I faced abuse not because I was weak, but because I was strong, loving, and unafraid to be open, raw. And openness, when met by those who cannot hold it with respect, can become a target.
My first marriage was a collision of love, obsession and violence. He was powerful, older, and I trusted him to be a guide. Instead, I found myself in the hands of someone who could not control the storm of his own emotions, was weak while compensating it by immense anger and jealousy. Escaping that world required strategy, courage, and the kind of strength no young woman should ever have to summon – yet I did.
My second marriage began as a warm story where I hoped to find solace, but slowly, with some years turned into a battlefield. I was far from my homeland, with a child in my arms, standing alone against forces that tried to silence me, control me, and break me. There were years of courtrooms, fear, exhaustion, and endless moments of standing tall and holding the fight when everything inside wanted to collapse.
And yet, I rose.
I found refuge in my spiritual path. My Buddhist practice and my community gave me the power to conquer that darkness – not to erase pain, but to transform it. Through it, I grew deeper roots and taller branches. I discovered courage I didn’t know existed. And I understood something essential: I wasn’t just fighting for myself. I was fighting for every woman, for every girl who had ever stood alone and been told to stay silent.
From pain grew clarity. From fear grew strength.
There is always strength in a pure heart, in the unwavering compass of what is right. But strength also lives in protecting our boundaries, in standing tall with dignity, in guarding the light within us and each other. This is how we build our lives back – not only for ourselves, but for our children and the world they will inherit.
And when we rise again – because we will – it becomes our responsibility to extend a hand to others. To remind them that light is still here. That pain does not last forever. That dignity cannot be stolen.
After years I found myself holding hands of so many women. We stand together in love, in sadness, in strength.
I am whole.
Not because I was never broken – but because I was, and I learned how to build myself anew.