"He convinced me that my values didn’t matter, that I didn’t deserve respect. He made me believe that the fights and punches were my fault, and I started changing, losing myself in an attempt to please him. I live with the illusion that if I accept his conditions, if I give up on myself, peace will come to our home. But peace never comes. I used to think of myself as a strong woman. I traveled alone a lot and had a job I loved. I never imagined I could wake up one day not knowing who I am. I believed in the love he showed me at the beginning, and I trusted it. Leaving him isn’t easy. Maybe you think it’s none of your business, that it’s a problem between the two of us. But it’s hard to break this cycle of violence alone. Do you see me? Talk to me and stand by my side.”

"He forcefully grabs my hair to hit me better. I clutch my belly with my hands, trying to protect the child growing inside me. He accuses me of carrying someone else’s child. I try to explain, to make him listen, but my words don’t matter. I believed we would be a family, that we would build something together. At first, he was gentle and excited. But everything changed quickly. Beatings became the answer to any dissatisfaction. I wish I could find the courage to leave, but fear paralyzes me at times. I understand it may be hard for you, the people around me, to get involved. But if you hear my cries, please don’t ignore them. Do you see me? Report it to the authorities. That’s how you can help me.”

"He holds me tightly, without caring about what I want. He forces me to have sex with him as if the right to say ‘no’ disappeared the moment I said ‘yes’ at the altar. He says I must want it, that this is how marriage works – but it’s not fair. Whenever I refuse him, he becomes furious. I tried to open up to a friend, but she told me it happens to her too and that it’s our duty as wives not to refuse. My health has deteriorated, and pain has become a daily burden. I want to ask for help, but shame and fear hold me back. I know it might be difficult to get involved, but if I tell you what’s happening to me, please, don’t ignore it. Do you see me? Talk to me and stand by my side.”

"I work from morning until night to support the household, but my money is never mine. He takes all of it and decides how we spend it. I feel like I have no control over my own activities anymore. I work hard but have nothing to show for it. I go into the store and buy only what he wants. My wishes don’t matter. The children don’t know anything about this. I can’t even buy them a pencil for school without his approval. I’d like to ask for help, but from whom? Where can I go? In our village, no one talks about these things. I live with the hope that maybe things will change. After all, he was so generous when we first met. If you hear my story, don’t turn away. Do you see me? Listen to me, support me. That’s how you can help me."

"He told me that if I don’t come back to him, he would share intimate images of me that I didn’t even know he had. We were together for a while, but I decided to end the relationship. He didn’t accept the breakup, and soon after, the threats began. He writes to me daily, threatens me, and makes my life a nightmare. He created fake accounts in my name and sent photos to my family, friends, colleagues, and even my children. Every time I turn him down, new threats follow – that he’ll expose everything and ruin my life. I can’t sleep or find peace of mind. Violence isn’t just physical. It can take many forms and affect anyone. If you receive intimate images of me, don’t share them further. Don’t judge me. Help me realize that I’m not alone. Do you see me? Report the content.”

"I’m 44 years old, and I’ve lived a life of beatings and fear. I got married at 17, thinking it would be an escape from the punches at home, but I ended up being beaten by my husband. One by one, I brought three children into the world. I didn’t finish high school and I don’t have a profession. I earn money by repairing clothes or sewing dresses and skirts for the women in the village. I wish I had the courage to leave, but there are moments when fear takes over. I know it’s hard for you, the people around me, to get involved. Dear neighbors, if you hear my screams through the walls, please don’t ignore them. Call the police and report what’s happening to me. If you’re afraid someone might find out you helped, remember that you can report anonymously. Do you see me? Stand by me.”

"He always “accidentally” touches me, makes comments about how I look, and insists I sit next to him during meetings under the pretext that, as his employe, I should always be close to him. He makes jokes that humiliate me in front of my colleagues and asks if I want to go out with him. His jokes make my skin crawl with shame, and I see in my colleagues' eyes that they understand but blame me. They look away or change the subject, as if I provoke this behavior from our boss. Every day at the office is a battle between wanting to preserve my dignity and fearing I’ll lose my job. I tell myself I might be exaggerating, that this might be normal. But it’s not normal. It’s humiliating, it’s wrong, and it shouldn’t be tolerated. Why should I have to choose between having a job and being respected? Dear colleague, do you see me? Don’t assume I accept this unwanted attention. What you’re seeing is abuse. You might find it hard to speak up or know how to react, but silence doesn’t help. Support me. Don’t ignore the violence hiding behind a work assignment.”

"I’m the mother of three children. I’ve sacrificed ten years of my life for the man I’m with now. At first, he was only violent with me. Now he’s violent with the children too. If we don’t do what he says, he berates us. We’re not allowed to eat more than he allows. We’re not allowed to do anything unless he approves. I tried to leave, but I had to come back because I had nowhere else to go. I know you see me stressed and uninterested in anything, and you ask me what’s wrong. I give you an excuse, and you accept it because it’s easier that way. But the truth is different. I need someone to see beyond these excuses, to see the bruises on my soul, and to offer me the help I don’t have the courage to ask for. Do you see me? Stand by me.”

"A few years ago, I had an accident that left me in a wheelchair. He always tells me I wouldn’t manage without him, and that he’s ashamed to be seen with me in public. Often, I never even see the money I receive—he controls all of it and gives me only what he thinks I need. He says I don’t need friends, that it’s enough for me to stay home and do what he says. Every harsh word, every slammed door, every time he ignores me, it makes me feel smaller and smaller. And yet, I know I deserve more. But it’s hard to ask for help. How can I tell anyone how I feel when some people already see me as a helpless woman? Do you see me? Help me regain financial independence so I can live on my own.”

"I never thought I’d reach the age of 60 and be afraid to live in the same house as the man I’ve spent 40 years with and who is the father of my children. I did everything he wanted. I told myself this is what love means, that this is how I show my devotion. After 40 years of marriage, I realized I wasn’t living for myself anymore, only for him, for his desires and needs. No matter how hard I try to please him, to be the way he wants me to be, nothing is ever good enough. Every gesture I make is wrong. I prepare dinner, but he reprimands me for not sitting next to him, for not doing what he wants. I wish I had the courage to leave. But what will the children say? I thought I would grow old peacefully, but I can’t find any peace or harmony. Do you see me? Violence can affect anyone at any age.”

"I’m a doctor. At the hospital, I’m respected, I lead teams, and I save lives. I spend countless hours focused on patients, confident in myself and my abilities. But when I walk through my front door… I’m gripped by a dull fear that I’m not good enough. That’s how he makes me feel, like I am worthless. That I’m a bad mother because I’m always busy and don’t pay enough attention to the children. That I don’t understand his needs and that anyone else could have made him happier. No matter how hard I try to be what he wants, he’s always angry. I live with the illusion that if I give up on myself and submit, peace will come to our home. How is it possible for a woman who can coordinate an entire team in a crisis to feel like she can’t manage her own life? In the morning, I put on the mask of a successful woman and go to the hospital. Do you see me? Violence isn’t just physical. Look more closely at me.”

"I’m 18 years old and believe that love means always being there, that you’re always available for the other person. I enjoy studying and dedicating myself to my education. At first, he seemed thrilled by my ambitions, encouraging me and appearing supportive. Then, things began to change. If I need to study over the weekend, he gets upset. He insists that if I truly love him, I should put my studies second and prioritize him. I’ve started believing he might be right, that I’m selfish for wanting to focus on my education. He convinces me that love means sacrifice, that I must give up my dreams for his happiness. He makes me feel guilty for putting myself first. At 18, it’s easy to confuse control with love, to think that sacrifice is a sign of devotion. Sometimes, it’s hard to ask for help or to even realize you need it. Love isn’t about giving up who you are. Do you see me? Talk to me openly about healthy relationships and encourage me to keep my identity.” (The same campaign description follows as with previous silhouettes.)

"I tell everyone at home that everything is fine, that I’m happy, that I have everything I need. But in reality, I’m living a nightmare. The problems began with the birth of our first child. My husband complained that he couldn’t rest, that his life had become unbearable. Meanwhile, his business started failing, and he grew increasingly frustrated. He took his anger out on me, on the children, on anyone nearby. We fell into poverty. We eat only pasta now and wait for my in-laws to bring us food. I want to work, but he doesn’t allow me. Every evening, I dread his return home. I check to make sure everything is in order – the clothes are folded; the food isn’t too hot or too cold. I tell the girls to stay in their room, to avoid disturbing him. Still, no matter what I do, he always finds a reason to lash out. I feel paralyzed by fear. Mom, Dad – do you see me? Maybe I tell you everything is fine but trust your instincts. Sometimes, it’s hard to admit I’m not happy. Please, keep asking, stay close to me. Your support means everything. Stand by me.”

"I play the role of a happy wife so well that others envy me. But the truth is, I’m living a nightmare I don’t know how to escape. I tremble with fear whenever he comes near, like a mouse before a cat. It all started gradually – first control, then hurtful words, and later physical violence. He tells me that without him, I’m worthless, that I’m incapable of anything. I’ve started believing him. He even takes the small amount of money I have for raising our child, saying he needs it for his family, leaving me completely dependent on him. I tried to leave, but everyone told me to endure it. My mother, my mother-in-law, my friends – each one advised me to put up with it, just as they did. “This is marriage,” they said. A few days ago, he humiliated me in front of our friends. Do you see me? Stand by me. My story isn’t unique – so many women live like this, silently, hidden behind a mask of normalcy, waiting for someone to help them believe in themselves again.”

"My mother’s house was by the road. The sixth one on the right as you entered the village. A big green house with some outbuildings we called the 'shed.' Behind the house was the garden. Always neat. The garden was symbolically divided by a path lined with flowers – many asters of various colors. When I got home, I’d call out to her from the gate. If she didn’t answer from the shed, I’d run into the garden. She couldn’t be anywhere else. That day, she was in the garden too. But she didn’t come to hug me. She laid there, on an old coat, beaten by my father. Right on the path full of asters. That’s when I learned what domestic violence looks like. It had my mother’s face. A face submissive, scared, and vulnerable. Vulnerable in front of us, her three children whom she couldn’t leave fatherless, and in front of the village: “What will people say?” My mother hid everything from us. But we suspected. We knew. We saw her trying to smile through tears, pulling her sleeves over her bruises, and finding excuses for missing meals. We asked her, but she always said: “Everything is fine. Don’t worry.” The neighbors knew too. They heard her crying, heard my father shouting, “You think you’re so smart!” They knew what came next. But they didn’t interfere. “It’s not our business. What happens in someone’s house stays there.” Then one day, the world fell silent forever. Violence claimed its price. My mother left, and I was left with the question: “Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t anyone do anything?” She was my mother. If you hear cries, if you see marks, don’t look away. Seek help for them. Every woman living in violence needs someone to see her, to reach out, to help her.”

"I lived in a marriage for 12 years that stole my peace and self-confidence. I was never good enough for him. He blamed me for everything – for the family I came from, for the friends I didn’t have because I wasn’t interesting enough for anyone, for the way I looked and behaved when we went out. Last year, after he hit me for the first time, I left our home together with the children. I took the difficult step, believing that divorce would end the violence. I thought it was selfish of me to leave the children without a father. It was just a slap, after all. He had never raised his hand before, and he loved the kids. Still, I left. But the violence didn’t leave with him. Every Saturday, when he comes to see the kids, the fear returns. He speaks harshly to me, blames me for the divorce, tells me I’m not a good mother, that I’ll never be able to give the kids what he can. He takes them outside and speaks poorly of me to them. They’re too young to understand what’s really happening. When he leaves, he pretends to be kind in front of the kids, but once they’re in their room, he scans the house with heavy eyes, always searching for something to humiliate me over. The past keeps pulling me back, and I feel defenseless. Do you see me? I’m still here, caught in the cycle of violence, even though I left. If you understand that I’m still afraid of him, encourage me to report the abuse.”

"Three minutes and thirty seconds made the difference between being hit or left alone." If we had written this story three years ago, it would have been anonymous. The abuse was too intense, and the fear too overwhelming for her to speak up. Today, however, this story has a subject and a predicate. It has a name, and her name is Olga Goncear—the woman who found the strength and courage within herself to break free from abuse, to piece herself back together, and to become a source of support for other women who, like her not so long ago, suffer in silence. "I want to embrace all the women in the world who, at this moment, are living in fear with their partners and give them courage and confidence in themselves. They need so much to be seen, heard, and encouraged to escape." Today, Olga is well. She lives peacefully and happily with her children, far from the man who, for ten years, made her life unbearable. But her life wasn’t always this way. Her story began like a dream. She met her future husband one evening at a restaurant in Chișinău. It was a spontaneous meeting. She remembers his intense gaze, which seemed filled with emotion—something she hadn’t encountered before. "He was attentive, kind, and made me feel important." At first, he seemed to be everything she had ever wanted—a decisive man who offered her support and affection. "He never let me out of his sight. He created a space where I could only focus on him. He gave me so much attention, so much care, that at some point, I was sure this man couldn’t live without me. Flowers, walks, restaurants—and oh, how beautifully he spoke! In those first months, I could never have imagined that things would take such a terrible turn." However, the first signs that something was wrong appeared rather quickly, but she chose to ignore them, interpreting them as acts of care. "One day in the park, he got into an argument with a stranger just because the man looked at me for a moment too long. I thought he cared about me, that he wanted to protect me." As the relationship progressed, her husband’s control over Olga intensified. "After I got pregnant, he changed radically. Instead of joy, I was met with constant criticism: ‘You’re fat, you’re no longer attractive.’ Slowly, the insults began, then the shoving. Everything became a reason for reproach—food, clothes, the bathroom. He called me a ‘pig,’ ‘cursed,’ ‘disgusting’—words that killed me inside, words that made me feel guilty for my own transformation. I came to hate myself. I avoided looking in the mirror because I didn’t want to see what I had become—a rag, just as he called me." Bit by bit, Olga felt the abuse eroding her confidence and sense of self-worth. "I doubted myself every day. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I became a shadow, a person afraid to express her thoughts for fear of upsetting him. I did everything he wanted. He monitored my every move. When I went to buy bread, he would stand on the balcony and time me—he told me I had to be back in three and a half minutes. I could see him from the shop door, standing on the balcony, watching me, and I knew that if I was late, he would hit me. With each compromise, I felt farther from who I was. I became just a shadow, doing everything he demanded, sinking deeper into a bottomless pit, unable to find my way back to myself." Despite years of silence and suffering, Olga recalls how difficult it was to talk about the abuse she endured. "I told everyone that everything was fine, that he spoiled me. But at night, I cried into my pillow and asked myself: Why, God, don’t you give me the courage to tell the truth? And I withdrew into myself, thinking it was my fault. I chose this man; I must carry this cross." When she visited her family, they began noticing changes. "My sister, who is a psychologist, tried to talk to me. She asked questions, but I refused to answer. I said everything was fine. I was scared. I felt that if I started talking, I wouldn’t be able to stop crying out for help. I felt guilty for disappointing them." Everything changed one day after a violent episode that left a deep mark on her memory. "He beat me so badly, he disfigured me. I felt like a punching bag. In a moment of clarity, I crawled into the children’s room, pulled them close, and locked the door. He tried to break the door down, shouting that he was going to kill me. I told him that if he came in, I would call the police. That stopped him." That was the moment she realized she had to escape the nightmare. She found support at a center for domestic violence victims, marking the beginning of a new life. "I started looking for help online, searching for centers that support mothers and children. I read stories of other women and understood that there were places where I could receive help." Ultimately, her mother and sisters gave her the confidence she needed to make the final decision. "Without my sisters, I wouldn’t have had the strength to leave. For the first time, I felt that someone saw me, someone understood what I was going through. For the first time, I felt I had a chance to live without fear, to find my peace and dignity." Now, Olga is working to rebuild her life and rediscover the identity she lost during the years of abuse. "Slowly, I’m regaining my confidence. It’s a tough journey, but each step brings me closer to who I truly am," she says. The support from her community and organizations has given her the strength to move forward. This year, thanks to a program supported by UN Women Moldova and funded by Sweden, Olga participated in a personal development and economic empowerment course in Hâncești, which also provided vouchers to support her professional path. With the help of the Women’s Law Center and inspired by a long-held passion for traditional crafts, Olga began sewing traditional blouses and embroidery. She obtained a sewing machine, allowing her to earn extra income while working from home. Additionally, she works at a local folk arts center, where her talent is appreciated. For women with children like her, engaging in practical and quick activities is essential for gaining financial independence. Now, she shares her experience with other beneficiaries of the center, offering them hope and helping them transition from a life marked by abuse to one of independence and freedom. "I’ve learned that I deserve respect and that I’m stronger than I ever imagined. If you see yourself in my story, know that you are not alone. There are people who want to help you, who understand your pain, and who want to offer the support you need. You don’t have to fight alone. Every woman deserves a life of dignity, free from fear." Her story is a call for solidarity, urging the community to open its eyes and hearts to the women living in silence and suffering. Her message to the world is clear: "Do you see me? Ask for help for me." If you know someone who is suffering, encourage them to seek help. In situations of severe risk, report it to the authorities!

When I was around him, I would tremble like a mouse in front of a cat. Mihaela's history of abuse (editor's note: the protagonist's name has been changed) happened 15 years ago. It would seem that enough time has passed for her to be able to talk about it without reliving the emotions of that period. But that’s not the case. She cried again this time as if things had happened just yesterday. "I was sure that I had forgotten and that what happened didn’t affect me anymore. But it seems that helplessness and frustration seep into your bones and destroy you every time," Mihaela confesses. "We met at a mutual friend's birthday," Mihaela begins, recalling those first days that would come to change her life. "From the beginning, I was impressed by how different he seemed from the other men I had met. He worked in a public institution, spoke nicely, was polite and respectful. He told me about his family and how difficult it had been for them: his mother had been a victim of violence, and he, since school, had started working in construction to support his mother and sister. I was deeply attracted to the care he had for his family, the fact that from an early age he assumed the responsibility of supporting them financially. It was proof of strength and devotion that impressed me enormously." Mihaela remembers how social pressure and social norms that a girl should agree to marriage when asked affected her decision to get married. "When he proposed to me, I felt somewhere deep down that something was wrong," she says. "But my mother pushed me forward, telling me: 'Mihaela, you are grown up now. Look, you've been in a relationship before, and it didn’t end well. Now, this boy is very good-looking.’" She felt that a girl who reached the age of 25 without being married ran the risk of being labeled "unmarriable," a stigma that marked her social value. "It wasn’t an extraordinary love, but I thought it would be good for life. My mother insisted that I had to get married," she recounts, emphasizing the influence of those around her on her decision. She accepted the proposal, but subtle control gradually began to appear in the relationship. "After I said 'yes,' he would take me to and from work, take me to and then pick me up from my friends. At first, it seemed caring to me, but over time, I began to feel that it was a kind of control," the woman recalls. However, at the time, influenced by the idea that 'this is love,' she interpreted his gestures as a form of affection, without realizing that they were, in fact, signs of a possessiveness that would grow stronger. "One day, I came out of the building with a co-worker, and he saw us together. He didn’t say anything at the time, but suddenly he hit the car's mirror with his fist and broke it. I was shocked. I didn’t ask him what happened, but in my heart, I told myself that maybe he had a hard day at work." Despite the clear signs of abuse that had begun to appear just before the wedding, Mihaela felt that she could not back down. She already sensed that it was not the love she wanted. "It was not a 100% 'yes,' but the wedding was already organized. My father and mother had a good social position, and I was their only daughter. They invited 200 people to the wedding. Everyone was waiting, everything was paid." Thus, the decision to go ahead was influenced by the thought that if she canceled the wedding at that time, it would have caused an enormous amount of shame for herself and her family. "Society keeps you within very tight limits," says Mihaela, "I couldn’t back down." The violence in Mihaela's relationship took many different forms: emotional, verbal, physical, and economic. The first form of violence was verbal, when her husband began to tell her that she was worthless, that she had not achieved anything in life, and that she had no right to tell him what to do. "He would say things like, 'Who do you think you are? Look at your life; you're nothing without me.' I started to believe him," she confesses. "Before, I was coordinating a team at work, I was responsible for more than thirty pieces of equipment. But when I got home, I felt worthless, like I wasn’t beautiful or capable anymore." Then, any minor mistake, such as her cooking food he didn’t like, triggered violent reactions. "He could flip the table over," she recalls. The physical abuse intensified over time, combined with tight control over finances. "He took my money from the child allowance; he said that his mother and sister needed it, and we were left with nothing." Even small personal financial contributions were under his control, leaving her and their child in total dependence. "I felt like he destroyed my confidence," she says. "I felt like nothing, and many years later, if something happened to me, the first thought I had was that I deserved it." In the most difficult moments, Mihaela tried to leave several times, but she felt that something was holding her back. She didn’t ask for help because of shame. "What will people say, the wedding was not long ago, how so?" she wondered, aware that those around her would judge her rather than support her. "My mom pushed me to get married... she was afraid that if you pass 25, no one will want you anymore." On the other hand, her mother-in-law, who had endured a lifetime of abuse, pressured her to do the same: "I endured it, why can’t you?" She was also surrounded by people who dismissed violence as insignificant. "Whenever I tried to open up, I could see in their eyes that it wasn’t a big deal that he slammed the refrigerator door into my head a few times," she recounts bitterly. This reaction made her feel even more isolated, reinforcing the idea that she had no one to turn to. The firm decision to file for divorce came after a significant and traumatic incident. One day, the woman sent a message to her husband expressing her desire for a divorce. "I started working and felt I had enough money to leave with my daughter. I realized that separating from him wasn’t the end of the world." She asked her husband to move out of the apartment. It was the first sign that she could live in safety and peace: "I went to work, didn’t see him for a week, and felt freedom—I felt I could breathe in my own home." Shortly after sending the message, her husband stormed into her office, grabbed her, pulled her hair, and started hitting her in front of her colleagues. "It was a mix of fear and shame... everyone saw him beating me," Mihaela admits. "My boss came immediately and warned me: if I don’t file a police complaint, I shouldn’t come back to work the next day." This threat of losing her job pushed her to act: "Out of fear of losing my job... I went to the police." Mihaela acknowledges that without that firm warning, she might not have found the courage to take that step: "Maybe I wouldn’t have... I was stuck in a closed cycle in my life, unable to see anything beyond it." Mihaela describes liberation as a slow process. "Week by week, I felt I could breathe, that no one was calling me stupid, no one was telling me how bad I was." At the same time, the support she received from her colleagues and family helped her stay on this path. "My boss transferred me to another branch, so I wouldn’t have to face the shame and painful memories. That helped me regain a sense of normalcy." Mihaela believes that a woman’s journey to freedom from abuse starts from within, with a change in how she perceives her own self-worth. Through this painful experience, Mihaela learned that she should never accept a life filled with suffering. "I found the courage to stand up for myself and my child. It was hard, but every step was worth it." She encourages women not to hesitate to reach out to support centers and people who can lend a helping hand. "The most important thing is to ask for help," she says, emphasizing that while it may seem difficult, the support of those around you can make a huge difference. "Of course, you don’t turn to just anyone—not everyone will understand. But if you find someone who can help, ask for help." If you know someone who is suffering, encourage them to seek help. In situations of severe risk, report it to the authorities! This article, based on a true story, was created for the campaign "Do You See Me? Believe me. Stand by me."—an initiative raising awareness about violence against women. It is part of the broader "16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence" campaign, implemented by UN Women Moldova in partnership with the Government of the Republic of Moldova and the National Agency for Preventing and Combating Violence Against Women and Domestic Violence, with financial support from the European Union, Sweden, and Denmark.