Dear Reader,
My name is Mara, and I want to share my story with you—not as a tale of suffering, but as a testament to resilience, hope, and the unbreakable will to build a life worth living.
At the age of 13, I was forced to leave my home. My father, an abusive man, could not tolerate my defiance as I stood up to protect my mother from his violence. That night, I became homeless, stripped of my childhood and the safety that every child deserves. I had nowhere to go, no guiding hand to hold, but I carried within me a strength I did not yet understand.
At 15, I married, seeking stability in a world that had given me none. I became a mother to three beautiful children, pouring all my love into them, hoping to give them the warmth and protection I had been denied. But life, once again, was cruel. My own sister betrayed me—she formed a relationship with my husband and took my children from me. The pain was unbearable, a wound that never fully healed. I was left alone, stripped of my role as a mother, while they refused to let me see my own children.
In the depths of my despair, I made a choice. I would not be defeated. I would fight to rebuild my life, to earn back what was stolen from me. I threw myself into my studies, working tirelessly to educate myself, to gain the financial means to reclaim my children and my dignity. The road was harsh. I juggled jobs and university, often exhausted, sometimes on the verge of breaking, but I kept going.
After years of struggle, I finally managed to buy a modest home. It was nothing luxurious, but it was mine. A place where no one could take away my peace. It was the first real victory in my long battle. But happiness was short-lived. My mother, the woman I had fought for and defended as a child, passed away from a stroke at just 59 years old. The grief was suffocating. Depression and anxiety took hold of me, and for a while, I felt like I was drowning.
It was the kindness of my college friends that kept me going. They reminded me of my dreams, of my strength. Slowly, I picked myself up and continued. Years have passed since then, and though I have come far, my journey is not yet complete.
At 57, I am still fighting. I am still paying off the home that was supposed to be my sanctuary. But more than anything, I am chasing a dream—a dream of independence, of passion, of creating something with my own hands. I want to start a small cake business, a humble endeavor that would not only bring me joy but allow me to finally breathe, to finally live on my own terms.
Baking has always been my comfort, a way to pour love into something tangible. But I lack the means to turn this passion into a livelihood. Every extra penny goes toward my house payments, keeping me in an endless cycle of financial strain.
I am not asking for charity. I am asking for a chance. A chance to break free from the chains of my past, to finally stand tall, independent and fulfilled. Any support, any kindness extended my way, will not be wasted. It will be the foundation upon which I build my future.
Life has tried to break me many times, but I am still here. I am still fighting. And I believe, with all my heart, that better days are ahead.
Thank you for reading my story. Thank you for seeing me.
My PayPal is marabastos700@gmail.com
With hope,
Mara