This week has been a whirlwind — a strange storm of legal documents, emotional triggers, inner resilience, and unexpected clarity. It wasn’t the kind of week that makes headlines, but it was the kind that defines healing.
Some weeks test your limits. Others remind you why you keep going. This one did both.
The Fight That Never Asked for Fairness
It started with more work on my Judicial Review bundle — page after page of evidence, injustice, and unanswered cries. I sat with paperwork that still smells of betrayal, legal language that masks the truth, and a timeline that doesn't forget.
It’s not just a case file. It’s my life. My home. My safety. My son. My stolen peace.
I’ve been fighting a system that never made space for me — a survivor. A woman. A voice too calm for chaos, too “composed” for courts to believe the depth of my trauma. But beneath the surface, I carry a history of wounds no judge ever asked to see.
And yet — I keep going.
Rights of Equality
This week, I sat in a meeting with Rights of Equality — a moment that felt like fresh air in a room that had long been sealed shut. For once, I wasn’t just recounting trauma. I was being heard. Seen not just as a victim, but as a woman leading change.
We spoke of advocacy, systemic failure, and the silence survivors are forced to swallow. We explored ways to raise our voices collectively, because justice isn’t a privilege — it’s a right. And far too many of us are still waiting.
That conversation reminded me: my pain has a purpose. And my voice, however tired, still matters.
What the Court Didn’t See
This week also brought an emotional return to my past — I revisited the beginning. September 2018. The month the abuse started. The days I thought were “normal” until they weren’t. The slow unravelling that only survivors understand — where love turns into control, and your reflection in the mirror begins to disappear.
By 2020, I had told a doctor. I had spoken the truth out loud. But nothing changed.
The court never asked about that report. No one questioned the bruises beneath the legal language. They never looked beyond the paperwork to see the woman whose home was taken, whose name was erased from safety, whose trauma was overlooked.
But I remember. And I refuse to let them forget.
A Quiet Episode of Strength
I’ve also been working on a podcast episode — “Reclaiming Power: The Quiet Strength of Showing Up.” Because sometimes, just breathing through the chaos is a victory. Sometimes, showing up is enough.
Strength doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it’s in the silence. In the late-night prayers. In the trembling hands that still write. In the eyes that still search for light even when everything feels dim.
This Week’s Lesson
If this week has taught me anything, it’s this:
You do not have to be perfect to be powerful. You do not need to be loud to be strong. And you do not have to be heard to know your truth.
My story might still be written in the margins of legal documents, but I’m reclaiming the pen.
To every woman reading this — every survivor, every mother, every heart still fighting for breath after being silenced — I see you. This week was for us.
We are not what happened to us.
We are who we choose to become — one step, one breath, one brave week at a time.
