This was a big event.

Hundreds of people, professional setting, formal dress.

I wore a red evening gown.

Red because I could wear red now.

Red because I was no longer hiding.

read because I was alive and free and unashamed.

I stood on that stage looking out at the crowd and I thought about the journey that brought me there from a girl in an abaya in Riyad to a woman on stage in London.

I shared my story, the usual parts, Saudi Arabia, oppression, escape, freedom, but I ended differently this time.

Oh, I looked out at all those faces and I said, “There’s someone I need to talk about.

Someone who changed my life.

His name is Jesus Christ.

He was killed and hung on the cross.

He died for you and me.

He died for every person in this room, regardless of what you believe or where you come from.

And I’m here today free and whole and loved because of him.

If you’re searching for meaning, if you’re searching for love, if you’re searching for freedom, come to Jesus now to be saved.

He’s waiting for you with open arms.

There was silence for a moment, then applause.

Not everyone agreed with me, I’m sure, but they let me speak my truth, and that was all I needed.

That moment on stage was six months ago.

Now I’m sitting in my flat in London, a different flat, a nicer one that I can actually afford now.

And I’m recording this video to share my full story with you.

A lot has happened in the two and a half years since I left Saudi Arabia.

A lot has happened in the year and a half since I gave my life to Christ.

I want to tell you what my life looks like now.

Not because it’s perfect, it’s not.

But because I want you to see what freedom looks like, what peace looks like, what real love looks like.

I wake up most mornings around 7.

The first thing I do is pray.

Not ritual prayer where I’m going through motions and reciting words I memorized, but actual conversation with God.

I tell him good morning.

I thank him for the new day.

I ask him to guide me.

Then I read my Bible.

Usually just a chapter or two.

Sometimes I read the Psalms.

Those ancient prayers and songs that express every human emotion.

Oh, from joy to despair.

Sometimes I read from the Gospels, spending time with Jesus.

Sometimes I read from Paul’s letters, learning about what it means to live as a Christian.

The Bible is alive to me now.

It’s not just a book of rules or a history text.

It’s God speaking to me.

Every time I read it, I find something new, something that applies to exactly what I’m going through.

It’s like God is writing me personal letters.

After that, I usually go for a walk.

London is beautiful in the morning.

I walk through the parks watching the city wake up and I pray some more.

I pray for my family even though they don’t speak to me.

I pray for other women in situations like I was in.

I pray for my church.

I pray for the people I’ll interact with that day.

Prayer isn’t a chore anymore.

It’s not something I do because I have to.

No, it’s something I do because I want to.

Because I know God hears me.

Because I know he cares.

I’m still at university finishing my degree in fashion and media studies.

I graduate in a few months.

I don’t know exactly what I’ll do after graduation, but I’m not worried.

God has taken care of me so far.

He’ll continue to take care of me.

My Instagram has grown to over 50,000 followers now.

It’s become a platform not just for fashion but for faith.

I post outfits, yes, but I also post Bible verses, reflections on my journey, encouragements for other women who are struggling.

I’ve had to be careful.

The death threats are real.

I’ve reported the worst ones to the police.

I’ve had to block thousands of accounts.

I’ve had to make my location settings private and be cautious about what I share.

But I won’t stop using my voice.

All right.

I get messages every single day from women around the world.

Women in Saudi Arabia, Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Egypt, Turkey.

Women who are trapped in situations like I was, women who are questioning Islam, women who want to know more about Jesus.

I respond to as many as I can.

I pray for them.

I point them to resources.

I connect them with safe churches or organizations that can help them if they decide to leave.

Some of them do leave.

Some of them come to faith in Christ.

And when they tell me their stories, when they send me pictures of their baptisms, I cry with joy.

This is my purpose now.

This is why God saved me.

Not just for my own freedom, but so I could help others find freedom, too.

I’m also involved in modeling more seriously.

Now, I’ve done some small campaigns, some runway shows, some photo shoots.

Nothing huge yet dare, but it’s growing.

For a long time, I thought wanting to be a model was vain, that it was shallow or selfish.

But I’ve realized it’s not about vanity.

It’s about using the gifts God gave me for his glory.

I am beautiful because God made me beautiful.

And I can use that beauty to point people to him.

I can stand on a stage or in front of a camera and represent women who look like me.

Arab women, Middle Eastern women, women from Muslim backgrounds and show the world that we are valuable, that we are worth seeing, that we are not just bodies to be hidden or controlled, but human beings made in God’s image.

Recently, I have started competing in pageantss again, bigger ones.

This time I placed in the top 10 in one competition.

I won mis congeniality in another.

But the crown I’m chasing isn’t made of rhinestones and metal.

The crown I’m chasing is eternal.

The crown that God promises to those who love him.

Still, I use these pageantss as platforms.

Every time I have a chance to speak, I talk about my faith.

I talk about Jesus.

I make it clear that my beauty, my worth, my value, none of it comes from how I look or what I accomplish.

It comes from being a daughter of the king.

My church family continues to be my anchor.

I see them multiple times a week.

Sunday service, Thursday women’s group, and various other gatherings throughout the week.

We celebrate together.

We mourn together.

We do life together.

When one woman in our group lost her job, we all helped her with rent until she found something new.

When another woman got engaged, we threw her a party.

When I was sick with the flu last winter, people brought me groceries and medicine and checked on me every day.

This is what the body of Christ is supposed to look like.

We’re not perfect.

We have disagreements sometimes.

We annoy each other sometimes, but we love each other.

And that love is real.

I’ve also started leading a small group for ex-Muslim women.

There are about eight of us who meet every other week.

We study the Bible together, pray together, and support each other through the unique challenges we face.

Because leaving Islam for Christ isn’t easy.

We all deal with guilt, with grief over lost families, with fear of threats and violence, with confusion about how to live as Christians when we’re still learning what that means.

But we don’t have to go through it alone.

We have each other and we have Jesus.

People ask me sometimes if I regret my decision, if I wish I had stayed in Saudi Arabia, followed the path that was laid out for me, kept the peace with my family.

The answer is no.

Not for a second.

Yes, I lost my family.

That pain is real and it doesn’t go away.

There are days I miss my mother so much it physically hurts.

There are days I wonder what my brothers are doing, if they ever think about me, if they miss me too.

But I gained so much more than I lost.

I gained freedom, the freedom to think for myself, to make my own choices, to be myself without apology.

I gained purpose.

My life has meaning now beyond just existing or serving others.

I have a mission to share the love of Jesus with others who need to hear it.

I gained peace, real peace, not the absence of problems, but the presence of God in the midst of problems.

I don’t have to be afraid anymore.

So, I don’t have to earn love anymore.

I don’t have to prove my worth anymore.

And I gained Jesus, the one who died for me, the one who loves me.

unconditionally.

The one who calls me his own.

How could I regret that? I still struggle sometimes.

I want to be honest about that.

I struggle with forgiveness.

Even though I pray for my family.

There are days I’m angry at them.

Angry at what they did to me.

Angry at what they continue to do to other girls in their care.

I struggle with fear.

The death threats are real.

The danger is real.

I’ve had to take precautions.

I’ve had to be careful.

I struggle with loneliness.

Even though I have my church family and friends, there are times I feel the weight of being cut off from my biological family, of not having that connection.

I struggle with doubt sometimes too.

Not doubt about Jesus.

I know he’s real.

So, but doubt about myself.

Wondering if I’m doing enough, if I’m living the way I should, if I’m making the right decisions.

But when those struggles come, I do what I’ve learned to do.

I pray.

I read the Bible.

I talk to my church family.

I remind myself of the truth.

The truth is that I’m loved.

Not because of what I do, but because of who I am, God’s child.

The truth is that nothing can separate me from God’s love in Christ Jesus.

The truth is that Jesus is with me always, even in the hard moments.

And that truth sets me free every single time.

Let me speak directly to some of you watching this.

If you’re a Muslim woman feeling trapped, whether you’re in Saudi Arabia or Iran or Pakistan or anywhere else, I want you to know something.

You are not alone.

You are not crazy for wanting more.

You are not wrong for questioning.

The doubts you have uh about Islam, they’re valid.

The questions you’re asking, they deserve answers.

You’ve been told that that a woman’s testimony is worth half a man’s testimony.

That’s not from God.

That’s from men who wanted to control you.

You’ve been told that men can have multiple wives, but you can only have one husband.

That’s not love.

That’s oppression.

You’ve been told that your father or brother or husband is your guardian.

that you can’t travel or work or make decisions without their permission.

That’s not protection.

That’s imprisonment.

You’ve been told that if you remove your hijab or question Islam, you’ll burn in hell.

That’s not truth.

That’s fear used to control you.

I’m not saying Islam is the only religion with problems, but I am saying that the specific problems in Islam, especially regarding women, are real and they’re serious and they’re harming millions of women around the world.

And there is another way.

Jesus said, “Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

If you’re tired of carrying the weight of all those rules, all that fear, all that shame, he’s offering you rest.

Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.

” If you’re searching for truth, that he is it.

Not a system of rules, not a religion, but a person, a relationship.

Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

” real freedom.

Not just freedom from hijab or guardianship laws, but free of freedom from sin, from shame, from fear.

I know it’s scary.

I know it costs.

Believe me, I know.

But Jesus is worth it.

I’m not asking you to make a decision right now.

I’m just asking you to be open.

Read the Gospel of John.

just one book that see what Jesus says about himself.

See how he treats women.

See if it resonates with your heart and pray.

Even if you’re not sure God will hear you, pray.

Ask Jesus to reveal himself to you.

Ask him if he’s real.

Ask him to show you the truth.

He will.

I promise you, he will.

To my Christian brothers and sisters watching this, I have a message for you too.

There are Muslim women in your communities, at your universities, in your workplaces, in your neighborhoods, who are searching for truth, who are questioning, who are hungry for love and acceptance and freedom.

Will you reach out to them not to argue with them or to prove them wrong but to love them to befriend them to show them the love of Jesus in practical ways.

Invite them for coffee.

Ask about their lives.

Listen to their stories.

Don’t preach at them.

Just be their friend.

And and when they ask questions, and they will ask questions, answer with grace and truth.

Don’t be afraid to talk about the hard things about how Jesus treated women, about how Christianity is different from Islam, about the freedom we have in Christ.

But do it with love.

Always with love.

also support women like me, ex-Muslim women who have left Islam for Christ.

We face unique challenges.

We need safe communities.

We need disciplehip.

We need people who understand what we’ve been through.

If your church doesn’t have a ministry for ex-Muslims, consider starting one.

Or at least be aware that we’re there and we need you.

To those of you who aren’t Muslim or Christian, maybe you’re watching this and thinking about your own faith or lack thereof.

Maybe you’re an atheist and you think all religion is harmful.

Uh I used to think that too after I left Islam, but I was wrong.

Not all religions are the same.

Some offer bondage, some offer freedom.

Jesus offers freedom.

Maybe you’re from another faith, Hindu, Buddhist, Jewish, whatever.

I respect that.

I’m not here to attack your beliefs, but I am here to tell you that Jesus changed my life.

That he loved me when I was unlovable.

That he gave me a purpose when I felt worthless.

And I believe he can do the same for you.

Whatever you believe, I just ask that you be open to truth.

Be open to the possibility that Jesus is who he says he is.

That he died for you.

That he loves you because he does.

Whether you believe in him or not, he loves you.

He created you.

He knows every hair on your head.

And he wants a relationship with you.

Sometimes people ask me what happened to my family.

uh if I’ve had any contact with them, the answer is no.

Not in over two years.

I don’t know what my mother is doing.

I don’t know if my brothers are married.

I don’t know anything about their lives.

Sometimes I look at my phone and think about calling, but I know what would happen.

They would either not answer or they would answer and tell me I’m dead to them.

So I don’t call.

Instead, I pray.

I pray that God would soften their hearts.

I pray that they would encounter Jesus somehow.

I pray that one day maybe we could be reconciled.

But even if that never happens, I have a family, my church family, my sisters and brothers in Christ who have loved me and accepted me and walked with me through everything.

And I have a father, a heavenly father who will never disown me, never reject me, never stop loving me.

That’s uh more than enough.

A my life now is so different from what it was supposed to be.

I was supposed to be married to that man my father chose for me.

I was supposed to be in Saudi Arabia cooking and cleaning and having babies.

I was supposed to be covered from head to toe, invisible, voiceless, powerless.

Instead, I’m in London.

I’m a university student.

I’m a model.

I’m a speaker.

I’m a Christian.

I have a voice and I use it.

I don’t live in a palace.

I don’t have wealth or fame.

I have a small flat and a part-time job and a tight budget.

But I have something more valuable than all the riches in Saudi Arabia.

I have freedom.

I have purpose.

I have peace.

I have love.

And I have Jesus.

Recently I was reading in the book of Revelation.

And I came across this verse.

Be faithful even to the point of death.

Uh and I will give you life as your victor’s crown.

a victor’s crown.

That’s what Jesus promises to those who are faithful to him.

I’ve competed in pageantss.

I’ve worn crowns made of metal and plastic and rhinestones.

They’re pretty.

They sparkle.

They makes for nice photos, but they’re temporary.

They tarnish.

They break.

They mean nothing in the end.

The crown Jesus offers is eternal.

It’s a crown that will never fade, never break, never lose its value.

That’s the crown I’m living for now.

The crown that matters.

I was a beauty queen for a moment.

But I’m a daughter of the king forever.

So this is my story.

From a gilded ca cage in Riyad to freedom in Christ.

From a girl who was told she was worthless to a woman who knows she’s precious.

From a life of fear to a life of love, Jesus did this, all of it.

He reached down into my darkness and pulled me into his light.

He took my shame and gave me dignity.

He took my chains and gave me wings.

And he can do the same for you.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you’ve done, Jesus loves you.

He died for you.

He’s calling you to come to him.

Don’t wait.

Don’t let fear or doubt or pride or anything else keep you from the love that’s waiting for you.

He was killed and hung on the cross.

He died for you and me.

Come to Jesus now to be saved.

He’s waiting for you with open arms.

Just like the father in the story of the prodigal son.

He’s watching for you.

And when you take that first step toward him, he’ll run to you.

He’ll embrace you.

He’ll celebrate you because his love is unconditional.

His grace is sufficient.

His mercy is endless.

This is my testimony.

This is my story.

And I pray uh with everything in me that it will become yours too.

Come home.

Come to Jesus.

Come and see.

The crown that matters is waiting for you.

I close my laptop after finishing the recording.

My face is wet with tears, but I’m smiling.

This is my life now.

Sharing my story, pointing others to Jesus, using my voice for his glory.

It’s not what I planned.

It’s better.

I look out my window at the London skyline.

Somewhere out there are women like I used to be trapped, hurting, searching.

I pray that my words reach them.

That my story gives them hope.

That Jesus uses my broken pieces to show them he can make something beautiful.

Because that’s what he does.

He takes the broken and makes them whole.

He takes the lost and brings them home.

He takes the dead and gives them life.

That’s the Jesus I serve.

That’s the King I follow.

Uh and I will spend the rest of my life telling anyone who will listen about the love that saved me.

I was a beauty queen who lost everything.

But I found my true crown in Christ and that makes all the difference.

 

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