After a decade of presenting the daily news on TV and radio, 15 August 2021 was my last day of broadcasting in Afghanistan. Everything was moving fast, but I didn’t believe the world would allow the Afghan government to collapse.

When a colleague rang to tell me the Taliban were 20 minutes away from our newsroom, I felt like someone had poured boiling water on me, destroying my wishes and dreams.

In the chaos, my 15-minute journey home from work took four hours. En route, a former mentor, a British journalist, called to say she had contacted the Committee to Protect Journalists and could help get me on a flight if I wanted to leave.

I knew I had to protect my children’s lives and their future from explosions or attacks. My way of dressing and interacting with men and women would not be acceptable to the Taliban. As a single mother, I was at risk. I also worried about being forcibly married.

As the Taliban seized power, our flight was cancelled. My friend worked frantically to help me, and by 19 August, had secured our seats on an army charter flight.

A day later, our plane took off. The final destination was Birmingham. We spent time in hotel quarantine and a month with my ex-husband’s relatives. We then lived in a hotel in Watford for five months whilst our case was processed. It was a tough time. The children weren’t in school, and I knew nobody. There were other Afghan refugees, but we had led quite different lives. I had left a full and busy one; now, suddenly, I was free all day. There was no one to share my feelings with.

They hide from the Taliban to keep their families safe. They were educated and lost everything; the job they loved, their identity. People respected them as journalists, and now they must stay home and do nothing.

Sometimes now, when I raise my voice to advocate for women and children on platforms such as Facebook, my family ask me to stop because of the high risk to them. But I can’t stop when I see everything wrong that is happening under the Taliban regime. As the mother of a female journalist, my mum is targeted. I made many programmes that were anti-Taliban, and they disturb my mum as revenge.

It has been hugely difficult starting a new life aged 32. Leaving my mother behind is the hardest part. My children miss their grandma and friends, but they’re at school and rebuilding their lives. I’m taking short courses in English and professional development. I hope to apply for a Master’s degree again and, in the future, find a good job as a journalist.

In the UK, I feel safe. I don’t fear that my children or I will be kidnapped, but my family isn’t safe in Afghanistan. I feel awful that being a journalist has put my loved ones in danger.