The second week of November 2016 was always going to be a nail-biter.

But as the rest of the world's attention was trained on the US presidential election, in Brisbane a 25-year-old law graduate waited anxiously to learn whether the man who sexually assaulted her as a child would plead guilty, or fight the charges against him and force her through a long and gruelling court process.

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As she watched Donald Trump's grinning face on her share house TV, Bri Lee couldn't shake the feeling that the two events were connected — that, as she writes in her new book, Eggshell Skull, "The same attitudes that just got Trump elected to the highest office in America are the same attitudes that made Samuel think he could go around molesting girls and get away with it."

What message would it send to abusers, she wondered, if a bloke who'd bragged about grabbing women's genitals could strut straight into such a powerful position?

Ms Lee knew better than most what she'd be in for when, months earlier, she made the decision to report her abuse to police, so beginning a painful and protracted journey through the justice system.

A 'map of human misery'

In her job as a judge's associate at the Queensland District Court, she'd been exposed to a never-ending procession of sexual offence cases in which complainants — frequently women — rarely saw justice.

"I had been breathing it all in, every day," Ms Lee writes, "the reminder that my abuse was one tiny teardrop in a putrid ocean".

When she looked out over the city from her high-rise office, she began to see not bustling intersections and landmarks, but a "constellation of crimes", a "map of human misery".

'I don't think people should feel shame about things that are done to them without their consent,' says Bri Lee. ( Supplied: Alana Potts )

But it was also that courtroom experience that encouraged her to reveal her own private pain.

"If I hadn't done that job ... I don't know how much longer it would have taken me to come forward," Ms Lee, now 26, told ABC News.

"What actually [led me to report my abuse] in the end was seeing all the complainants who had the support networks, and the courage and the strength to go through that process. It wasn't so much being horrified by defendants as it was being inspired by the complainants."

In Eggshell Skull Ms Lee describes in stunning detail how hard it can be for victims of sexual assault to find justice in a system that presumes perpetrators are innocent.

Her story is remarkable not just for its bravery — her determination to hold her abuser to account is tested over and over — but for shining a light on why so many women in Australia withdraw their complaints, or never speak out to begin with.

The book's title is a reference to the legal principle that a defendant must "take their victim as they find them" — that if a punch to the head kills someone because they have a thin skull, the aggressor is responsible for the entirety of the damage they cause. But what if the idea could be flipped?

"When I finally made my own complaint I thought about the concept and wondered if it was possible to take this maxim that was all about a complainant's weakness, and make it about a complainant's strengths," Ms Lee said.

"That in my case, the defendant had to take his victim as he found me ... extremely well educated ... [with] a supportive family and partner, and really angry and not willing to back down."

Never a perfect moment to disclose abuse

There's never a perfect moment to disclose abuse, or embark on a brutal battle for justice — particularly one you are statistically likely to lose. But the publication of Ms Lee's book could not have been better timed.

The gripping memoir has been released into the slipstream of the #MeToo movement — a global conversation about sexual harassment and assault in all pockets of society — and amid a heated debate in Australia over sexual consent and respectful relationships.

Earlier this month the New South Wales Government referred the state's consent laws to the Law Reform Commission after Four Corners examined a high profile sexual assault case in which Sydney man Luke Lazarus was found not guilty of sexually assaulting Saxon Mullins — despite a jury and two judges finding Ms Mullins had not consented to having sex with him in a King's Cross alleyway in 2013.

It's crucial women make complaints about sexual assault regardless of the perceived barriers of the justice system, says Bri Lee. ( Supplied: Alana Potts )

Ms Lee is quick to acknowledge the limitations of the justice system, the fact that women too often feel let down by the law.

For many, speaking out and taking action has come at great cost: women who've made accusations of sexual harassment and bullying, for instance, have been publicly vilified and condemned as "liars" and career-wreckers and some are now defending charges of defamation.

But what if the message in this moment is not that women should be deterred by injustice — and dwell only on the reasons women are given to stay silent? What if, as Ms Lee says, it's that women can triumph just by standing up and calling their perpetrator to account, no matter the outcome?

That's not to say coming forward is easy. One reason why many survivors feel unable to speak out is the deep sense of shame they may feel about their abuse or, as Ms Lee describes it, the feeling that she was somehow "spoiled".

"The thing that happened to me," Ms Lee confides in her boyfriend, "It's inside me all the time. And I don't want to talk to you about it because then you'll see the ugly thing too."

With healing and hindsight, however, she feels differently: "I don't think people should feel shame about things that are done to them without their consent.

"The idea that we feel shame about crimes being committed against us is so frustratingly absurd, and the only reason people feel shame about them is because we don't talk about them, because we allow that shame to fester."

It's also not to say there's no place for anger.

"I like the conversation people are having about anger at the moment," Ms Lee says, "because ... when I get angry about something, that's when it turns into energy."

The first challenge is simply picking up the phone

But even if the energy is there, the stats are bleak: the small number of sexual assault cases that reach the criminal justice system face a series of hurdles, with few resulting in charges being laid, prosecutions, or convictions.

(And it is a "small number" of cases: according to the latest Personal Safety Survey by the ABS, just 15 per cent of women — fewer than one in five — reported their most recent sexual assault by a male to police.)

And the numerous stages criminal matters must go through — awaiting court mentions, committal hearings and, if cases get that far, trial dates — in addition to the stress and humiliation of having to relive their assault, can be so traumatic that many victims withdraw their case completely.

The first of these challenges, Ms Lee says, is simply picking up the phone.

"There is an unacceptable under-resourcing of, and lack of training for, the equivalent of the first responders like the police who take those complaints and deal with a complainant in the early stages," she said.

When she first reported her abuse to police, she was required to share distressing personal details with a complete stranger, who assured her an investigator from the Criminal Investigations Branch would get back to her. But no-one ever called.

"Eventually I called them back and they apologised and started the process again," said Ms Lee, who went on to repeat the details of her abuse to another stranger.

"But it makes me sick thinking of how many women who are not as assertive or well supported as I was would have never tried again."

The chance to find 'closure' is worth the risk

The other glaring problem, she says, is "at the other end of the spectrum" — in court.

"Juries expect to see 'evidence' the way they hear about evidence in law and order TV shows. They expect to see rape myths — that strangers jump out of the bushes and physically hurt as well as sexually interfere with [victims]," she said.

"But we know that ... overwhelmingly, sexual offences occur in a domestic setting, without the use of a weapon. And that means the two things juries love most — CCTV footage and DNA evidence, or photographs of physical wounds — are just not present in the vast majority of cases."

Juries, she adds, "just aren't used to considering a complainant's testimony — particularly a woman's — as evidence, and it makes it so hard for women. The system is stacked against women from the beginning."

Still, while Ms Lee's lack of faith in the system to "take care of the matter of justice" is a constant source of tension in her book, she is convinced in the wake of #MeToo that progress is being made, and that the difficulties in seeking legal recourse should not stop women from speaking out.

The opportunity to find closure, she says, is worth the risk.

"It's so important that women do come forward and do make complaints," she said. "I still believe in justice, and I know for a fact how good it feels — regardless of the final outcome — to see the man who offended against you be arraigned in the dock in a trial.

"For most of us who have been offended against, it was by someone in our family or friendship network, and to see that person no longer enjoy the love and trust of everyone you know is so incredibly fulfilling."

But most importantly, she said: "It sends a strong message that our [justice] system ... will put resources behind prosecuting these kinds of offences, and to perpetrators that they can't just get away with it in the way they have for decades."

If this story brings up issues for you, there are people you can talk to. 1800 RESPECT deals with sexual assault. If you don't want to talk, you can access their website. You can also talk to Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14 or access their website.