16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence 2025

Vesna is a mother of three, a survivor of human trafficking and sexual violence. Deceived by a close friend, she ended up in captivity abroad, where she was subjected to abuse and control. In a moment of courage — and with support from a friend, the police, and a non-governmental organization — she managed to escape and return home.

Despite the deep trauma, today she is building a new life. A new family, a job, and a commitment to helping other women. Vesna is a symbol of resistance, solidarity, and female strength.

WHEN TRUST BECOMES A TRAP

“I was 36 and going through a divorce. I felt lost and afraid. I was financially dependent. I wanted to go abroad to work, to escape everything and start over,” Vesna recalls.

She is not naïve — she speaks openly about facing a crisis at the time: emotional, financial, and familial. In such moments, trust becomes a risk. “A friend offered me a job abroad. I believed she wanted to help me.”

Psychologically, this is a classic case of manipulative recruitment — when the perpetrator exploits trust and emotional vulnerability to lure the victim into a state of total control. Vesna was transported through several countries, without documents, without any chance to resist.

WHEN THE BODY SPEAKS

In the apartment where she was held, Vesna lived under constant surveillance and complete control. “I wasn’t allowed to communicate with anyone, and I had no phone — it was turned off.” At one point, she managed to grab the phone and send a message: “I’m not okay.” That was enough to trigger a search, coordinated through Interpol.

The police located her and visited twice. “They asked if everything was okay, and under pressure, I had to say yes.” But during the second visit, Vesna made the only move she could. “The policeman greeted everyone. The policewoman reached out her hand to me, and I shook her hand and didn’t let go. Then she pulled me, and they took me. That’s how I got out of there.”

That handshake was a turning point. In captivity, victims often can’t ask for help out loud — but the body speaks. Vesna said nothing, but she didn’t let go of the officer’s hand — a clear enough signal for the policewoman to recognize that something was wrong. It was the first concrete step toward her rescue.

IT’S IMPORTANT NOT TO BE ALONE

After her rescue, Vesna was placed in a shelter center. But the fear didn’t disappear right away. “When we visited the police to answer questions, I saw the man nearby. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. We entered a store, they gave me water, sugar… I don’t know how I managed to calm down.”

That state of post-traumatic stress is common among survivors of human trafficking. The body reacts to every reminder — a smell, a face, a space — as if it’s a new threat. Vesna says she couldn’t sleep for a long time. “For a long period it was lie down — flinch. I didn’t sleep peacefully.”

After returning to her country, she got in touch with a woman from a non-governmental organization. “From that moment, things started to change.” She began receiving regular psychological and psychiatric support. “It took time, but after a few sessions and long conversations, I started to feel human again.”

In that process, a key role was played by the friend she had previously been in contact with — the man she now lives with. “He helped me a lot. He gave me space to calm down, to feel safe. He didn’t pressure me, he was just there.”

Stable, unobtrusive support plays a crucial role in the recovery process. When a survivor isn’t left alone with the trauma, space is created for trust, for calm, for regaining a sense of control. In Vesna’s case, that kind of support — from her partner, from psychologists, from the organization — allowed her to begin facing the pain and slowly return to herself.

LIFE AFTER VIOLENCE

Today, Vesna lives with the partner who helped her escape the abuse. Together they have a child, and her two children from a previous marriage live with them. “We’re married now, we live together, we have a little one. He was the only bright spot during that time.”

Her family gave her a sense of safety — a place where she could feel secure, heard, and accepted. “I gathered strength not to show my children how hard it was. They were my comfort.”

Vesna is employed, continues with psychological support, and is building a daily life where she has choices. “If I had the courage to get out of there on my own, I can keep going.”

Today, Vesna doesn’t speak only of survival — she speaks of choice. Of the courage to ask for help, of silence that finds a voice, of the body that speaks when words can’t. Her story doesn’t ask for pity, but for attention. She is a reminder that every woman deserves space for safety, support, and freedom. And most of all — no woman should ever have to fight alone.

Lile is a mother of three and now a licensed pharmacist who managed to escape the cycle of domestic violence and rebuild her life from scratch. Today, Lile lives freely with her children, works as a pharmacist, and actively helps other women speak up, fight back, and put an end to violence. 

THE ENVIRONMENT SHOULDN’T BE AN EXCUSE FOR SILENCE

For years, Lile lived in constant fear — not only for herself, but for her three children. Every attempt to leave the abusive environment was followed by uncertainty: how would she manage without a job, without a home, without a driver’s license, without security? “I was scared I wouldn’t make it. I had nothing — I hadn’t even obtained my license,” she recalls. But an even heavier burden was the worry about how her children, her parents, and the people around her would react. “I kept thinking about everyone except myself. Imagine — during that time, my children didn’t dare say what they thought or wanted,” she admits.

This kind of overthinking and constant analysis often appears in victims of domestic violence, especially mothers trying to protect their children from further trauma. Lile’s fear wasn’t just personal. The uncertainty of whether her environment would understand her and take her story seriously often fed her doubt that real change was possible. “I had reported several times, but it was the police officers — who were friendly toward my then-husband — who advised me to back down and calm things, instead of assessing how dangerous the situation was for me,” she says, describing a sense of helplessness in a community where everyone knows each other and personal ties outweigh professional ethics.

In such communities, where silence is often preferred over truth, women face not only violence but also distrust, gossip, and fear that they won’t be protected.

YOU BELIEVE IN YOURSELF WHEN SOMEONE BELIEVES IN YOU

In her darkest moments, Lile had the support of someone she now calls “more than a sister.” Her doctor and close friend were the first people who believed her, listened without judgment, and gave her strength when she couldn’t find it herself. “Every day, every minute I needed her, she was there. She wanted me to understand that I wasn’t alone,” Lile recalls.

It was through her that Lile learned about the existence of the SOS helpline of the National Council for Gender Equality and the possibility of receiving professional support. Anonymous counseling was the beginning of her escape from the cycle of violence. “Even today, she is my greatest support. She still gives me strength and helps me stay brave,” says Lile.

WHEN FREEDOM RELEASES FEAR

At the SOS center, Lile communicated daily by phone with the psychologist and the team — it was the only way available to her at the time. Later came support from the Center for Social Work. But the most profound change happened in the shelter center. Psychotherapy there helped her release the fear and everything she had been holding inside for years. “At first, I thought I was fine, so that I could endure what was happening to me,” Lile recalls. “But when I felt freedom and peace, the moment I felt safe — I realized I wasn’t fine. After a long period of fear and tension, my body finally relaxed. That’s when symptoms began to surface — trembling, insomnia, nightmares, inner restlessness — all things I had suppressed.”

Chronic stress, psychological numbness, a frozen body and mind — all of these are part of the survival mechanism. For victims who live in trauma for a long time, such reactions are not unexpected, experts say. It’s the psyche’s way of protecting itself while the pain is ongoing.

That’s why, even today, Lile returns to that place with positive emotions and calls it her “favorite.” Because there, she feels safe, accepted, and encouraged. “When things get hard, I feel the need to go there,” says Lile.

TWO YEARS LATER, SHE’S LIVING THE LIFE SHE DESERVES

“When I decided I had to start from scratch, I left with nothing but the clothes on me and my children — and today, two years later, we have everything,” says Lile, her eyes shining. She works as a pharmacist; in the profession she loves. She managed to obtain her license, pass her driving test, and buy her own car. Her children are safe — they attend school and kindergarten, growing up in a peaceful and stable environment.

She continues to care for her mental health and regularly sees a psychologist. And she’s not stopping there — she holds certificates in makeup and skincare and is already enrolled in a specialization in medical diagnostics at the Faculty of Medicine in Skopje. She’s also grateful for the support of her parents, who helped her create a warm home for herself and her children. “My life now looks better than ever,” says Lile — and it’s not just a statement, but a life she lives every day.

WHEN THE MOTHER IS WELL, THE CHILDREN WILL BE WELL

She speaks from experience and from the heart. To every woman in a similar situation, she says: “Think of yourself first. When the mother is well, the children will be well.” Her message is simple but essential — courage doesn’t mean being without fear but taking the first step despite it. At the same time, she calls on institutions to respond quickly, responsibly, and with sensitivity toward victims of domestic violence. Court proceedings, protection measures, divorces, and applications for social housing must not drag on for months or years, because every day spent in uncertainty is a day in which a woman fights for her safety. “I’m one of those who has submitted an application for social housing and I’m still waiting for a response,” says Lile, “and I’m hoping for a positive one.”

This story reminds us of the courage women carry — even in their most vulnerable moments. It stands as an inspiration to all who are trying to rewrite their own story. Within it, there is hope, strength, and proof that the first step — though difficult — is possible. And for those who remain silent, this is a quiet call: a life without fear is real.

Lejla is a mother of two and a survivor of domestic violence. After 17 years marked by fear, threats, and pain, she managed to leave her abuser and begin a new life. Despite years of trauma, illness, and institutional barriers, she fought for divorce, custody, and safety—for herself and her children.

With support from a psychologist, friends, and institutions, she now lives in a rented home, is employed, and feels like a woman again.

SILENCE IS NOT GOLD

Lejla married young. She was pregnant and hopeful that she would build a stable family. But immediately after the wedding, her husband was sent to prison for drug trafficking. She was left alone with a newborn, no income of her own, and parents struggling with health issues. “I kept quiet about so many things and even lied—just so I wouldn’t be a burden. I didn’t want to worry them even more,” she recalls. 

After three difficult years, her husband returned from prison. She thought the worst was behind her. “I hoped he would calm down, that we could start over. But I was wrong—that’s when the real ordeal began.” The violence was constant—physical, psychological, economic. “He hit me, insulted me, accused me of cheating, said our daughter wasn’t his. He forced me to take a DNA test to prove it.” Her parents found out, but couldn’t protect her. He threatened them too.

“I was afraid for everyone. The children grew up in fear. My son developed diabetes. The money I earned was never enough—he took it for drugs. If I didn’t give it to him, the horror would begin.” In an attempt to protect her children, she agreed to move abroad. 

WHEN THE BODY SAYS “NO”

After years of silence and constant exposure to violence—years of trauma and fear—the suppressed emotions began to leave a mark. Psoriasis was the first sign. Then came the diagnosis: cancer. “I watched my body fall apart. Things got so bad that I sought help at the Dermatology Clinic in Skopje. That’s where they diagnosed me with cancer.”

Facing death head-on, she realized there was no more time to wait. The cancer diagnosis was another blow—but also a signal. Chemotherapy was brutal. Her hair fell out, her body changed, but that physical transformation triggered a psychological one. “I watched myself change and thought—now it’s time to change from within. To stop enduring.” That was the moment she began to believe she could succeed. Not just survive, but break free—from him and from that life. “If I can beat the illness, I can face this too,” she says.

THE STRENGTH TO CHANGE

In the beginning, institutions didn’t know how to help her. As she says herself: “I acted like an unstable person. I filed reports 16 times—and withdrew them each time. I was scared, hopeful, uncertain. They looked at me like I didn’t know what I wanted.” But real change began when she decided to fight back. “If we want real help, we first have to find the courage. It starts with us.”

Her greatest source of strength was psychological support. “The counseling, the guidance I received from my psychologist helped me understand that I wasn’t to blame for the violence. The only one responsible was my husband—the abuser.” Her psychologist was available at all times. “Even when I was abroad, we spoke online. He helped me realize I wasn’t to blame. That I wasn’t alone.”

Later, she also received support from institutions. “The Ministry of Interior, the Public Prosecutor’s Office, and the Center for Social Work began to take my story more seriously.” It was proof that the system can respond—but it’s crucial for women to speak up in time and not hesitate.

A WOMAN WHO BELONGS TO HERSELF AGAIN

After 17 years of not recognizing her own face, today she sees herself again. “Now, after all this time, I care about how I look. I want to take care of myself—for me. The kids are surprised. They see me put together, without tears, without bloodshot eyes or dark circles. I’m proud of myself.” For her, success doesn’t mean status—it means peace. “To sleep peacefully, in silence. To laugh with your children. To invite a friend over without fearing how he’ll react.”

She works, rents her own place, and manages her responsibilities on her own. “I feel so much better. I do things when I choose to—not when someone orders me to, with insults and blows.” Her job brings financial security, but also space to breathe. “I leave the house, I spend time with other people. I don’t just think about problems anymore.”

Her goals are clear: to be stable, to teach her children values, to be a role model. “I want to be an example for my daughter—that violence should never be tolerated. And for my son—to know he has no right to raise a hand against a girl.”

Lejla’s story is the voice of many women—those who wait and stay silent, hoping the violence is just a phase. But no woman should believe in the power of silence. Silence is a trap. A woman must learn that the first slap is already too much. And that moment should mark the beginning of the end of the relationship or marriage. Her fight is personal—but also collective. “I fight, and I will keep fighting—for myself, for my children, for all women. Because together we are stronger. Because it’s easier when you know you’re not alone.”

This story is a reminder: every woman has the right to speak, to choose, to live without fear. And it’s a call to action: don’t wait. Say stop—on time. Begin a new chapter with peace, dignity, and strength.

Danica — a single mother of three and a survivor of domestic violence — managed to leave an abusive relationship thanks to the support of the civil society organization. Despite threats, stalking, and economic insecurity, she fought for custody, legal protection, and a new beginning. Today, through jewelry-making, she is building a path toward financial independence and psychological healing, involving her children in the process. Her story is a testament to courage, maternal strength, and the importance of timely support.

HOPE AS A TRAP

Danica lost her father when she was thirteen. Life taught her what it means to grow up without parental support, and that’s why, when she became a mother, she wanted her children to have their father by their side. That was the first reason she tried to hold on to the marriage.

“The problems started with the first pregnancy. He was aggressive and violent. Three days everything would be fine, the next ten back to the same old,” she recalls. The abuse wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, psychological, and economic. Survivors of domestic violence often stay in the relationship because they hope something will change.

Psychologists explain that the hope for change is part of the cycle of violence — after each attack comes a period of ‘peace,’ apology or silence, which feeds the illusion that things might get better. “I thought I was doing the right thing for the children, but I was suffering the whole time. Things never got better. He started abusing me regardless of whether the children were with me, whether they were asleep or not,” Danica admits.

POVERTY AS A SILENT ACCOMPLICE

In North Macedonia, many women face structural poverty, especially when they become single mothers. “With three young children and no financial support, I didn’t know where to go.” Economic dependence is one of the biggest barriers to leaving an abusive relationship. When you have no income of your own, no personal space, and no certainty that you’ll be able to feed your children — the choice to end the story feels impossible.

FROM FEAR TO CUSTODY — SUPPORT CHANGES EVERYTHING

In a moment of complete uncertainty, when Danica didn’t know where to turn, her aunt suggested she seek help from a civil society organization that offers free legal and psychological support for women. “I knew I needed financial and legal help, but I had nothing,” she says.

The fear was constant. He followed her, threatened her, blackmailed her with death. “I didn’t dare report him. I endured everything,” she admits. But through the organization Danica found space to speak up, to protect herself, and to begin believing that a way out was possible. “With a lot of strength and hope, I started to believe I could save my children — and myself.”

Divorce and gaining custody were turning points — both legally and personally. For many women, that step feels out of reach. For Danica, it was proof that her fight wasn’t in vain, and a confirmation that institutions can stand behind a woman who dares to speak up, who asks for help, and who shows she deserves support.

JEWELRY AS THERAPY AND SECURITY

The support Danica received from civil society organization didn’t end with psychological and legal assistance. For her, that was only the beginning. The organization also offered her an opportunity for economic empowerment. “With them we started making jewelry — for me, it’s a huge source of financial support, but also psychological relief.”

Danica is not only learning to design jewelry — she’s teaching her children craft, self-confidence, and values.

“It’s a beautiful feeling when you create something with your own hands, when you make something you’re proud of,” Danica tells us.

Danica’s story is not an exception — it reflects the reality of many women in North Macedonia. But it is also proof that support, legal protection, and economic autonomy can change life. Her journey shows how crucial it is for women to receive timely help, to be heard, protected, and encouraged.

This story is a call to institutions and the community to protect and support women — but it’s also a call to every woman: not to stay silent, to seek help, and to believe that change is possible. Even when it feels impossible.

In North Macedonia, there are still women who, due to fear, stigma, or institutional barriers, fail to seek help in time and spend years living in silence as victims of domestic violence. This is the story of Snezhana, a 40-year-old general practitioner and mother of two, who lived in an abusive relationship for many years, subjected to physical and psychological abuse.

Although professionally active, her private life was marked by control and threats. Her struggle continues — but the violence is behind her.

JEALOUSY IS NOT LOVE

In many cases of domestic violence, control begins with jealousy. Professionally active women often face partners who perceive their success as a threat. Instead of support, they receive restrictions. Instead of partnership — surveillance. Violence doesn’t always end in bruises, but it always leaves consequences. “He was painfully jealous. Because of him, I didn’t pursue specialization. He gave me an ultimatum: either the family or the career,” says Snezhana. That was the initial pressure — to choose between personal growth and ‘peace at home.’

POSTPONEMENT DOESN’T MEAN ACCEPTANCE

Like many other women, Snezhana stayed in the marriage not because she didn’t recognize what was happening, but because when you’re a mother, the decision to leave isn’t just personal — it’s logistical, financial, emotional. “My mother passed away, and my father was emotionally distant since early childhood,” she admits. 

That emotional and practical void delayed her decision to divorce. “Maybe because of my mother’s death, I postponed the divorce for many years, knowing I wouldn’t have help with the children,” Snezhana shares openly.

The lack of care from her father during childhood left a mark that easily spilled into her marriage. When you haven’t learned what emotional safety means, it’s easy to accept the absence of closeness as normal.

SUPPORT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE BIG — IT JUST HAS TO BE REAL

“I started falling into depression, staring at one spot for hours. I lost 20 kilos in a very short time,” she says. The psychological abuse had already damaged her health and identity. Going to therapy was a turning point — the moment she first spoke about her problems and felt relief. 

When she finally decided to stop the violence, support came from her friends and colleagues. “In the first few days, they sent me household items and bed sheets. That was enough to start over,” she says. She didn’t receive significant support from her family, but she had her own apartment — and that was crucial. She had somewhere to go, and somewhere to begin again.

STIGMA DOESN’T END WITH DIVORCE

In small communities, divorce is still seen as personal failure rather than courage. Women who leave violent relationships face a new form of isolation — from friends, neighbors, even institutions. 

“It bothered me that people immediately looked at me differently,” says Snezhana. “I needed a plumber, but he refused to come to my home so my ex-husband wouldn’t get the wrong idea, or the neighbors wouldn’t gossip.” 

Many advised her to stay in the marriage for the sake of the children, which made her feel even worse. 

In small towns, she says, divorce is especially hard to overcome. “I still feel unwelcome. At the gym I started going to, and in cafés, there are always nasty comments and remarks that make me feel uncomfortable.”

The stigma spread into her private relationships — a close friend stopped communicating after her husband told her not to associate with divorced women. The school also failed to ensure equal communication after the father requested that they contact only him.

THE GREATEST PAIN IS THE DISTANCE FROM HER CHILDREN

Snezhana overcame her depression with professional help, but her struggle continues. The violence is behind her, but what still causes her the most pain is the distance between her children. In their case, the father has custody, and although the agreement allows for regular communication, it doesn’t happen.

“What hurts the most is that my children avoid me and don’t want to talk to me. I’m an alienated parent,” says Snezhana. “If they were younger, they would be brought to the social work center for visitation. But now that they’re older, there’s no mechanism through which I can reestablish that connection.”

Snezhana’s story is a reminder that these battles don’t end with divorce. Her experience shows that surviving doesn’t mean fully healing. That’s why it’s crucial for the system to respond timely and responsibly — to provide mechanisms for communication, protection, and psychological support. “People need to understand that violence — psychological and physical — isn’t a movie to watch. It’s something to act against, because it can happen to anyone,” Snezhana urges.

Slavica is a mother of two and a woman who endured decades of domestic violence — physical, psychological, and economic. For thirty-five years she lived in a marriage marked by control, humiliation, and fear. She worked, but never had access to her own money. Her everyday life was a struggle — for dignity, for peace, for survival.

Despite the deep trauma, today Slavica lives freely. She works, takes care of herself, reads, walks, and helps other women take their first step toward freedom.

Here’s the full editorial translated into English, keeping the narrative flow, emotional tone, and structure intact:

WHEN FEAR IS EVERYDAY LIFE

“When we heard the car arriving, my children and I would lie down and pretend to be asleep. Just so we wouldn’t provoke his anger.” This habit was not a matter of choice — it was shaped as an instinct for survival. When life is wrapped in fear, the body and mind don’t seek freedom, they seek a way to endure that fear. For years, Slavica lived in a state where every day was a battle with invisible threats, and every moment — a potential danger. Her life was reduced to silence. Not to provoke. Not to stand out. Not to be a reason for anger. Each day was a strategy — of invisibility, restraint, survival.

But the violence was not only physical. Her husband controlled every single coin. “I never had money on me. The bank card was always with him. If I needed to go to the doctor, he would give me 200 denars ‘just in case’.” Slavica worked, but never had access to her own salary. For food, for medicine, even to see a doctor — she had to ask. Financial control was constant and deeply humiliating. “I often had to put things on credit at the store just to cook lunch, and when he paid the bill with my salary, he would bring it home — only to show me how ‘much I spend’.”

RECOGNITION

One day, while at work, a local NGO held a workshop on domestic violence. Slavica attended and listened to different stories. “It was as if I recognized myself in their stories,” she says.

After the workshop, she started a conversation with one of the women. Her words were a message that something had to change:
“Life is a struggle. We must fight for ourselves, no one else can do it for us. Nothing is handed to us on a silver platter.”

The workshop opened her eyes. For the first time, Slavica recognized herself in others’ stories — in the silence, in the fear, in the daily battle she had been fighting without words. And that was the moment she decided to leave. She took only one bag of clothes and her daughter. At first, she found shelter with her sister.

The decision to divorce was not yet final. Slavica hesitated, wondering if divorce was the right solution. She believed that maybe he would change, admit his mistakes. “Because of the children and the family business we had, we occasionally communicated. Sometimes he seemed sincere, but quickly returned to the old ways. I realized that the more I tried, the more I sank into quicksand.”

The children, trying to preserve something of their own, returned to live in the old house. But one night, drunk, their father threw them out too. In the middle of the night. “That was the last straw. That was when my last hope that he would change died.”

This was the moment that broke the illusion — when Slavica stopped searching for excuses, stopped hoping, and finally acknowledged the violence as something that would not disappear. “This time I did not hesitate. I filed for divorce.”

AND YOU CAN TOO

After filing for divorce, Slavica received psychological, legal, and emotional support from the NGO. “They welcomed me with warmth and understanding. It was the first time someone listened to me without interrupting,” she says.

The meeting with the team and the simple but decisive words “you can” restored her belief that it was worth fighting — for herself, for her rights, for her life. Psychological support helped her regain self-confidence, while economic independence gave her a sense of control. “For me, that is peace,” Slavica says. “To be able to decide for myself what to buy, where to go — without begging.”

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Her sister’s home was the first refuge — safe, but temporary. The true feeling of “home” came two months later, when Slavica rented her own apartment. The space was modest, almost empty, but it was hers. “I felt both fear and joy. I felt like I could finally breathe,” she says. “When we hung the first curtain and cooked the first meal, I felt at home, even though we had only a few things.”

That small apartment, with just a few pieces of furniture, became her world. A space she chose, arranged, and owned. No rules imposed by others, no fear. For the first time, Slavica didn’t have to beg, explain, or justify herself. Every object was her choice.

DIVORCE IS THE BEGINNING

Divorce was not the end. For Slavica, it was the beginning. Although she still faces a court case over property division, today she lives with peace in her soul. “I cried, but it was a different kind of cry — as if I was releasing all the weight from inside me,” she says.

The feeling of safety came gradually, through everyday, simple moments. Buying something for herself without explaining. Reading a book without being interrupted. Watching a movie without fearing the sound of a key in the lock. Drinking coffee where silence was no longer a threat, but serenity. “Home now means peace, silence, and security. A place where I can be who I am.”

Today, Slavica is a symbol of women’s strength. She is in contact with other women who are going through similar experiences. She gives them hope, speaks honestly, without embellishment. “I tell them it can be different — because I am living proof of that.”