by Samra Zafar
* * *
Most of what is done to address abuse, including my project, is reactive. While shelter services, counselling, support and mentoring are absolutely essential, they occur after the abuse has taken place. But what can we do to prevent abuse before it starts? I believe the answer lies in education, providing everyone with a knowledge of what abuse looks like and how one can find oneself in an abusive relationship. We also need to teach people how to prevent themselves or loved ones from becoming victims.
That means teaching our children that they are worthy of love, respect and belonging. It means educating them about healthy relationships, healthy boundaries, early signs of abusive behaviours and tendencies. We also need to underline the importance of empathy and compassion. Only with this knowledge can young and old alike build (and demand) authentic connections with others. Giving back, paying it forward, asking and receiving help should be considered life skills: skills that everyone approaching adulthood has and practises on a regular basis.
Finally, we need to share our stories, and we need to listen to others.
I try to do all of that in my increasingly frequent speaking work. During the last several years, I have addressed high schools, universities, corporations and banks. I’ve delivered two TED Talks and made a Yahoo! video that has reached tens of millions of people worldwide. I’ve also been interviewed by dozens of publications and written a piece for Toronto Life magazine. The response to that article was tremendous, reminding me once again that people both want and need to hear stories by people who have successfully escaped abusive situations.
Of all the speaking engagements I’ve had, one was especially meaningful to me. Last year, I joined thirty-four other RBC employees on a corporate volunteer trip to rural Kenya organized by the ME to WE movement. Outside of the group itinerary, I was asked to share my story with hundreds of high school girls in a particular village. I was told that they faced many of the same challenges I had—they lived in a restrictive culture, and the chances were high that they would be forced into child marriages and become victims of domestic violence. As I stood in front of them sharing my journey, I felt as if I were speaking to a teenaged Samra, telling her the things she needed to hear. I told them how the power to change their lives lay within them, not around them, and how they could make choices to pursue their dreams—the key was never to give up. But with success comes responsibility. They would be carving a path not just for themselves to walk but also for others to follow.
After my speech, I heard a voice saying, “Thank you for inspiring me. I am going to become a doctor.” Then another voice: “I will be a lawyer.” And the little exclamations continued.
There was an extraordinary power in all those young voices expressing their hopes and dreams. And as I hugged the girls who embraced me, I found myself hoping with all my heart that every one would be able to make her words come true.
* * *
Amid the encouragement and support I get every day from all over the world, I sometimes experience backlash—stark reminders that some people perceive me to be a failure. I receive numerous messages telling me I am a “shameless woman” and a “home wrecker” who is defaming her culture and community for self-promotion (including, sadly, some from my extended family). A number of friends have confided that their families want them to stay away from me and my bad influence. While these barbs only convince me that I need to keep telling my story, they used to bother me as well. But I’m growing a thick skin. Humour has become one of my favourite deflection tactics.
One day last year, I was in the elevator of my condo building with fifteen-year-old Aisha and an older South Asian woman. I had just returned from work, so was still dressed in a corporate skirt suit. I noticed the woman giving me the once-over.
Finally, in Urdu, she said, “How come I never see your husband around?”
“Oh, Aunty,” I replied, “I’m divorced.”
She smirked at me. “Ah, no wonder,” she said, her voice dripping with disapproval. “Well, you never know when men will get their fill and leave their women. I guess it’s just your bad luck.”
Instead of letting it go, as I would have just a few years ago, I gave her a sweet smile. “Oh, Aunty,” I said, “actually I got my fill and left. He just couldn’t satisfy me anymore.”
With that, Aisha and I sauntered out of the elevator. I could see the woman’s flabbergasted expression out of the corner of my eye. Aisha was laughing. “Mom, you’re such a badass!”
I can chuckle about this now, but there was a time not too long ago when I would have felt deflated by that woman’s judgment. I would have been reminded that many people think I have tarnished both my character and my family’s honour. The episode would have had my mind whispering, “You’re useless. You’re worthless.” And despite everything I now know, those thoughts would have unsettled me deeply. While the physical wounds always mended quickly, the psychological ones have been harder to heal.
The girls and I have done a lot of work to recover from the trauma of our previous life, and I do deeply regret not leaving earlier, not saving them from some of that pain. While I hope they will model their choices and behaviour on the way I lead my life now, not on what they witnessed early in life, I’ve learned that I have to allow them to make their own decisions—especially when it comes to how their father figures in their lives. Despite the fact that I want only the best for them, that I would save them from heartache and mistakes if I could, I know I must allow them independence and agency.
As a mother, I struggle with feelings of guilt about the past. And occasionally, as a divorced woman and an abused wife, I still fall prey to the imposter syndrome and to feelings of shame. But I resist those feelings with everything I’ve got. After all, we need to put the shame where it belongs, with the abusers. There is no honour in silence. My honour lies in my freedom to be me—unapologetically.
And being me is a pretty good deal.
One of the wonderful things about my new life is that I’ve embarked on an extraordinary journey of self-discovery.
I’ve come to understand that while I am an empathetic person—and while I genuinely believe that compassion, vulnerability and empathy form the cornerstone of healthy, functional relationships (and a healthy, functional society)—I’ve had a little trouble balancing this with personal honesty. My desire to be liked has sometimes made it hard for me to say no or to express what I want and need from others. My fear of being abandoned has at times prevented me from standing up for myself or creating boundaries. I’ve discovered, however, that by giving voice to my opinions and my truth, I can actually forge more loving and supportive relationships.
Indeed, I’m discovering the value of knowing my own self-worth. When I was young, I yearned for awards and prizes. During and after my failed marriage, my need for these types of external validation only intensified, as though academic and professional success might “redeem” my personal shortcomings in the eyes of the world. At the same time, I found myself downplaying my accomplishments in romantic relationships. And I accepted partners who didn’t inspire me and who didn’t share my interests or my drive because I thought this was all I could expect, all I warranted.
But I’ve learned that diminishing my own fire does no one any service. I will get from my life what I feel I deserve. And if nothing else, I’ll be happier being myself than trying to fit into a box to satisfy others.
* * *
Through all of this, I am embracing the things that make me truly happy. I have returned to various childhood enthusiasms, including tennis and squash. But I’ve also found many new ones.
After all those years of being isolated in my marital house, I find nothing more exhilarating than meeting new people and making new friends. While I am invigorated by public speaking, attending conferences or getting involved in volunteer organizations, the best part is connecting with the people I encounter there.
I entertain whenever I can. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, an
d now I can gather friends—old and new—in my home and share my culinary efforts with those I love.
I adore travelling, both with my girls and by myself. I’ve cycled and hiked in the Austrian Alps on my own, ziplined through the Mexican jungle with Sonia, and explored the museums of New York with Aisha. I’ve gone scuba diving in Cuba—even though I’ve not yet mastered the art of swimming. I’ve spent mornings watching lions and giraffes move across the African savannah. I’ve whiled away afternoons in Parisian cafes, sipping café au lait and watching the world go by. And I’ve enjoyed evenings in the vibrant jazz clubs of New Orleans. It fills my heart with joy each time I experience the magic of this big, beautiful world.
But there’s more to my love of travel than that. Just recently, I was in Gainesville, Florida, for a speaking event. It was a quick trip but I had a couple of hours free one morning, so I decided to explore. I went onto my laptop and found a hiking trail not far from my hotel. I hadn’t brought any hiking clothes, so I set off in an Uber wearing flip-flops and a summer dress. At the entrance to the trail, I bumped into two couples. Perhaps my unusual appearance piqued their interest. “Are you on your own?” they asked. When I said I was, they invited me to join them. We talked steadily for the entirety of our two-hour hike and parted as friends. To me, that’s the very best part of travel—making serendipitous human connections.
Simply being on the move gives me a thrill, too. I’ve been known to get in my car during evenings without the girls and just drive. More than once I’ve barrelled down the highway all the way to Niagara Falls before turning around. Watching the miles flash by, lost in thought, I find that driving gives me the time to enjoy my own company and reminds me I can now make my own way in the world.
* * *
Freedom to travel, both near and far, has been a great gift, but there is no greater gift than my wonderful family. My daughters are my best friends, my pride and joy. We talk about everything under the sun and support each other unconditionally. Aisha terms us the “perfectly unorthodox family.” Sonia calls us “The Power Girls.” (Sonia once said to me, “I think Daddy’s family picked you because you were only sixteen. They thought you were just going to do whatever they told you to do, and they’d be able to make you into whoever they wanted you to be.” She paused and then added, “Man, they picked the wrong girl.” I may not have felt like a Power Girl when I was sixteen, but I love Sonia’s faith in all three of us.)
Aisha continues to amaze and inspire me. She has become a wonderfully talented artist, something completely outside my own abilities. I’m continually blown away by the beautiful work she produces. She is an extraordinary young woman, and one who is carving her own path for herself.
Sonia’s generosity and big heart make my own heart swell. Over the last few years, she has repeatedly won the HERO Empathy award at her school. Most recently, she was recognized for befriending a boy who was being bullied. He blossomed largely due to her support. I couldn’t be prouder of her.
And my delightful family has a great home. Canada seemed a strange and frightening land when I first arrived, but I’ve come to love this country with all my heart and am beyond grateful for everything it has given me. I’m as proud a Canadian as anyone could possibly be.
* * *
I value the incredible love I have in my life from my children, my friends, my mentors and so many people around the world. I’m grateful for every interaction, every experience, every breath and every moment of existence.
Of course, I don’t have a perfect life, but who does? Even with my wonderful girls and my satisfying work, I have my ups and downs, my triumphs and struggles. I still often feel like a misfit, and confusion and uncertainty sometimes creep in. That said, I am truly happy—the happiest I have ever been. I love my mistakes because I have the right to make them. I lean into challenges because that’s how I know I will grow. I will fall and I will fail, but I will not stop living. I have come to embrace this truth: I am enough.
I’m committed to letting my past make me better, not bitter. I strive to forgive Ahmed, his family and my parents, not because what happened was okay—it can never be okay—but because giving resentment, anger and hatred any place in my heart will only leave less space for love, joy and happiness.
I strive for the day when my past will serve only to provide me with strength and wisdom and will not waylay me with occasional pitfalls and self-doubt. But I will never relinquish it. I will keep raising my voice and speaking up. Because it’s necessary to break the silence. Because millions of silences are still waiting to be broken. And because, sometimes, just telling my story can prevent it from being repeated.
In the spring of 2017, after the Toronto Life article appeared, I received an email from a man in Pakistan. He told me he had a seventeen-year-old daughter. He and his wife had arranged a marriage for her that was supposed to take place in a few months. “After reading your article,” he wrote, “I have decided to cancel the wedding.”
Instead, he was sending his daughter to university.
Acknowledgements
Two people without whom this journey would have been impossible are my teammates and biggest cheerleaders—my lovely daughters. I was nervous and scared when I became a young mother. Little did I know your presence would so empower me and give me a renewed drive to live life to the fullest and make a difference. You are my world, my pride and my joy. Every choice I make is to ensure you both get all the opportunities to reach your potential and dreams, and to pay it forward and help others. By carving a path for yourselves, you are paving the way for others to follow. My heart swells with pride and love when I see the kind, wonderful young women you are. I am so incredibly proud of the bond we share.
This book would not have happened without my dream team! Samantha Haywood and Stephanie Sinclair—my wonderful agents who worked so hard to bring my message to the world. My amazing editor, Kate Cassaday, who really understood my vision to make a difference in people’s lives, and worked tirelessly to make it a reality. And of course, my co-writer and partner in this book, Meg Masters, for putting my words to paper and bringing this book to life. I will always miss those hours on your couch, Meg!
Three of my mentors deserve special mention: John Rothschild, who has already appeared in these pages. I would not be who I am today if it weren’t for his support and guidance. John is one of those people who have taught me to have faith in myself by expressing his faith in me. “When have you truly wanted something and not been able to achieve it?” he often says. And then he reminds me, “If you do not reach your true potential, that would be a sin.” He has also told me that if I ever marry again, he would like to walk me down the aisle.
Harvey Botting, a fellow alumni member of the U of T Governing Council. He took me under his wing when I first joined the board, arranged meetings to introduce me to key people at the university and has given me immense guidance personally and professionally, especially on my journey with this book.
Professor Gordon Anderson, who was one of my first teachers at the University of Toronto and is now one of my dearest friends. He has spent countless hours guiding and inspiring me to believe in myself and my dreams and will be always an instrumental figure in my life.
The presence of my mentors continually reminds me that there are good men out there—the kind of men I want in my life.
A special thanks to my mentor Halina von dem Hagen, for not only opening the door to my first job, but also being a constant source of inspiration and support for so many years. Halina, your warmth and love mean more than you will ever know.
Lots of love to my little sister, Bushra Zafar. You are a gem of a person, and I’m so blessed to share this incredible bond with you.
This journey would have been impossible without all the incredible support I have received from my second home, the University of Toronto. The moment I stepped foot on that campus in 2008, as a mature student and mother of two, my life changed. There are countless people who supported m
e along the way, from my professors to my friends, and I will always be grateful to all of them. Professor James Appleyard, for writing my first ever scholarship reference letter. Professor Rob McMillan, for supporting me wholeheartedly in my academic journey. University of Toronto Mississauga ex-principal Deep Saini, for his valuable guidance. My amazing friends who have been there for me through all the ups and downs, from spontaneous 2:00 a.m. Niagara Falls trips to hugging me as we drowned our sorrows in monstrous ice-cream sundaes. Saba Khan, Sabiha Sumra, Walied Khogali, Abhinab Chakraborty, Cherri Valentine, Phil Faver, Baxter Robinson, Megha Wadhwani—thank you for laughing, crying, celebrating and growing with me!
As I’ve grown, many more wonderful people have come into my life. Ayesha Jamil, you’re my best buddy—it’s amazing how we can laugh for hours about things that no one else will even understand. My women-power friends Tahera Raza Chagani, Marya Akhtan, Samar Khan, Ilmana Fasih, Sonia Abbas and Rabia Piracha—thank you for always pushing me to be my best and most authentic version!
A big long-distance hug to my childhood bestie, Zenab Sarfraz. Thirty years of friendship and counting!
I’d like to thank the City of Mississauga, and especially our inspirational mayor Bonnie Crombie, for all her support, love and encouragement over the years. I’m proud to call you one of my dearest and kickass friends, Bonnie!
Thank you to Marc and Craig Kielburger, and the entire ME to WE team for giving me the opportunity to inspire youth in Kenya and at WE Day.
