From Darkness to Light: World Pulse Saved Me

It was midnight in the hospital.

Doctors crowded around my bed—

one checking my blood pressure, another preparing an injection,

a nurse monitoring the heart monitor, another checking the pulse in my legs.

As for me, I was suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness,

in a place that was neither life nor death.

I felt nothing…

except a severe collapse,

and a silent surrender to the idea of leaving.

War had stolen everything:

my job, my home, my career, my savings,

family members scattered apart,

friends, neighbors, the city I once belonged to.

I was displaced from one city to another,

until I finally settled—by choice of fate—into exile,

among people who did not resemble my features,

whose language was not mine,

whose culture did not carry the warmth of my memories.

My heart had no shelter.

In that moment, I realized I was burned out.

It was complete exhaustion—

when patience erodes,

hope runs dry,

and the body is the first to collapse.

That was when I understood I could no longer continue without care.

But the turning point did not begin with the doctors…

It began with the voices of my children breaking through the dark tunnel:

“Mom, don’t forget the chocolate.”

“Please bring food for my cat.”

“Mom… I will miss you.”

My heart jolted.

My hand moved.

And I chose to return to life.

That was my first act of self-care:

choosing to stay.

After recovering, I checked my email—

which I had lost access to for four months due to the war in Sudan.

I found a message from Kirthi about a meeting I had missed.

Driven by something I could not explain, I entered the World Pulse platform.

I was not searching for fame,

nor for an award.

I was searching for:

a glimmer of hope,

a voice that sounded like mine,

warm hearts that understood what survival means.

I read women’s stories…

I was stunned by the depth of pain,

but even more stunned by the support—

by the way women hold one another.

By the language of encouragement, not pity.

By a kind of care that does not ask, “Why did you weaken?”

but instead says, “We are here.”

For two months, I practiced healing in silence:

reading as an act of self-care.

Then I wrote.

And when I wrote, I was not alone.

The World Pulse community celebrated me,

not because they knew me personally,

but because they believed in my story,

and believed that the voice of a Sudanese woman,

in the heart of war, deserves to be heard.

When I shared my pain,

I received support and solidarity that restored my confidence

and paved the way for me to receive a storytelling award.

That was when I learned a profound lesson:

collective care does not heal one person alone—

it rebuilds the capacity to give.

Through World Pulse,

I transformed my pain into stories,

my stories into bridges,

and carried the suffering of millions of Sudanese women to the world.

I was no longer just a survivor…

but a witness,

a storyteller,

and part of a wider circle of care.

Kirthi, Tiffany, Ella, and many other women

were not just names—

they were a safety net.

Today, I understand that self-care is not isolation,

and collective care is not self-erasure.

It is meeting in the middle,

resting together,

healing together,

and offering the world whatever light still lives within us.

Because when we are held,

we become capable of holding the world.

........

It is enough that you stand with me,

in my conscience and in my story,

in words filled with affection,

and in warm, tender hearts.

I wandered for long years,

yet through you, my peace grew.

I picked many flowers along the way,

and confessed love and stories alike.

In the truth of your compassion, I rested.

In your words, the beginning took shape.

In pain, I found my path—

and you offered care.

You inspired my motivations,

you shattered complaint and despair.

In your presence, even corners soften.

You are a thought that never fades—

no flattery, no pity, no control.

With you, I find my joy,

and my story becomes whole.

.......

A Message to the World Pulse Community

You did not give me a platform alone—

you gave me a shoulder, a voice, and a safe space to heal through writing.

You taught me that collective care is not a slogan,

but a daily practice that saves lives and restores meaning to stories.

Through you, my pain became impact,

my loneliness became belonging,

and my voice became a bridge connecting Sudanese women to the world.

Thank you for being there

when I was searching for a reason to stay