You are not alone

I was raised between two faiths my father Muslim, my mother Christian and an unstable home that eventually broke apart. As the firstborn, I became a mother to my two siblings while still in Form 2, carrying responsibilities no child should have to carry.

I survived rape. Twice,and I didn’t know who to tell.

After that, I changed, I withdrew, I lost track of time, I isolated myself and instead of protection, I was met with beatings almost daily because my pain didn’t look like pain to the people around me. I remember going home after the first incident, only to be beaten so badly that my body learned fear before my mouth learned how to speak.

Depression became my shadow.

When my father remarried in Form 4, things didn’t heal they broke further. One day, after being deeply insulted, I left home without a word. I was supposed to join school. Instead, I walked away from everything I knew and went to my mother’s. Reaching out to my father felt like hitting a wall silence where there should have been love.

I struggled. With my mother. With life. With myself.

But I survived.

Years later, my father reached out again. And today, against odds that once felt impossible, I am a first year medical student.

This is not a story of perfection.

It’s a story of survival.

Of carrying pain quietly and still choosing to live.

Of being broken and still becoming.

If you’re reading this and your life feels heavy if your trauma is unnamed, if your home hurt you, if you feel behind, lost, or alone please hear me:

Your beginning does not disqualify your future.

Your silence does not mean your pain isn’t real.

And your survival already makes you powerful.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you are not alone.