A Virgin Bride(Aminah) A Virgin Bride


It has taken me years to open up and talk about my experience. For years I have kept this secret hidden from my family, from my friends, from myself, but as years passed I realised that bottling all my emotions up wasn’t helping me.

Over the years it had been eating away at me, even though I tried so hard to wipe it away from my memory, to fight it, it always came back to hit me in my face.

I am a happy married woman. I have everything a married woman could ask for, a loving husband and a beautiful home.

Despite all this I lived a life with a secret. A secret I was unable to share with anyone. A secret which I felt no one would understand and which could mean losing everything I had.

I am from a Muslim family and as with most Muslim families when a young woman gets married one expectation a husband has is to marry a virgin bride.

I wasn’t a Virgin bride.

I had a very good upbringing and my parents surrounded me with love and care. I was the only daughter and my parents were both full time professionals. As a child I spent a lot of time with my aunt, my mother’s sister, who would pick me up from school and look after me until my parents would finish work.

I enjoyed spending time at my aunts and with my cousin. We played games and my aunt was always feeding us great home cooked food. I can still remember her samosas, we always got excited when we had samosas after school.

My Aunts husband, who we called Mamu, was a quiet man. We didn’t see him much. he was mostly out at work or busy doing things around the house. Mamu would always make an effort in greeting me and telling me how I was growing up to be a beautiful girl; he would stroke my long hair and give me some money to buy treats.

Mamu would spend a lot of time in the garage. He was a handyman and would always be making things for the house. One day Mamu said he had a surprise for me and wanted me to come and have a look in the garage. I was very excited and couldn’t wait to see what Mamu had got me.

I walked to the garage with him and as we walked in it was like walking into Aladdin’s cave. It was full of weird and wonderful things, some things I did not recognise and was fascinated by. Mamu sat me on his knee and showed me a small box and asked me to open it. As I opened it a beautiful princess came out and began to twirl around with music. Wow! It was the most beautiful thing I had seen.

As I sat on his knee I felt his hand on my knee, then slowly his hand moved upwards until it reached my vagina. At this moment I froze not knowing what to do, I built up the courage to move but I had no chance as his strong hands held me down.

His hands began to rub my vagina and his face came close to my cheek, rubbing his face in my hair. I began to struggle but he kept me there firmly and whispered in my ear ‘don’t say a word or else….’ I sat as he carried on touching me, hurting me, stroking me deeper and deeper until the pain became unbearable.

This carried on for exactly 2 years. As soon as he saw the opportunity, he would take me in the garage and use and abuse me as he pleased. From touching me to penetrating me, making me give him oral. There were many times I thought I would die as I felt him suffocating me, or the pain was so excruciating that following the ordeal I could not even walk. But he always had an excuse for me to give if anyone asked questions.

I never said a word. It carried on and as time passed I learned to disassociate myself from the experience. It was like he was using my body but I wasn’t there, I was numb and didn’t feel anything.

As years passed by I became quiet and reserved and would spend a lot of time on my own. My parent’s just thought it a part of growing up and didn’t think much of it.

I excelled in school and went on to graduate at university. It was at this time my parents began to look for a suitable man for marriage. My parents always encouraged me to do well but also explained how important marriage was and the need to settle down and have a family.

The thought of marriage frightened me. Not because I was against marriage, I always believed it to be a wonderful relationship, but because of my past and how marriage would also mean having sex with my husband. This frightened me more than anything.

Imran was an amazing guy. I had been introduced to him through a family friend who recommended him to my parents. We had ample opportunity to get to know each other prior to getting married and we really got on. I tried so hard to build up the courage to tell him but something in the back of my mind stopped me. I thought if I do tell him and he didn’t understand then this would also get back to my parents. It could get out and no one would ever want to marry me. My parents would be dishonoured in the community and people would talk.

No, no there was no way i could tell him or anyone else.

Imran and I got married. We had a lavish wedding and everyone said what a beautiful couple we made. I was very happy too, and thought this would be a new life and help me forget everything.

Imran was a very patient and loving man and as most husbands would expect to make love pretty soon after the marriage, Imran waited and said he was happy to wait until I was ready. But I knew I would never be ready, even though I had fallen in love with Imran I found him touching me and getting intimate so hard to deal with. All the past memories would come flooding back. How could I ever be ready and how could I tell Imran?

I decided not to tell Imran even though the guilt and hurt was killing me inside. I eventually let Imran close to me.

As Imran touched me, I felt the touch of HIM who raped me of my innocence. As Imran got closer, his breath on mine, I felt HIS deep breathing in my ear. As Imran penetrated me I felt HIM inside me hurting me, leaving me in pain.

I loved Imran but making love was always a frightening and painful experience. I felt so much guilt as I was unable to be the affectionate loving wife Imran wanted and I could not explain to him why.

As months passed Imran noticed I would always shy away from being intimate or having any physical contact. One day Imran sat me down and asked me if I loved him. As soon as he asked the question it was like my heart sunk. I loved Imran so much and for him to ask me this question was obvious he had doubts of whether I loved him or not.

As I sat with him I could feel my heart beat faster and faster. I sat listening to Imran talk about how much he loved and cared for me and if there was anything wrong then I should be able to talk to him. As he spoke I broke down, he leaned over and held me close. After a few minutes I began to talk. I told Imran everything, everything he had done to me, how I had lived so many years with this secret. How I found it hard when we made love, how I tried so had to forget but I never could.

As I talked to Imran I felt his hand hold mine and his grip getting stronger and stronger, as I finished talking he asked me to look at him. I looked up to see Imran’s face, his eyes filled with tears, he said ‘I love you’ and held me close to him.

This was the first time I felt totally safe and secure. The secret I had kept hidden for so many years was now out. I felt a huge burden lifted off me and it felt like I was taking my first breath of air having being suffocated for so many years.

By telling Imran I risked everything I had, my marriage, my family, my families respect, everything, but it was a risk I had to take. The pain and hurt I had been carrying for so many years had to end and the only way it could was to share my story.

Imran was wonderful, the support and love he showed is something I could not even imagine in my dreams. I was very lucky to have such an understanding husband.

Yet I know women who have had similar experiences have not had such support and have lost everything for something which was not their fault.

As a Muslim and coming from an Asian family there are so many things we just can’t or won’t talk about because of family respect or it being a taboo subject. I wish I had talked years ago, I wish I had the courage to tell someone, anyone, and not lived years of misery.

We should be able to talk about anything without fear. By talking and sharing experiences we can begin to learn that there is something we can do to stop suffering. I hope by me sharing this it will help other women in similar situations.

I guess I was lucky to have Imran as a husband, however looking back I think if things had gone the other way and had Imran not supported me, it would still have been worthwhile because I let go and became free.

Sajida Anwar


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The name and location has been changed in this story to protect the innocent people affected.
Sajida's true story has been shared with permission of Jawad Ahmed, a young psychotherapist living in the UK.

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