I was stunned. I had no idea such support existed. As I learned about my rights and the resources available, I felt a glimmer of hope. The process was arduous, and the paperwork overwhelming, but I pressed on. For the first time, I felt cared for, no longer alone in my struggle. I couldn’t help but wonder how many others were suffering in silence, just as I had.
Months later, after recovery and reflection, I found my calling as a childcare worker. This time, I wasn’t just there for the children; I was there for my colleagues too. I volunteered as a union steward, determined to advocate for those who, like me, were unaware of their rights and benefits.
Listening to their stories, I shared my own, stripping away my pride to show them they weren’t alone. I became their guide through the labyrinth of the system, sharing how WorkSafeBC had saved my life. But a larger battle awaited us: workplace safety education was sorely lacking. We were constantly on our feet, yet no one taught us how to protect ourselves or what to do when accidents happened. I vowed to make safety training mandatory for every childcare worker, ensuring no one else slipped through the cracks.
Reflecting on my past, I think of that scared version of myself, sitting alone on the mall floor. I want to reach out to her, to tell her, “You’re not alone. Help is out there; you just need to know where to look.” Today, surrounded by colleagues, I feel a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in years. This painful journey has transformed me into the voice I so desperately needed back then. I may have stumbled along the way, but now I stand tall, forging a safe path forward for others — just as I eventually found for myself.
Like what they say in urdu:
“Girte hain shahsawar hi maidan-e-jung mein. Woh tifl kya gire jo ghutno ke bal chale – only the horseman falls on the battlefield; how will that child fall who crawls on his knees”
I arrived in the bustling heart of a foreign city, carrying the weight of my hopes, my teaching experience, and the invisible scars of a failed marriage. I was starting over, ready to rebuild my life, but the reality of my situation hit me hard. No one at the airport handed me a guidebook on navigating WorkSafeBC or explained the medical benefits available to me. I felt adrift, unprepared for the challenges that lay ahead.
To make ends meet, I took a job as a night security guard at Cap Mall. The pay was meager, but I was too proud to be picky. As I walked the empty hallways, my footsteps echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of my loneliness. I was exhausted and scared, but I buried those feelings deep inside.
One fateful night, I slipped on an unmarked wet floor, crashing hard against a bench. Dazed, I brushed off the pain, telling myself, “You’re fine. You can’t lose this job.” I didn’t report the incident, thinking it was just another hurdle to overcome. But the days that followed were a blur of confusion and blackouts. I often found myself lost in the mall, unsure of how I got there. I was terrified of losing my job, and without medical benefits, seeking help felt impossible.
The turning point came when I collapsed during my shift. I awoke in a corner, trembling, fear coursing through me. I could no longer pretend everything was okay. Desperate, I reached out to my union, and for the first time, someone said, “You should apply for WorkSafeBC benefits. It may be stress-related or tied to your injury.”
A safe path foreward
