I Survived, So Can You.

The Day the World Spoke About GBV, I Remembered My Scars.

Gender-Based Violence has stolen too many smiles, too many dreams, and too many voices that once spoke with hope. It has made strong people feel weak and brave hearts feel afraid. It has turned homes into battlefields and love into fear. But even in the deepest pain, there is a spark that refuses to die the spark of resilience.

Today, the world speaks loudly about Gender-Based Violence. People wear colours, share posts, hold campaigns, and raise banners that say End GBV. Microphones echo with powerful speeches. Cameras flash. Hashtags trend.

And yet, as I watch all this, my heart whispers quietly, If only they knew what I survived in silence.

Because for me, GBV is not a topic.

It is not a poster.

It is not a trending conversation.

It is my past. My nightmares. My scars.

It is the story written on my skin and inside my soul.

I am a victim of GBV. Not by choice. Not by weakness. But by cruel circumstances, silence, and people who abused the power they never deserved.

I remember the day my own cousin tried to steal my innocence. I remember how fear froze my body, how my voice struggled to come out, how my heart beat like it wanted to escape my chest. I fought, cried, and by God’s grace, I managed to get away. But even though my body escaped, my soul remained shaken. From that day, I no longer felt safe in a place I once called home.Someone I trusted. Someone who shared the same blood. His betrayal was louder than my screams. Fear wrapped around me like a shadow I could not shake off. That night did not just scare me it shattered something inside me. Suddenly, even family felt like danger, and safety became a faraway dream I no longer understood.

Then came my aunt the woman who should have shielded me with love and protection. Instead, she tried to force me into a marriage I never chose. She spoke of culture while I spoke of tears. She spoke of duty while my heart screamed for freedom. I stood before her like a child begging for the right to live my own life, but my voice meant nothing where tradition mattered more than my pain,my voice meant nothing to her because I was homeless if I may say and the fact that I was left in my father's hands after the the failed marriage between my parents but my dad came to my rescue. And I ask myself now, how is it that the people who should love us the most can sometimes hurt us the deepest?

And as if that was not enough, the relationship I ran to for comfort became another battlefield. I loved deeply, genuinely, foolishly hoping love would finally heal what life had broken. But it only added new wounds. His words became weapons. His anger became my daily fear. His love became a living hell. I walked on broken glass just to keep peace, just to survive, just to avoid becoming the reason for another storm. And doesn’t it seem strange that the one place we search for safety can sometimes be the very place that traps us?

There were nights I cried until my chest hurt. Nights I prayed through shaky breaths, asking God if I was meant to carry so much pain. I felt invisible, Unworthy andForgotten. Like the world had written my name under suffering. And I wonder, why is it that the pain of the silenced can be so easily ignored?

So today, as the world marks the International Day of GBV, I sit with a heavy heart and a brave voice.

Because while they speak of awareness, I remember terror.

While they call it a campaign, I call it my survival.

While they say “No to Violence,” I remember the times my no was ignored.

But here is the truth they may never fully understand:

I am still here.

I am a victim, yes but I am also a survivor.

I am wounded, but I am healing.

I am broken, but I am rising.

And today, I choose to wear purple not just as a colour, but as my identity. Purple is strength. Purple is dignity. Purple is the voice of the silenced. I deserve purple because that is where I belong among the brave, the survivors, the unheard who finally found their voice.

To anyone reading this and seeing your own story in my pain listen to me. You are not weak. You are not alone. What is happening to you does not define your worth. Your life matters. Your voice matters. Your healing matters.

Speak when you can. Cry when you need to. Rest when you are tired. But never give up on yourself. There is life after fear. There is peace after survival. There is strength inside you, even when you cannot feel it. And why wouldn’t there be? Haven’t you already survived so much to even be here today?

Today may be International GBV Day to the world,

But to me, it is a reminder that I survived what was meant to destroy me.

That I am still surviving all this pain.

That my story is no longer one of silence, but one of courage.

And if I, a once-silenced victim, can rise from the ashes of my pain,

Then so can you.

We may be victims of what happened,

But we are warriors in how we choose to rise.

And today, wrapped in my purple strength, I stand tall and say:

I am a victim. I am a survivor. I am healing. And I deserve to be seen.

So I ask you, the world, the next person feeling unheard: will you rise too? Will you let your pain define you, or will you let it teach you the courage you never knew you had?