A Journey of Survival and Transformation
On December 4, 1993, my family departed from Illinois, returning to Pakistan after several years in the United States. At that age, I was too young to grasp how geography could shape my fate. Yet, almost eleven years later, I would find myself boarding another plane to the U.S., not as a child of immigrants but as a survivor of violence, clinging desperately to life while fleeing a death sentence.
The Woman I Was
As a young woman in Lahore, I was driven and purposeful. I was pursuing my MA in English Literature and preparing for the Central Superior Services (CSS) exam, a well-trodden path in my family leading to public service and national impact. I was firmly in the realm of advocacy for women and children, with a life full of shape and direction.
Turning Point
However, on December 7, 2003, everything I believed in shattered. I was raped by the man later to become my husband and the father of my children. This brutal act initiated a year filled with escalating horror, characterized by three attempted honor killings, relentless psychological and physical abuse, and the agonizing silence of complicity in society. My mother’s desperate plea—a chilling realization that my own family might kill me—ultimately compelled me to leave Pakistan. I was not rescued; I was surrendered, married off to my rapist in a misguided attempt to protect the family’s honor. That painful truth remained buried until 2019.
The Arrival and Reality
Upon arriving in the U.S. on December 5, 2004, I didn’t step onto American soil as a woman bursting with ambition. Instead, I arrived deeply wounded and numb, my dreams traded for silence. My life had devolved into mere survival; I was running from a death sentence, unsure of where I was headed.
The years to come did not mark a fresh start but rather a continuation of a nightmare. My world collapsed within the walls of a home I did not choose, dominated by a man who dictated every aspect of my existence. Pregnancy became a weapon to prove loyalty, each childbirth accompanied by severe complications that further escalated my physical and mental decline. I was losing myself in a silence so overwhelming that it crushed my spirit. PTSD and depression became my constant companions. The mere thought of escaping felt like a distant fairytale when I had no wings, no money, and no allies.
A Shift in Perspective
Thanksgiving during those years was merely an ordinary day—just a long weekend devoid of meaning. Gratitude was a language I had not yet learned.
That changed in 2013 when I took my oath as a U.S. citizen. For many, it may seem like a formality, but for me, it was a resurrection. That oath symbolized a promise to reclaim my life. It was a silent vow to step out of the shadows of another’s control, to begin to breathe, to articulate, to evolve.
Yet, this newfound freedom came with a heavy responsibility. My consciousness extended to the history of the land that now provided me safety. It became evident that this country was built on the suffering of Indigenous peoples. Acknowledging that violence became intrinsic to my sense of gratitude; citizenship meant honoring that legacy, not erasing it.
Renewed Purpose
Despite the trauma, pervasive betrayals, and moments when I thought I might not survive, this land offered the space for a fresh start, the chance to protect my children, heal my body, and rediscover my voice.
In February 2015, I faced death yet again. Just two months after my third child’s birth, I collapsed into hypovolemic shock—the fifth near-fatal experience I’d endured. In that unsettling moment, as I felt my life ebb away, I sensed a presence urging me to hold on. I was pleading with an unknown force to return to my children. And then, I woke up, which became a spiritual awakening—a profound realization that I could never revert to who I once was. Something greater than my pain had intervened, reinforcing my belief that I was meant to live boldly and authentically.
Finding Community
Six months later, I returned to the advocacy work I had once abandoned, focusing on refugees in Seattle. This endeavor matured into my nonprofit, Americans for Refugees and Immigrants, marking the moment when Thanksgiving finally began to hold real significance.
I vividly recall the first Thanksgiving I hosted for two Syrian brothers who had fled the Assad regime that same year. As we gathered around my table, sharing stories of trauma and resilience, I was struck by the same fire in their eyes that I had fought to reignite within myself. Thanksgiving transformed from merely a meal into a moment of profound spiritual reflection.
The Evolution of Gratitude
Through my nonprofit, I encountered families from diverse backgrounds—Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Myanmar, Bosnia—each one having weathered unimaginable horrors yet resolutely choosing to rebuild their lives. Their survival narratives enriched my understanding of my own journey. Their courage fortified my voice and illuminated the truth that healing is not only about overcoming; it’s also about evolving.
Thanksgiving 2015 became a pivotal day where my past converged with my present, marking the evolution of survival into purpose. Since then, I have chosen to share this day with those who have become my chosen family—individuals whose loyalty was forged in the fires of adversity. Their love has proven thicker than blood, offering solace during the toughest moments.
The Deeper Meaning of Survival
The prayers I receive from those I’ve served and the quiet protection offered even in moments of loss overwhelm me with gratitude. I reflect not out of sorrow but from an understanding that I am still here—still breathing, still rebuilding, still free. My life today is one of authenticity, even if that journey comes with isolation and sacrifice. Some might call it courage, but I believe it stems from clarity.
In this land, while I acknowledge its painful history, I am grateful for the refuge it has provided. I am compelled to honor the communities I’ve joined and the people who welcomed me, even amidst the continuous struggles of survival, as it is never an accident; it is a calling.
Thanksgiving as a Sacred Remembrance
Every Thanksgiving, I reaffirm my commitment—not to mere tradition or superficial rituals, but to a deeper purpose. I vow to honor the history of this land and uplift the refugees whose experiences resonate with mine. I resolve to live boldly, despite the challenges urging me to shrink, and to uphold the promise made at the brink of death: that I would not squander this life.
For me, Thanksgiving transcends being just a holiday; it embodies a sacred reflection, a day of remembrance, and my ongoing expression of gratitude.
