Breaking the Chains: How Katy Found Her Voice with VODW

By Katy

When I arrived in the UK in 2016, I stepped into a world I didn’t understand. My heart was filled with fear. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t speak the language well. I didn’t know where to go for help. Every day, I lived with stress, anxiety, and sleepless nights. I was constantly nervous, my mind racing with questions I couldn’t answer. What if something bad happens to me tomorrow? What if these people hurt me? Will I survive this place?

I lived in the shadows, too afraid to speak, too lost to ask for help. The people I worked for—I didn’t really know them, and I couldn’t trust them. I felt like a prisoner in someone else’s home, with no voice and no choice. I cried in silence, praying every night, asking God to guide me. I held on to faith, even when it felt like hope was running out.

I called my sister in Pakistan one day, begging her to help me go back to my employer. I told her I couldn’t live like this anymore—I was drowning in stress. But she didn’t know the truth of my situation. She said, “Why would you go back? So many people are desperate just to be where you are. Don’t waste the opportunity.” I didn’t know how to explain that I felt like I was living in a cage. That my so-called opportunity was crushing my spirit.

And then… something shifted.

A kind woman—someone who once helped my daughter in the Philippines apply for a scholarship—stepped into my life again, like an angel sent to guide me. She introduced me to The Voice of Domestic Workers. She told me about the community, the classes, the support. I didn’t know what to expect, but I was desperate for something—anything—that could help.

The first time I joined a VODW activity, I felt nervous. But slowly, day by day, I began to feel seen. I began to feel heard. I started attending classes—financial literacy, IT, public speaking. Even though I never finished college, Elijah’s way of teaching helped me learn and grow in ways I never thought possible. I found courage in the small things—learning how to use a computer, budgeting my money, understanding how to express myself. These may seem small to others, but for someone like me, they were life-changing.

Before VODW, I didn’t know how to manage my money. I worked so hard for every single pound, but I didn’t understand how to make it last. I spent without thinking. But after the financial classes, I began to value my income more. I understood how important it is to spend wisely. Domestic workers work so hard—our jobs are physically and emotionally demanding. We deserve to feel in control of our lives, and that includes our finances.

To any domestic worker out there who is scared to come forward—please, don’t be afraid. I know the fear. I lived in it. But being silent only makes it worse. Even if we don’t have the legal right to work here, we still have the right to live with dignity. Our situation doesn’t define our worth. Justice lives in our hearts. We are not invisible. And without us, this country would struggle. We are not replaceable—we are essential.

VODW gave me more than knowledge. It gave me strength. Emotionally, they lifted me up when I felt broken. I met women who shared my story, who knew my pain. I didn’t feel alone anymore. I had people who encouraged me to keep going, who reminded me that I am strong, that I am valuable. Socially, they brought me into a family. They invited me into activities, helped me build confidence, helped me stand tall again.

To my fellow domestic workers—know your rights. Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t deserve fairness. Whether you have a written contract or not, always speak up for your basic needs. Remind your employer you deserve rest, breaks, and respect. We are workers, yes—but above all, we are human. We are not machines. We are not animals. We deserve love, justice, and peace.

One of the most important things VODW helped me with was telling my story. They helped me access the National Referral Mechanism (NRM), which gave me the support I needed as a survivor. That referral was a turning point. It gave me hope. It helped me begin the long road to healing.

My dreams today are no longer buried under fear. I dream of getting my Indefinite Leave to Remain. I dream of reuniting with my children and bringing them here to see London with their own eyes. I want to walk through this city hand-in-hand with them—no longer as a hidden, silenced migrant, but as a mother who survived, who fought, and who overcame.

I want to grow more, learn more, and maybe one day run my own small business. I want peace. I want freedom. I want the chance to live without fear.

This is my story—but it is not just mine. It is the story of so many domestic workers who are still living in silence. If you are one of them, please know this:

You are not alone.

You are not powerless.

Your story matters.

And your voice can change everything.

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