Until Oct. 7, I was an ordinary person, living an ordinary life.
I woke up in the morning for work, met friends, sat with my family.
And life? Life does not prepare you for the day when all of this happens to you.
Not in any lesson, not in any conversation, not in any textbook.
It is like some kind of fiction, where if you do not really think about it, maybe it will not come true.
The honest truth is that I had no fear at all that this could happen to me.
And the more honest truth is that I was not fully certain I would make it out of there.
At the beginning of captivity, there were so many dreams and questions about what everything would look like when we returned.
How would everyone behave? What do you say and what do you not say? How do you start everything over?
You are desperate to wake up from this nightmare into a real reality.
A reality where we are home, surrounded by everyone.
It is a longing that a stranger could never understand.
Every night before I went to sleep, and every morning when I opened my eyes,
that is all I imagined — home.
Slowly, as time in captivity passed, it became
when will I be able to open a door? Or take a moment to breathe air with a bit of sunlight?
When will I be able to shower? To eat? To drink?
And then you realize that pure happiness and fulfillment are found in the small things.
In a mother’s hand stroking your hair, in a bear hug from your father,
in sitting with my sister over a cigarette in the yard, or crying to my friend in a cafe.
I truly felt dead in a living body.
And despite all the captivity and the difficult stories,
no one prepares you for the day you become an inspiration to someone else.
When I finally decided to come forward and share with the world who I am and what I went through,
I did it for one clear reason — the world needs to know what we went through there.
I did not spend a moment thinking about other reasons that might be critical,
and it is crazy to realize in hindsight how little I considered what this could do to others.
And then came that phone call, which I will never forget.
My older sister called to tell me that Arbel Yehud had seen my interview,
and that it gave her the strength to say something, even if it was “just” one sentence.
I gave her the strength to begin touching deep wounds, to release something more from herself.
All the color drained from my face.
How is it possible that I am a source of influence for others?
How exactly am I giving strength?
And without noticing, just like that, on an ordinary day without warning,
I actually gave strength!
And it is frightening, and it is very, very strange.
But God, how empowering it is.
I think this is the first time since I returned
that I truly felt strong, brave, exceptional, or whatever other words kind people say to me on the street.
I felt, and still feel, immense pride that I managed to turn my pain into strength for someone else.
The path in Gaza taught us to appreciate the smallest things the world has to offer.
I realized that I have lessons I need to go through, a path that must be written into my life story.
I thought that once I overcame all the trials, I would be done.
Since Arbel and Ariel’s interview, I understand that it does not end with captivity.
Day by day, hour by hour, I try to overcome crises, to get up off the floor and keep pushing forward.
But more than anything, I am beginning to understand that maybe the time has come for me to share the strength I have gained with others.
To give others the space to feel comfortable telling their story, in the way they would want.
To give them an opportunity for true freedom, just as I received.
Sharing my personal life with everyone was the bravest thing I have ever done.
I do not regret it, not even for a second.
I did not choose this life, but today I stand with pride and say:
I am Romi Gonen, and I survived captivity in Gaza.