Newsletter Edition The Fear I Carried at 14
“She survived war. She built her own peace.”
In 1997–1998, I was not thinking about leadership.
I was not thinking about America.
I was not thinking about success.
I was 14 years old.
And I was afraid.
Growing up during war changes you. It teaches you how to stay quiet. It teaches you how to listen carefully. It teaches you how to read people’s faces before they speak. It teaches you how to prepare for the worst — even when you pray for the best.
At 14, fear was not dramatic.
It was silent.
But sometimes… it was loud.
I remember the night the door was being hit.
The sound was aggressive. Heavy.
They kicked us out of the apartment.
We had to walk down from our fifth-floor apartment using the stairs.
And on those stairs stood men — faces partially covered with scarves, tattoos on their skin, knives and weapons in their hands.
I was 14.
I remember trying not to show fear.
Trying to breathe normally.
Trying to look strong while my heart was beating so loudly I thought everyone could hear it.
You grow up in moments like that.
You learn that safety is not guaranteed.
You learn that strength is not loud.
You learn how to survive quietly.
I didn’t know it then, but that girl walking down those stairs — between fear and uncertainty — would one day walk through Manhattan alone, with no electricity, no furniture, no English, and no one to protect her.
Strength didn’t start in America for me.
It started in survival.
War did not make me hard.
It made me aware.
It made me grateful.
It made me disciplined.
It made me unbreakable.
And when people see confidence today, they don’t see the 14-year-old girl who learned to be brave without applause.
To every woman who grew up too fast…
To every girl who carried fear quietly…
Your strength began long before the world noticed.
And it is still inside you.
“She survived war. She built her own peace.”
— Eva Nika
