I still remember the day when I saw the Instagram story by Perry Power sometime in June 2023. I had been following his profile after having read his book Breaking the Silence. Perry was merely sharing his story of sexual abuse, and I remember how I connected to his story immediately. He was not saying anything on the short video on Instagram, but just holding up a series of cards on which his story was written. It was like that moment from the movie Love Actually, where Mark (Andrew Lincoln) confesses his love for Juliet (Keira Knightley) by showing her large-sized cards. Words aren’t spoken, but his face was telling the story. Similarly, it was an incredibly powerful moment for me because I was forced to read the words of the cards that Perry was showing on the screen, all the while taking in his expressions. He got me hooked. I was leaning into his vulnerability. This experience was profound for me; since when do men talk about sexual abuse so openly? I distinctly remember feeling envious of him. I so badly wanted his courage and bravery. Even if I could have an ounce of his strength, then maybe, just maybe, I could share my story.

I had been working on my healing through my counselling courses and in personal therapy. There were moments when my therapist and supervisor recommended that I write down my story. If not write a story, then start journaling. I didn’t take their words seriously. I mean, what would writing do for me? I was sceptical. I was also worried that my writings could be discovered by someone, and I didn’t want that happening.

How would I be able to bear the shame of writing down my story?

I did write down my sexual abuse experiences in my essays as part of my counselling course and also made it a part of my presentation, where I talked about it in front of my peers. It certainly made me feel empowered at the moment, but there was also a part of me that stopped me from taking it outside of this room. This room was filled with my peers who were trained to show empathy anyway. How would the world react? How would the people in my extended family react? Will they shame me? Will they even believe me? I started to make short notes in my diary. The sequence of events; what happened when. But I didn’t entirely remember everything. I came up with disjointed pieces of writing, and my timeline was all over. I took it to personal therapy, hoping to uncover some repressed memories, and that helped only a little bit. I still didn’t see the point of writing down my experiences. I couldn’t see how it was helping me, and it only made me frustrated and annoyed. I didn’t get why people say journaling helps. These words on paper in front of me all felt meaningless.

“What’s the point of this? What am I getting out of this?”

So, I ripped apart the pages from my diary and shredded them in the shredder. While I did this, there was still a little part of me that wanted to write my story. I had relegated this thought to the back of my mind.

“I’ll do this later at some point in life, but not now.”

In July 2023, I saw another short video of Perry Power talking about writing a book about sexual abuse trauma. Something happened to me. It felt like a little burst of electricity. I so badly wanted to write my own story. “A book? Did he just say he would help us write a book? That too in three to six months?” I thought to myself. “This sounds too good to be true.” My sceptical side spoke up: “How on earth can you write your book in six months? All the years and years of trauma to be put in a book in just a matter of months? This is impossible!” At the end of the short Instagram video, he invited the viewers to comment “Book” in the comments section, and he would reach out. “Yeah, that seems like something I could do,” I said to myself, somewhat excitedly. “But then he has so many followers. Why would he even bother responding to my comment? I am such a nobody; I won’t even be important to him. I am a brown guy, and only white people talk about sexual abuse and write books about me. Not brown guys.” Then, I did the unthinkable. I went along with my instinct, and against my thoughts, and typed out four letters: B…o…o...k. Then I pressed send and forgot about it. What are the chances of him reaching out? Nil.

I was surprised when I received a message in my Instagram inbox. It was Perry asking if I would be happy to have a short call about writing my book. Later, I received an email from Perry Power. It was an invitation for a Zoom video Clarity Call. Is this for real? Do these things happen? Do celebrities on Instagram, who have 129,000 followers, respond to their followers? It did feel surreal. It wasn’t a long email, but it was an important one. I remember there was one line that stayed with me:

“The journey you'll go on will be one of the most transformational, powerful, and therapeutic experiences you'll ever go through on your healing journey.”

To me, this sounded like a dream come true, but then again, it did feel like it was too good to be true.” I didn’t respond immediately. I held onto that email. I would read it several times during this day. Do I want to do this? Or should I delete this email? The two words just stayed with me: transformational and powerful. In the second half of the email, there was a summary of the questions I answered:

Why do you want to write your story? What are you hoping it'll help you achieve?: More so for my own healing. However, I do think about sharing my story with other male friends who have been abused but don’t seek help for healing and recovery and instead suffer in shame.

Would you want to publish your story at the end?: That’s debatable for now. I am actually based in Pakistan, so to share my book openly will be a sensitive area for me to walk on due to cultural and societal non-acceptability of male sexual abuse.

Do you have any fears when it comes to writing your story?: The predominant fear is to access those horrible memories and face them again.

The next day, I opened that email, clicked on the link and booked a slot for the Clarity Call. “Gosh, I am doing this!” I was nervous and excited at the same time. There was hope alongside apprehensions. It was a weekday morning, and I hopped on the Zoom video call with Perry. I shared briefly about myself and why I wanted to write a book. He explained to me the whole writing program, how there would be other people on the weekly group calls, there would be an editor on board who would edit my book, and I would also have the luxury of having my book cover designed. Right towards the end of the call, a bombshell was dropped: this writing program is going to cost me about £5,000.

“Ah, see, I told you, Mansour. This is too good to be true,” the sceptic part of me spoke up. “You convert this amount to Pakistani rupees, and you will see what a large chunk of money you are parting ways with. You can use this money elsewhere instead of this. Think of all the charity work you can do with this money. You could also use this money and treat yourself to a luxury holiday. Why waste it on a book that you won’t publish anyway?”

I was in London at the time. I told Perry that I would need to go back home to Pakistan and see my finances if I could manage this, and I can’t do this at the moment. There were still seven weeks for me to go back home. The next seven weeks were spent holidaying in London and spending time with my siblings and cousins. I had forgotten about the writing program. I didn’t think I would have been able to do it anyway. Perhaps it was the cost that threw me off. Maybe it was the process of writing it all out. Do I want to revisit my traumas? I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to connect with others in the group. I wasn’t even sure if someone like me, who is not even a native English speaker, would write a book about my experiences. My English isn’t even all that amazing. I discarded the idea of writing a book.

I landed back in Pakistan, and a couple of days later, I saw a message from Perry on my Instagram account. He was just following up with me about joining the writing program. This was it. This was the moment. This was not a mistake. This was a reminder. It was purely a divine intervention. Who remembers to follow up? The fact that Perry followed up made me feel as if he cared about his followers. The spark lit up inside of me. I arranged my funds and asked my brother in London to send my payment to Perry. “Mansour,” my brother says to me, “are you sure about this? Have you done your due diligence? This is a big amount. Once I send the payment, I won’t be able to get it back.” I had another moment. What is my brother trying to say? I felt a little doubtful. I told him I was confident about this whole thing. “But Perry Power doesn’t even have a website. Are you sure?” my brother tells me. “Yes, I am very sure,” I tell him. “I had a live video call with Perry Power, and I follow his social media. This is not a scam.” The payment was finally made.

On Wednesday evening, September 20th, 2023, I joined the first group video call. This was the point where the magic began. This was the point where my life changed.

And all I did was write just that one word: Book.

In gratitude,

Mansour Ahsan.

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You can reach me at:

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