From Trauma to Freedom

| This is the 521st story of Our Life Logs | Born in May of 1992, I was raised in the suburbs of Long Island, New York. From a very young age, I had a sensitive heart and big emotions that were reflected in my actions. I could be drawn to tears and fall into the lowest of the lows. Back when I was a child, … Continue reading From Trauma to Freedom

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Who I Am at the End of the Journey

| This is the 517th story of Our Life Logs | My mother had what some would call a “dirty” pregnancy, meaning my parents weren’t together and my father wasn’t in the picture when I was born in 2002 in San Diego, California. My family doesn’t talk much about it due to the stigma, but I’ve gathered the gist of what happened. My mother, along with … Continue reading Who I Am at the End of the Journey

Walls Break Down, the Sun Comes In

| This is the 512th story of Our Life Logs | “I love you,” he says as I look into the honey pots he calls eyes. I can’t control the smile stretching across my face; for the first time in my life, I’m genuinely in love with someone. In this moment, I find myself looking back on a road that almost broke me and amazed that … Continue reading Walls Break Down, the Sun Comes In

What I’m About to Tell You

| This is the 507th story of Our Life Logs | As I begin to tell you my story, please know that it is painful. Even so, I wish to do so for all the victims out there so that, they too, will become survivors. I was born in 1992 in Kasur, Pakistan, and was raised alongside my two older sisters and a younger brother. We were not wealthy … Continue reading What I’m About to Tell You

I Look to You, Dear Daughter

| This is the 503rd story of Our Life Logs |  “To realize one’s nature perfectly- That is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves nowadays.” Oscar Wilde.  It was a chilly day in 1972 in Okara, Pakistan, when I came into this world as the youngest daughter in the family after my five siblings. As the baby of the family, … Continue reading I Look to You, Dear Daughter

The Girl Who Fought Her Own Battle

| This is the 497th story of Our Life Logs | December 20, 2006. I was 13 years old. The door flung open. Our one-room home felt like a locked cage. I remember the fear in my mother’s eyes and the way my brother’s breath shortened. I remember the pounding of my heart. It was the first night my father came home drunk.  My family and I lived in Karachi, Pakistan, in a very small shelter. I don’t call it … Continue reading The Girl Who Fought Her Own Battle

She Will Not Live This Way

| This is the 492nd story of Our Life Logs | Growing up, I saw thousands of faces in my town. I was born in Kasur, Punjab, in Pakistan. Kasur is a very small city famous for the shrine of Baba Bulleh Shah. Thousands of believers come there to visit the shrine and say their prayers. Some of these travelers have hopeful eyes, like bright windows on … Continue reading She Will Not Live This Way

I Am Not Weak

| This is the 475th story of Our Life Logs | I’ve often wondered what drove me to have those wicked thoughts of wanting to commit suicide. Did I, in fact, have a mental illness? Was I a coward? Was I really being selfish? Eventually, I answered those questions. Here’s how. I was born in Washington, DC in 1975. The youngest of three to parents that were … Continue reading I Am Not Weak

To Return to Myself

| This is the 462nd story of Our Life Logs | As a little girl born in 2001, I didn’t grow up knowing anything but my family’s small farm in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, the two horses we had and the beef cattle. I can still remember how it felt like to wake up to animal noises, to play in the creek, my feet all muddy and wet. I … Continue reading To Return to Myself

The Anatomy of a Warrior

| This is the 461st story of Our Life Logs | Warriors carry an extra appendage while preparing for combat. They choose what will heighten their power when they meet adversity. They master the appendage. They set out to conquer. For me, that extra appendage is, was, and will always be my power wheelchair. My wheels are a chariot to freedom rather than a temporary crutch … Continue reading The Anatomy of a Warrior