spoke up for me. I simply said, “Lads, leave him alone.” I didn’t even shout it. All I was trying to do was de-escalate the situation. And then, before I knew what was happening, I was catapulted back to that 14-year-old girl, lying on the street, being attacked all over again.
As a relentless beating continued, I began losing consciousness, and all I could think to myself is “He’s not stopping, you’re going to die.” Had it not been for the passerby who intervened and pulled my attacker off, I don’t believe I would be here today writing this. That night, I truly learned the value of standing up for others. It is beyond clear that looking away is simply not an option.
I remember walking into that Limerick Circuit Courtroom 12 months ago, panic coursing through my blood. I knew I was going to see my attacker for the first time since the incident. Every part of me wanted to run, but I felt I had to speak up again. I had a duty to go into the courtroom and ask the judge to hold this attacker to account.
I threw everything I could into that victim impact statement. My last words were: “I am here to seek justice, not just for myself, but to protect others from the violence and malice I experienced.”
When the judge handed down the sentence, he explained he was not going to send my attacker to jail because he did not want him to lose his job in the Defence Forces. I left the courtroom that day feeling invisible and worthless.
A local reporter approached me and asked whether he could ask me a couple of questions. And I did not care any more. So I answered.
Twenty-four hours later, that interview had become national news. From walking out of that courtroom feeling invisible and worthless, to receiving support from what felt like the entire nation – that lit a fire in me.
When I spoke out and shared my story, men and women, the people of this nation, all took a stand, and there were protests across the country. They came from North and South, and I met people who had never been to a protest in their lives.
I remember walking down Cruise’s Street to attend the Limerick protest. I was terrified. I could not believe all these people were there. But I grabbed that megaphone and spoke from the heart. I had been given this platform and I was not going to let it go, for all the people who have been suffering in everyone else’s silence.
In January 2025, my attacker’s suspended sentence was overturned, and he was jailed for two years. When I sat there and heard the decision, I had so many emotions. I felt a lot of guilt that this individual, my attacker, had made a horrible mistake and had become the face of violence. I feel I am the primary victim, but if the justice system had worked in the first place, he would have had the chance to learn, reflect and redeem himself.
While my journey this past year has not been easy, I have a newfound confidence and sense of self-worth. I pride myself in the resilience that pulled me through this ordeal.
I look back on my teenage years and how badly I wanted to be anyone else, to fit in. Now I stand out, and I’m proud that I do. Over the past year, I’ve been working on a documentary for RTÉ. It follows my personal journey: navigating the justice system, processing my trauma, and slowly rebuilding myself. I wanted people to see the 90 per cent of me that is hidden away from the headlines.
I am not Natasha O’Brien, the victim in the headline, but simply Natasha, proud at last to be authentically myself. I was once that scared little girl hiding behind the door of the bathroom cubicle. Now I walk through every door, strong and unapologetic.
Natasha is broadcast on Wednesday, June 25th, on RTÉ One at 9.35pm
