The Story of Amina
I carried the weight of a life torn apart by war. The sounds of bombs and the memories of loved ones lost in Syria haunted me even after I sought refuge in Jordan. Every day felt like survival, my heart was heavy with grief, my mind clouded by fear, and my body weary from struggle. I often wondered if I would ever feel whole again.
For years, my grief and anger felt unbearable. My body bore the scars of my pain with high blood pressure, stomachaches, and even neurological issues. Most mornings, I could not summon the strength to rise. I would hide under the covers, cry silently, and try to avoid the responsibilities of being a wife and a mother to my three little daughters. Life felt impossible, and I feared that I could never be the mother they needed or the woman God had created me to be.
When I attended my first session with AWT, I faced a truth I had long avoided: I admitted that I had been too harsh on my daughters, unfair to the ones I loved most. That day, when I returned home, I embraced my girls with all the love I had kept buried for so long. They were only 9, 7, and 5 years old, yet they had silently carried my brokenness alongside me. Seeing their faces, I realized that the pain I had been holding inside was also felt by the ones I most wanted to protect.
In the following sessions, I shared my feelings about my daughters, my husband, and the life I had lost. My counselor spoke gently about grief, about God’s presence even in our darkest moments, about prayer, and about the possibility of stepping out of the cycle of despair. I learned about shock and loss, not just as words, but as realities that had shaped my everyday. Slowly, hope began to flicker. I made a promise, both to God and to myself, to allow change and healing to take root.
By the final session, something remarkable had happened. I could embrace my daughters with love, clean our home with energy, sit and talk with my family, and even cook meals with joy. My heart felt lighter, and my home felt transformed. The burden I had carried for so long no longer defined my days, and peace began to replace the chaos.
But the greatest blessing came in realizing that my journey was bigger than myself. I could now reach out to another Syrian woman who was struggling with depression and the shock of loss, and tell her that healing is possible. I could speak from experience, offering hope where despair had once lived.
Today, my daughters see a mother who is present, healthy, and hopeful. I walk with courage and clarity, no longer defined by the war or the pain it left behind. Step by step, I am learning to live again, to love again, and to believe that even after unimaginable loss, life can still be filled with joy, purpose, and hope. Through God’s grace, the horrors of my past no longer dictate my future, and I am free to move forward with peace in my heart.