When the Taliban first came, I was a teacher. I was giving the midterm exams to my students. When I took attendance before the test, only 10 out of 45 students were present. I kept asking about the others, and they said they had gone to the airport.

Moments later, the headteacher came into the classroom and told me, “Give everyone passing grades so the girls can go home. The Taliban have taken over everything.” I was filled with fear and panic. I left school and went straight home.

My journey here from Afghanistan was full of danger, fear, and hopelessness. To reach Kabul airport, I spent several days in hiding with my children, my sister, and my brothers in uncertainty. The Taliban were everywhere, and I didn’t know whether I would survive. They were firing their guns because they didn’t want people leaving the country.

After two days of waiting, I didn’t have the courage to take my children closer to the airport. I brought them back home to stay with my parents.

Then I went to the airport with my sister and brothers. We struggled to get near the gate, but managed with great difficulty. Suddenly, the Taliban shot my brother and he fell to the ground. I thought he was dead. My sister and other brother dragged him out from among the crowd of hundreds. Seeing my brother near death and not being able to do anything was so difficult. I thought my family had died. Then I came to America.

When the gate opened suddenly, I rushed inside. Inside the airport, phones didn’t work and I couldn’t make any calls. There was a radar-blocking system. The moment I left Kabul airport, knowing I might never see my homeland again, was the hardest. Especially because I had left my children behind. Until I arrived in Bahrain, I had no news of my family for three days and nights, and they had none of me.

After arriving in Bahrain, a host from Tolo TV, helped me get in touch with my family and brother. Meanwhile, my youngest son cried constantly for me back home. We lived in refugee camps, and that was hard too, especially when you don’t know the language or what the future holds.

The hardest decision of my life was fleeing without my children because I couldn’t take them with me. I had to choose between staying and being killed or surviving and hoping I could bring them later. That decision still feels like an open wound. I left my children in terrible conditions. If I had stayed, I would have surely been killed by my in-laws, who were Taliban and had come to power. I had established a school with the help of the French and the former Afghan government. I was also a civil activist with the Afghanistan National Assembly group.

So, I decided to save my own life and leave. My family is under threat from my Taliban in-laws and they live in hiding. Even now, I still hear my child crying in my ears. That moment has never left me.

The biggest challenge since arriving in the U.S. was the language. Then came finding housing, work, and access to government services like healthcare and education. Everything was very difficult. The system is complex, and without a guide, you get lost.

I got lost a few times and even slept in parks. I still don’t have stable work or housing and live in hardship because I didn’t understand the system or the language. I haven’t received my Green Card and haven’t been able to bring my children. Life is very hard. Because I didn’t know the language, I couldn’t find a good job and had to do simple and difficult labor. Renting a home was hard because I lacked documents, and people didn’t trust me.

Education was also difficult because I didn’t know where to go or how to register. So now I work with IHSS, but they don’t pay me on time, and I don’t have a fixed income. I still haven’t been able to rent a home of my own.

The immigration process was very slow. After arriving, I waited months for my documents to be processed. The uncertainty, sleeplessness, and anxiety caused psychological damage.

I’m still waiting for my Green Card, and this state of limbo is exhausting. I feel like an orphan—reborn without anyone, starting life from zero, without protection, having to find my way alone. Mentally, I still go to sleep every night thinking of my children and wake up with anxiety. Fear, depression, and loneliness are always with me.

Physically, I’ve become weaker because the emotional pressure has taken a toll and directly affects my body. Still, I have to work and send money to my children every month and support them however I can.

If the immigration system had worked faster, if there were legal ways to bring family, and if there had been psychological and legal support for women like me, my life would be very different. Maybe I would be with my children now.

The U.S. should provide a clear and quick path to asylum, visas, and family reunification for Afghans who risked their lives to help U.S. forces—especially for women like me who are alone.

I feel that at first the U.S. supported us, but then they abandoned us. Many people were left behind and are still in danger. The U.S. could have done better, especially in evacuation and refugee support.

I hope the voices of women like me are heard. We are victims, not criminals. We need help, support, and respect—not judgment.