Celebrating 50 Years of Harbor House: Story 3 of 50

How Harbor House Helped Me Reclaim My Life

I was born and raised in Iraq, of Kurdish ethnicity, in a world shaped by war, hunger, fear, and rigid cultural control. From the earliest moments I can remember, survival – not freedom – was the goal. Hunger was normal. Violence was normal. Silence was safety.

I was taught that I did not belong to myself. My body, my thoughts, my feelings – none of them were mine. I existed to serve others. I didn’t know I had rights. I didn’t know I had value. I didn’t even know I was allowed to exist for myself.

A Life Chosen for Me
While still very young, my marriage was arranged to a man ten years older than me. He was a stranger I met for only 30 minutes before being told, “This is your husband.” Soon after, I was sent to the United States with him, sitting on a plane in shock, unsure if my life was real.

I believed marriage might bring some relief – that answering to one person would be easier than answering to many.

I was wrong.

What followed was not a life. It was imprisonment.

My husband controlled every part of me. He took my identification, my phone, my voice. He dictated what I wore, who I spoke to, how I ate, even how I washed my hands. I wasn’t allowed to walk beside him in public. I had to wear clothes in the shower. I lived in constant fear.

Almost every night, violence followed. His hands around my throat. My hair pulled until I was lifted off the ground. Even silence was dangerous. I never knew if I would survive the night.

Motherhood Under Fear
Having a child was not a choice; it was an expectation. When I became pregnant, my husband disappeared. My son was born with a serious medical condition, and even in those moments, I was accused, shamed, and controlled.

When money ran out, I was forced to work and hand over every dollar. When I told him there was nothing left, the violence escalated. One night, after beating both me and my son, he paced the house, talking about how he could kill me without anyone knowing.

That was the moment I knew I had to escape.

The Moment Everything Changed
The next morning, I begged him to take a shower; not because I thought it would calm him, but because I needed time. When he stepped into the bathroom, I ran.

He caught me at the door. But when a neighbor appeared, he changed instantly – smiling, calm, controlled – and let me go.

I drove straight to the UCF Police Department, terrified and unable to explain what was happening. An officer handed me a phone number. That number led me to Harbor House.

Discovering Safety for the First Time
I didn’t know places like Harbor House existed. I thought it would be another kind of prison. But when I arrived, they told me something I had never heard before: “This is not a jail. If you don’t like it, you can always leave.” That sentence changed everything.

That first night, I laid in a bed and felt something unfamiliar – calm. My body wasn’t tense. I wasn’t waiting to be hurt. I wasn’t afraid to fall asleep.

For the first time in my life, I felt safe. I was 28 years old.

Learning I Was a Person
At Harbor House, I learned that what I had experienced had a name – abuse – and that it was not my fault.

One evening during group therapy, a counselor held up a mirror and said, “You are a person, and you deserve love.”

I didn’t understand what that meant. But when she asked me to truly look at myself, something inside me broke open. That was the moment I realized: I exist.

Rebuilding From Nothing
I stayed in the emergency shelter then moved into transitional housing, working with Harbor House advocates for nearly two years. I arrived with nothing – no ID, no phone, no bank account. I was finishing my master’s degree, working full-time, raising my son, and trying to survive.

Harbor House helped me rebuild every piece of my life:

• Legal protection and divorce support
• Emotional and psychological care
• Basic needs, from safety to furniture

When I was afraid to sleep, they told me, “We are watching.”
When I woke up shaking at 3 a.m., they answered.
When my own family turned against me, they stood between me and harm.

They didn’t just shelter me – they stayed.

A Life Reclaimed
Today, it has been nine years since Harbor House took me in. I now own my own home. I work as a Project Manager in transportation engineering, helping build systems that keep communities safe. I am raising my son in a life free from fear.

When I moved into my first apartment, I was terrified. I had never lived alone. I didn’t even have furniture.

Harbor House filled my apartment in one hour.

Some of those pieces are still with me today as daily reminders that people showed up for me when I believed no one would.

They didn’t rescue me and walk away. They stayed until I could stand on my own.

Why This Story Matters
There was a time when I believed my life would end in silence.

Instead, because of Harbor House, my life began.

If sharing my story helps even one person recognize abuse, seek help, or leave before it’s too late, then it is worth telling because safety should not be a privilege. Dignity should not be earned. And every person deserves the chance to exist as their own.

Because Harbor House Has Been Doing This for 50 Years
My story is only one among thousands.

For 50 years, Harbor House has opened its doors to survivors with nowhere else to go. They have answered late-night calls, protected families in crisis, helped survivors rebuild their lives, and reminded people like me that we are worthy of safety, dignity, and love.

When someone arrives at Harbor House, they are often carrying nothing but fear. Harbor House meets them with protection, compassion, and the tools to begin again.

That work only continues because people choose to support it.

As Harbor House counts down to its 50^th anniversary, I ask you to help ensure the next survivor finds the same support that saved my life.

Your donation provides:

• Emergency shelter for survivors, their children, and pets
• Counseling and legal advocacy
• Crisis intervention and safety planning
• Housing support and long-term recovery services
• Hope for people who believe they have none

I am alive because Harbor House existed when I needed them the most. Someone else also needs that same chance today. Please consider making a gift in honor of Harbor House’s 50 years of service – and in support of the next life waiting to be rebuilt free from abuse.