I was raised in a normal, middle-class, loving Christian family near Rotherham, Yorkshire. My faith was strong from a young age, and I committed my life to Christ at a Christian holiday camp when I was 15.
One day, while at a local café, an older Pakistani man struck up a conversation with me. I hadn’t expected to date someone like him, but I didn’t want to be prejudiced. So I agreed to see him. He was charming, romantic, showering me with gifts and attention. I felt flattered.
But within a few months, our relationship took a dark turn. I was conflicted about intimacy because of my beliefs, but soon I found myself trapped in a cycle of violent rape and physical abuse that lasted almost a year. The beatings were brutal—I was strangled, suffocated, and there were times I thought I would die.
After six months, I was taken to other towns to be gang-raped. But every time, something would prevent it from happening—someone would interrupt, or the men would get too drunk. Looking back, I know that was God intervening. Even in my darkest moments, I kept praying and praising Him, and He spared me. My faith grew stronger.
I went to the police multiple times, desperate for help, but they dismissed me. I know now that I wasn’t alone in that—many others were ignored too. In 2013, an independent inquiry revealed that authorities had failed to protect an estimated 1,400 children from abuse in Rotherham between 1997 and 2013.
Some might ask why I didn’t just run. The truth is, I had no way to escape. He had free access to where I lived. He threatened to kill my parents and harm me if I tried to leave. My parents didn’t suspect the extent of the abuse. Even now, I haven’t told them everything—I want to protect them from the pain.
Throughout it all, I was made to feel that I was the one to blame. He used religious justification to degrade me, repeatedly quoting the Qur’an and telling me I deserved what was happening because I wasn’t properly covered. But I have learned that these were lies. There is an enemy out there who seeks to weigh people down with false guilt, but God doesn’t want us to carry that burden.
Eventually, I was hospitalized, and that’s when the abuse stopped. Fifteen years later, my faith has survived. The trials refined me, and God protected me from worse harm than I could have imagined.
Now, the police are finally taking me seriously, and I am fighting for justice. But I have also made the choice to forgive. It hasn’t been easy—anger, bitterness, and hatred could consume me, but I refuse to let them. Forgiveness is a deliberate choice, even when every instinct pushes toward revenge. Holding onto resentment would only destroy me, and I won’t let that happen.
I still battle fear, but I know that God is my refuge and strength. He is the one I run to in moments of darkness. Through His grace, I am still standing.
I believe Christians must speak out against the ideologies that enable these crimes. We are taught to love and accept others, but the men who preyed on me were taught that girls like me were beneath them—that we were objects to be used and discarded. More must be done to educate young men before they fall into this cycle of violence.
I urge others to pray—not just for survivors like me, but for the boys and young men who might be drawn into these crimes. If even one of them can be reached, countless future victims could be saved.
I am living proof that, even in the deepest suffering, God’s faithfulness endures. If you are struggling, hold on. He is with you.
One day, while at a local café, an older Pakistani man struck up a conversation with me. I hadn’t expected to date someone like him, but I didn’t want to be prejudiced. So I agreed to see him. He was charming, romantic, showering me with gifts and attention. I felt flattered.
But within a few months, our relationship took a dark turn. I was conflicted about intimacy because of my beliefs, but soon I found myself trapped in a cycle of violent rape and physical abuse that lasted almost a year. The beatings were brutal—I was strangled, suffocated, and there were times I thought I would die.
After six months, I was taken to other towns to be gang-raped. But every time, something would prevent it from happening—someone would interrupt, or the men would get too drunk. Looking back, I know that was God intervening. Even in my darkest moments, I kept praying and praising Him, and He spared me. My faith grew stronger.
I went to the police multiple times, desperate for help, but they dismissed me. I know now that I wasn’t alone in that—many others were ignored too. In 2013, an independent inquiry revealed that authorities had failed to protect an estimated 1,400 children from abuse in Rotherham between 1997 and 2013.
Some might ask why I didn’t just run. The truth is, I had no way to escape. He had free access to where I lived. He threatened to kill my parents and harm me if I tried to leave. My parents didn’t suspect the extent of the abuse. Even now, I haven’t told them everything—I want to protect them from the pain.
Throughout it all, I was made to feel that I was the one to blame. He used religious justification to degrade me, repeatedly quoting the Qur’an and telling me I deserved what was happening because I wasn’t properly covered. But I have learned that these were lies. There is an enemy out there who seeks to weigh people down with false guilt, but God doesn’t want us to carry that burden.
Eventually, I was hospitalized, and that’s when the abuse stopped. Fifteen years later, my faith has survived. The trials refined me, and God protected me from worse harm than I could have imagined.
Now, the police are finally taking me seriously, and I am fighting for justice. But I have also made the choice to forgive. It hasn’t been easy—anger, bitterness, and hatred could consume me, but I refuse to let them. Forgiveness is a deliberate choice, even when every instinct pushes toward revenge. Holding onto resentment would only destroy me, and I won’t let that happen.
I still battle fear, but I know that God is my refuge and strength. He is the one I run to in moments of darkness. Through His grace, I am still standing.
I believe Christians must speak out against the ideologies that enable these crimes. We are taught to love and accept others, but the men who preyed on me were taught that girls like me were beneath them—that we were objects to be used and discarded. More must be done to educate young men before they fall into this cycle of violence.
I urge others to pray—not just for survivors like me, but for the boys and young men who might be drawn into these crimes. If even one of them can be reached, countless future victims could be saved.
I am living proof that, even in the deepest suffering, God’s faithfulness endures. If you are struggling, hold on. He is with you.
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