Being a survivor of torture in the UK is hard – but writing gave me back my boldness and courage

I opened my eyes for the first time in this country on a cold drab day in 2013, having fled torture, abuse, detention and a cruel husband in my home country in Africa.

I had been stripped of every human right, and set foot in the UK a broken, suicidal person. It was the coldest March in ten years. I had never experienced such cold. I had read about it, and heard about it, but the actual experience was like falling into a freezing pond. My sister was working as live-in carer, so I was all alone with no one to show me around.

When I put in my asylum claim, somebody from my home country introduced me to Freedom from Torture. This amazing organisation offered not only counselling, but therapeutic groups. Having grown up on a farm, I was immediately attracted to the gardening group.

• ‘It’s changed our life’: These modern slavery survivors are finding hope at Christmas through music
• ‘Common sense and humanity’: Home Office doubles time given to refugees before eviction from asylum hotels

One day, the coordinator of the writing group, Write to Life, came and explained the healing power of creative writing. They were about to hold their summer party, so I went along. There, I heard a group member read one of her pieces: Looking and listening to her, a woman no longer young, who like me had suffered torture and yet now was standing up in public, and reading her work confidently and with obvious pleasure, I thought: “I’d like to do that!” I was hooked.

It turned out to be the best decision I ever made. In the first session, we were asked to write about our families. I had never shared anything like this with anybody before. I had lost two brothers to war, I’d lost my precious Grandma. It felt like a sharp knife thrust into my heart. But as I continued to write, slowly and carefully, the writing sliced through the layers of confusion, insecurity and worthlessness that had built up during my persecution and flight.  

The group introduced me to a whole world of possibilities. At every workshop, we start by eating, exchanging small talk about what’s been happening in our lives. While we eat, memories are shared, friendships blossom and laughter bonds us.

Then, the week’s topic is introduced. The subjects vary, but we’re not asked to write about anything that would evoke memories of our torture. The workshop facilitator guides us, but everyone is free to write their own thoughts. Those who want to, read their work to each other, though nobody is made to do this. Sometimes our writing is too personal to share.

Writing for me has enabled me to unmute my voice and share my experiences, without plunging me back into depression or nightmares. It gives me control of what I revisit or write about, and when. 

I began to write outside the workshop, pieces that were about all kinds of other things. It felt like emptying out all the bad feelings that had been drowning me. The more I wrote, the easier it was to open up. As each piece was written I felt the boldness and courage coming back, along with a fervent desire to reach out to those who are still voiceless and vulnerable.

The group has become my family. There, I am never judged. It’s okay not to be okay. And knowing that everybody else there has been through the same experiences as me, I also know I don’t need to explain anything. They understand.

Being a survivor in the UK is hard, and it can be easy to tip into mental and emotional instability. But the group has created a shield around me, and given me the assurance that I’m never alone. I feel protected. Just as animals move in packs in the jungle, this group protects its own. Life was never meant to be lived alone.

Christmas is the worst time for those who are separated from their families – no food or drink or fancy wrapped presents count for anything next to companionship and love. So the friendship of the group feels particularly special at this time of year.

Christmas also, inevitably, marks the passing of another year, bringing thoughts of opportunities lost and time wasted in the limbo of asylum, not able to use our talents and experience to help others as we have been helped.

Having been a teacher back home, I myself hope to counsel young people and give them a solid foundation in life. But I have been waiting nearly twelve years to be given this opportunity. I hope it won’t be much longer to wait for my asylum claim to be granted. 

Coming from a country where, after each handshake, you count your fingers to see if you still have five, when that day comes, I will indeed feel free.

Tanya is a member of Freedom from Torture’s creative writing group Write to Life.

Do you have a story to tell or opinions to share about this? Get in touch and tell us more. This Christmas, you can make a lasting change on a vendor’s life. Buy a magazine from your local vendor in the street every week. If you can’t reach them, buy a Vendor Support Kit.