I became a mother as I was leading the liberation movement in my home country of the Philippines. I hid in the mountains and the military ran an endless pursuit. To keep my first-born safe, I was forced to give him to my relatives. My eldest son and I were separated for 12 years.

After five years of fighting and hiding, my husband and I were captured in a gun battle that took eight hours. I was then pregnant with my second child. My three comrades suffered a different fate—they were killed in front of me. While the boys were kneeling, I begged for mercy. “I regret to say, madam, this is mercy killing and we are under martial law,” said my comrades’ executioner.

As a leader, I was overcome with guilt and anger as a survivor while those young boys died. After two days in prison I gave birth to a son. I started my family while in prison, the last place I could have imagined. We stayed there behind bars for four years. Together with my former husband who has since passed, we were a family of political prisoners.

I named my son Kip a contraction of a Filipino word dakip that means “captured”. I also had a daughter while in prison whom I named “Malaya”, which in Filipino means “freedom”—the very essence of our dreams, what we were fighting for. I can still remember days when I would climb a tree with my son just to show him that there is something else out there—beyond the walls of the prison—and how I’d promise him that he’d live there one day.

After four years in prison, the people power revolution successfully ousted the dictator and my family and I were finally released. It was then that I founded VF, now called Voice of The Free.

What we face almost every day in the battlefield against human trafficking is true evil. I thought that in my life I had endured more than anyone.

In my work though I realized that my suffering was nothing compared to what trafficking victims experience. Take the story of some Filipina women who were promised domestic work in France, only to end up in a bar in the Ivory Coast, forced to have sex with different men every day. I worked with young women sold to servitude. We rescued a five-year-old girl who already had severe lacerations, and whose face is probably stocked in over a thousand pornographic websites. She has been forced to perform sexual acts in front of a web camera. The youngest victim of the cybersex slavery trade we rescued was a one-year-old girl.

In 2017, I received an offer to participate in something called The Wellbeing Project. I hesitated. I felt guilty stepping away from my work to start to do inner work. As a freedom fighter I never let my guard down. I never wanted to become vulnerable. The trauma I carry with me and my relationship to my work had taken a toll on my health and my family dynamics. I have hypertension and heart issues. Still, I was afraid to dig and excavate my own trauma to truly know myself.

The Wellbeing Project was transformative—the best thing that ever happened to me. Why did I not do this inner work much sooner!

I was able to mourn those who sacrificed themselves for freedom. I was able to reconnect with my faith in God, which somehow I lost along the way. I was able to appreciate my life and my accomplishments after all the hardship and sacrifices. I found courage in compassion and forgiveness.

I’m able to see my family clearly—how much they love and support me. I honor the commitment of colleagues and express gratitude of their passion for our mission, despite the many hardships. I came to recognize their full capacity and know that they are ready to carry the torch of leadership for the next generation of Voice of The Free. Above all, I learned to enjoy every step and moment of my journey.

We need to be confident that there’s always someone who can carry the torch of leadership. Even when our time is up, our work will continue.

After 30 memorable years of fighting for freedom and social entrepreneurship, I’ve now become ready emotionally for transition. This year I retire, making space for our organization to enter a new phase of its journey.

I’ve finally been able to share our story of the fight for freedom and democracy through an award-winning film called Liway (lady of the dawn) that my son Kip wrote and directed. The Human Rights Commission in the Philippines now uses the film to educate youth on the lessons of the Marcos dictatorship.

We need to understand that life is a state of change and everything has a beginning and an end.

I can’t help but wonder how my path may have been different had I found the space for inner work much earlier in my career, but I’m so grateful for these lessons. I hope that other young leaders in social change can chart a course that balances a devotion and passion for solving thorny problems with a commitment to the kind of self-inquiry that will sustain them on that journey.

This article was originally published in Skoll Foundation website.