My name is Mara*. I am a victim of modern slavery. It sounds weird, but it is so refreshing to now confidently say that.

I struggled in grasping exactly what I was going through, a feeling so many victims of modern slavery can relate to. I knew abuse was happening, but it wasn’t until I was finally free and away from it that I realised the type, extent and severity of the abuse I was facing.

I moved from the United States to the Netherlands to complete a school programme. I was studying international criminal law in The Hague and absolutely loved it. Unfortunately, COVID-19 hit halfway through my programme and all my courses went online. After I finished my programme, despite the lingering impacts of the pandemic, I managed to find work.

However, about a year later I went through some serious health issues, getting diagnosed with a preliminary type of cancer. After that diagnosis, things took a downward spiral. My health costs rose to an unaffordable amount, and then I was unfairly and illegally let go from my job. I had no money and no job, serious health issues that restricted my ability to fly home, and my visa was coming to an end. I didn’t know what to do.

While in the Netherlands, I had reconnected with a cousin of mine who was living in the UK. I didn’t know this cousin particularly well, but once I moved abroad, we facetimed all the time and got close. When I described all the issues I was facing – he recommended I come stay with him as I figure things out.

Once I moved into my cousin’s place in the UK, I suffered another serious health problem. I wound up in the hospital for 8 days dealing with an infection. Even worse, because I was considering heading back home to the United States, I was told by hospital staff that under no circumstances could I fly. I had to stay grounded until my health improved. But, oddly enough, the infection or the inability to fly was not the thing that worried me the most. During and after this hospital stay, my cousin drastically changed.

Since I was a kid, I’ve had to wear hearing aids. But with everyone wearing masks because of COVID-19, especially at the hospital, it was difficult to understand anyone. In addition, American Sign Language (ASL) is different than British Sign Language (BSL), so I really had a hard time understanding what anyone was telling me. When I messaged my cousin to ask for help, he told me he didn’t care. That was the first sign.

From there things got bad. Once I came back from the hospital, he told me if I was going to stay with him I had to do housework. I had no issue doing regular housekeeping, but if I didn’t do errands or chores exactly the way he wanted them he would lash out and make me do it again. I also started to notice how gross and unkept his place was – I would find black mold everywhere. Furniture, my bedding, everything was always damp. I was aware he liked to drink, but now it was becoming apparent that he was an alcoholic.

But then things became unbearable. My cousin started keeping track of the calories I ate. I had to earn the calories I ate by working, he said. He put up a geofence on my phone – to track my location. He already restricted my ability to leave the house when I wanted, and now even if I did, he would see exactly where I was. And as a Muslim woman, he would ask me to buy pork, to buy alcohol, things that went against my faith that he knew I wasn’t comfortable doing. I’m also vegetarian, but he would force me to eat meat. It was difficult to physically do what he wanted, but even on an emotional level it started to seriously impact me.

Also, my mom used to send me money every month – but because I didn’t have a UK bank account, the money I was sent would go directly to him. My mom and I would talk all the time, the issue was that every time we did talk my cousin made sure he was there. I couldn’t speak freely because my cousin was always in the room with us. And he was in touch with my mom but would lie to her constantly. Telling her things like I was spending all of his money, that I was a mess, that I was complete chaos to live with. It was a living nightmare.

All of this was too much to handle. I was severely depressed. My anxiety was through the roof. It was a constant fight or flight feeling. I wasn’t eating, I barely slept, I was always exhausted. I was hyper vigilant all the time, always expecting something awful to happen. That pit in your stomach when you know something bad is going to happen, but you don’t know what the bad thing is – that was me for 5 months. Even worse, I used to blame myself. I was the one who willingly came here. I indulged in self-harm. Something had to change.

One day, I came across the National Domestic Abuse hotline number. Early one morning, I gave them a call. I was then redirected to other support services, but none could find a place for me to stay on that first night. Finally, early in the morning when he was asleep, I called my mom. Despite the time difference, she answered, and I explained everything. She told me to pack a bag and leave now. She paid for a hotel.

Eventually, I was able to get help from various charities. It wasn’t without issues, however, as my cousin was continuing to harass me no matter where I went. I had to call the police on my cousin around 6 or 7 times during that time. In fact, those first few months after I escaped was potentially the lowest point of my life. I suffered multiple mental health crises, with depression and suicidal ideation, being forced to go to the hospital several times. I struggled with eating, hygiene, everyday life was difficult, and I continued to go from safe house to safe house across the country.

After a few months, I entered the National Referral Mechanism (NRM). I remember being in complete shock when a social worker told me what I was going through was not domestic abuse, but modern-day slavery. My journey in the NRM was also a difficult experience – highlighted by the fact that I was in the system for over 600 days - and since I have presented my own story and relationship with the NRM many times, including in the House of Lords, I won’t get into it here.

Finally, I was connected to Migrant Help. My advisors at Migrant Help helped me get all my caring needs – and I do not know what I would have done without that support. All my medical and psychiatrist appointments, therapy, my financials, my accommodation, and so much more. I am forever in debt to the amazing service of Migrant Help.

Regardless, I didn’t fail. I am a success story through the NRM. I entered the NRM as a terrified 22-year-old barely coming to terms with what happened to me. I left the NRM officially as an empowered 24-year-old who sat down before the House of Lords to talk about what the NRM, its purpose, if it’s fit for purpose, and how we can improve it. 

As mentioned, since leaving the NRM, I am now 25 and I’ve gone before the House of Lords two more times. I’ve gone to the Anti-Slavery awards held in Parliament. I’ve given a webinar presentation hosted by the Human Trafficking Foundation on trauma informed referrals for the NRM. I’ve started doing private consulting for individuals. 

I now volunteer with the campaign EveryDoctor which is working to save our NHS, and I am engaging with the community across the country in ways I never imagined I would be able to do.

But what I want people to get out of reading this is that my story is not uncommon. While my cousin first generously offered me a place to stay, the relationship changed into a severe and abusive domestic servitude role. That can happen to anybody. There is not one look or example of what modern slavery is – it can come in many different forms. My story is not uncommon.

*Mara’s real name has been changed to protect her identity.