The Story of Dalia
For as long as I could remember, shame had followed me like a shadow. I grew up in a home where I was abused by my own family members. Even as I became an educated woman with a respected job as a dentist, I felt empty and worthless. My father took my entire salary, and I felt like nothing more than a servant in my own house. I could not separate guilt from shame, and more than once, I had contemplated ending my life. Each day felt heavy, as if I were carrying a burden far too big for anyone to bear.
Last year, everything began to shift. I came across Arab Woman Today’s campaign, “It Is Not a Shame.” For the first time, I wondered if my story could be different. I reached out to an AWT team member and asked a simple question: “Can you explain to me the difference between guilt and shame?” Their conversation opened my eyes. Finally, I understood why I had carried confusion and pain for so long, why shame had shadowed every part of my life.
The team member reminded me of God’s love and my value in His eyes. Slowly, I began to release the shame that was never mine to carry. I found the courage to stand up to my father and keep half of my salary. It was a small step, but monumental. It was the beginning of reclaiming my dignity and recognizing that my life mattered.
Eventually, I moved into a dormitory near my dental practice. For the first time, I had space to breathe, to rest, and to begin again. I could live without the constant pressure of control and fear, and I began to imagine a life filled with freedom, peace, and hope. My new home became a sanctuary where I could reflect, pray, and rebuild my sense of self one small step at a time.
The journey was not without struggle. There were still days when the past weighed heavily on my heart, and memories threatened to pull me back into despair. But I was no longer alone. An AWT team member continued to check on me, sending encouraging words that lifted me whenever I felt weak. Each message felt like medicine for my heart, a reminder that I was seen, valued, and loved.
I began to open up to other women in my community, sharing parts of my story in quiet conversations. To my surprise, many of them had carried similar burdens. We cried together, prayed together, and reminded each other of our worth. I realized that healing was not just for me; it was something I could offer to others. My pain had become a doorway to empathy, and my story a tool for connection.
Now, I mentor a younger woman who reminds me of myself. She is just beginning her journey, and I see in her the same fear and longing I once carried. I tell her what I’ve learned: that shame is a lie, and that God’s love is stronger than any wound. Each time I speak those words, I feel them sink deeper into my own soul. I am not just surviving, I am becoming. And I know that the light God has placed in me will continue to shine, not just for me, but for others who are still searching for hope.