'I was the victim of an acid attack. Now I help other women look in the mirror again.'

BOGOTA, Colombia - They didn't let me look in the mirror in the hospital. After three months, when I returned home, I got up alone in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom. The impact was very strong. Generally, people who get burned lost their hair, but not me. So the first thing I did that night was take some big scissors and cut off my hair at the root. I cut everything. If it had no face, why should I have hair?

There have been 28 surgeries and 70 procedures. Entering the operating room is like saying goodbye to my family again and again, not knowing what is going to happen to me. Every surgery has meant a new scar on my body, because my body became its own donor: they remove one part of you and put it on another ... on your neck, your face, your lip or cheek. And if it does not work, you have one more worthless scar. Just a free scar.

My name is Gina Potes, I am one of the many women survivors of acid attacks in Colombia. I won the first sad spot on that list 20 years ago and, somehow, I was also the first to stand up. On October 28, 1996, they broke into my house: "Who made you so pretty?" They asked. Then they threw a substance on me that burned most of my face, neck, and body.

I was 20 years old. At that moment, life made a 180 degree turn. My dreams and illusions were always in the background, behind the tears, sadness, depression, the desire to die, guilt, remorse, questions.

I considered myself the ugliest woman in the world. I said goodbye to my own face on a daily basis. I saw my deformed chin. I could not open my mouth. The pretty mole I had under my lip was gone. My eyes, although not affected, were not the same. That woman in the mirror was not me. For me there was nothing in this world. Not even God.

One of the first wars I entered was the war against the whole of humanity. Little by little, I began to generate intimacy with the mirror. For me, that has always been very important. I carry a big one with me in my bag, where I can see my whole face because that reflection has had a central relevance in this whole process, although it has generated many conflicts: acceptance, confrontation, bravery ... still today it’s difficult to look in the mirror.

We all live by what we reflect. Our image is what identifies us before our family, before society, before our partner and before ourselves. Over time I learned to see there was an essence behind my face, that the scars did not make me less of a woman.

And I became a survivor. Accepting it is not just hearing that everything is going to be okay. It is deciding to do something different to live differently. My scars are now a tool with which I can make a difference. They mean that I have been through violence. They force me to get up every morning and fight for my rights as a woman. That's why I've been ing women for 13 years.

The bomb went off in 2012, when Natalia Valencia was attacked here in Bogota. Her story struck me a lot because her aggressor was captured and immediately released. It was like a revelation. In 20 years I have filed almost 20 complaints and I can say that in Colombia there is impunity when it comes to violence against women.

I needed to do something for the government to act, so that everyone knows that this is not just a burn, but years of surgeries, discrimination and lack of opportunities. Thus was born Fundación Reconstruyendo Rostros (the Foundation for Reconstructing Faces). Violence in our country and in the world is widespread. It is the basis on which our society has been built and we are accustomed to the landscape of violence. And violence is not just physical. It is everywhere. Beatings, insults and discrimination. Violence can be a simple glance.

In 1996, when I first reported my case, I realized that no one knew that these cases existed, but there were more survivors and they seemed alone. Life united us to be reborn from the tragedy. It is there, in community, where you understand that the question is not "why me?" but "why us?”

Some 87% of victims are women and 90% of aggressors are men. They are men from our own family groups, the fathers of our kids, our partners, our friends.

When we get together, it's like we're sitting in front of a mirror. And we start to think ‘if she looks beautiful, why can’t I look beautiful with my scars?’ We smile, listen to each other and feel that someone understands because they also lived it, and from there we move forward.

It’s reciprocal because we are each a different universe. Each has something that another needs, some strength that they lack. We feed ourselves with tenderness and joy, with tears and sadness. And this is how the concept of beauty has changed. Twenty years ago I thought that beauty was what was going to give me everything in life. That if I was not beautiful, I was nobody. Today, I look at myself and see a totally beautiful, active woman, someone important, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a leader who can do something. A woman capable of smiling.

And with this I have built a family. Violence has marked them all because it is impossible to say that it did not affect them when they grew up next to a sad mother, who did not want to get out of bed and was frightened by the idea of them going into the streets. A mom who told them people are bad. But also my children have understood that it is possible, that although violence is inevitable, life continues and that every day is a new opportunity.

It is easy to say that we are good and happy, but it’s still hard. I still feel that the best way for my body and soul to heal is through tears. The women come here and very often we cry. We simply and plainly cry a lot. We hold hands and we cry, we cry and cry. I think I will never stop crying ... sometimes, I am in meetings and my eyes just start tearing up uncontrollably.

The hardest thing is to get up off the ground over and over. But I won’t deny that we try every single day.

Interview and editing by Alba Tobella Mayans