Yasmin's story

What broke me most were the moments when I saw pregnant women give birth inside prison, chained at their hands and feet, their first cries of motherhood drowned in pain and humiliation. At that time, I was not yet a mother, but those scenes stayed with me. Later, when I held my own children in my arms, I finally understood the depth of the agony those women carried.

The treatment in prison was cruel.

For five days, I was locked in a cell, denied water, and when they finally gave me some, it was tainted with chemicals. I washed my hair with it, only to lose it all.

The roots were destroyed, and to this day, doctors have not been able to find me a cure. This wound has followed me long after prison, affecting not only my appearance but also my self-esteem. Yet, even with this, I made a choice: I would not allow it to define me. I would not remain a victim.

Leaving prison did not mean freedom. Society, at that time, did not know how to look at women who had been imprisoned. For many, we were considered a burden. People whispered, judged and treated us as if we had brought shame. As a young woman, that was one of the hardest parts, to face not only what happened inside prison but also the stigma outside it.

But I refused to surrender to that image. I realised that if I allowed myself to stay weak, life would swallow me whole.

I chose to rise, to rebuild and to lead my life with strength.

When I became a mother, my determination only grew. My children gave me new reasons to fight. I wanted to be their safe place, their support system, their role model. I wanted them to continue their education, to dream beyond the walls that had once confined me. And I wanted to continue learning with them - to show them that growth has no age and no limits.

This is why I joined the Stronger Women, Stronger Nations programme with Women for Women International in Palestine in August 2025. For me, it was a step toward independence, a step toward carrying the full responsibility of my family without having to depend on anyone.

The programme has become more than just training, it has become a lifeline.

I find myself surrounded by women who, like me, carry heartbreaking stories. Each of us had endured hardship, but together, we are creating solidarity.

Women who had lived next door to me for years became friends once we finally shared our stories. Together, we are learning, growing and encouraging one another.

Every session is giving me new tools: how to save money, how to plan for emergencies, how to build financial security. Simple concepts, maybe, but powerful when you have lived through instability. I have started to see that my dreams could take shape.

One of those dreams is to open a small grocery shop in my neighbourhood, a place with basic supplies that families around us always need.

Step by step, I have started building this idea. Through the programme, I share the challenges I face, and together with other women, I explore solutions. It is not just about the shop, it is about learning to trust myself as a decision-maker, as a leader in my own life.

At the same time, I still carry hopes for myself: one day, I wish to afford treatment for the hair loss that has affected me since prison. I wish for a house where my children and I can feel safe. And I wish to see my children’s dreams come true, to study, to travel, to own a car, to build futures that are brighter than the past I lived.

Every day, I push myself not to give up.

My past was full of pain, but my future is built on determination. I dare to rise for myself.