I was raised in the Bay Area by two highly religious, strict Muslims. My mom wears a hijab to cover her hair. She dresses modestly with loose clothing and no bare skin, except for the hands and the occasional forearms. She only eats certified Halal food (meat that has been slaughtered in a certain way and thereafter blessed). She has absolutely no tolerance for drugs, alcohol, or tobacco. She stays at home for the most part, only going out for family/religious gatherings, errands, and work. She fasts during the month of Ramadan. In her free time, she attends monthly classes about the teachings of the Qur’an at our local mosque. She does not just abide by her religion-she embraces it. Islam is empowering to her and she takes every bit of pride in it. And that is absolutely okay.
How does this affect me, you ask? Well, as a child, I abided by all the rules including the ones I just stated as well as those written in the Qur’an that my mom had taught me. I believed Allah (SWT) was our God, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) was his Messenger, and all the stories of the Prophets were true. I dressed as modestly as my mom and I
followed all the rules of Islam accordingly. The thing is, I never had a choice. And that is absolutely not okay.
My parents forced religion on me as a child. My father made it clear that if I ever broke the rules, I would be punished, both by God and by him. If I got in trouble, it would be my mom I would confess to, because I feared my dad’s harsh belt much more than my mom’s gentle words. Yet, as my dad’s belt became more and more frequent, it worked less and less. My dad’s belt did not scare me anymore, because the truth is I became more scared of my mom’s words. She is not a mean person in any way but she often adopted this gentle tone of voice that made it all the more menacing when she would tell me that Allah (SWT) would know who did wrong, and that the wrongdoers would be punished appropriately. She constantly tells me to pray, because if I don’t, I will go to hell, and it could possibly affect her own fate as well. Sometimes, she says that she has done all she can in raising us and it is up to us to save ourselves and not go to hell. She frequently reminds me those who do not pray will suffer. When I was younger, her strategy of scaring me with these words worked on me quite successfully. I used to follow my religion out of fear of God, you see. But as I entered high school, I believed less and less and I began to follow religion out of fear of my parents.
As I grew older, the rules became stricter. No more clothing that seemed remotely tight on me. No shoulders, chest, excessive arms showing. And, after hitting puberty in middle school, no more hair. My dad had called and insisted that I start wearing the hijab. And so, in 8th grade, I would put my hijab on just before I left the house. Then, I would get in the car, get dropped off at school, and take my hijab off as soon as I was out of my family’s sight. When the school day ended, I would put my hijab back on and wait to be picked up. (Half a decade later, it’s still the same routine.)
You see, somewhere along the way, I realized I did not have a choice-I never did. Now, in college, I pretend to follow religion out of fear of my parents. Over time, I realized some of the rules were okay to break. I realized that to me, it was not so much about my religious beliefs but rather my morals. If the rules set by my religion agreed with my moral compass, then I would follow them. But if breaking some of the rules were not immoral, then what purpose did following them have to me? And so I stopped following the rules, because they weren’t my rules-they were the ones my parents had forced on me. I realized that I never had a choice to adopt Islam into myself-it was forced into me. And perhaps the forced nature in which I was taught Islam is the very same thing that led me to reject it in my later years.
I still wear my hijab in front of my family’s eyes and take it off when I am out of their sight. I still do not pray, and my mom is pressing me more and more that I should pray or otherwise face hell. Conversations with my dad are very few and in between (thankfully) as they usually end in him reprimanding me. He always says that Muslim women should stay home and not “go out with their friends” and “watch movies.” My mom says this to a much lesser extent: she has nothing against me hanging out with my friends, but she says “not to make it a habit” and sleepovers are out of the question. I’ve noticed that much of my dad’s so-called “religious” reasoning is not even written in the Qur’an-it’s just him being a chauvinistic misogynist. It pains me to say that my mom is not far off as well.
Do not misunderstand me: Islam is an amazing religion. I love it, and I love the various cultures that come along with it. I love its rich history. The Qur’an is a beautiful piece of literature and a true work of art. I do adopt many Islamic guidelines into my life. I still only eat Halal food and I have sworn to never eat pork in my life. I certainly believe modesty can be a form of empowerment to some. I have not, by any means, completely disregarded my religion. Rather, I have accepted that I need not the validation of my family, nor of society, and perhaps not even of God. I believe what I choose to believe in. And that is absolutely okay.
To tell you the truth, everything that I just wrote down in this article, I’m still coming to terms with in my head and in my heart. Being threatened with the afterlife of hell is a horrible, frightening, and honestly, abusive, concept that I am still trying to eliminate from my mind. I am writing this while sitting in bed, covered in blankets, as safe and comfortable as I could be. But I’m terrified emotionally. I’m so scared because just typing these words out confirms my feelings and it feels like a betrayal to my mother. I feel guilty because I know if she ever saw this article I would break her heart. And seeing her disappointed in me would be enough to break my own heart. Just admitting that has already made my eyes water. Mom, I’m sorry I’m not the person you think I am. But at least I finally know who I am. The truth is, when I eventually finish this article and go to bed, I’m going to revert back to who she thinks I am. I will walk out of my room and continue to keep up the pretenses. It has been taking its toll on me. And I am so very tired of it all.
My religion used to control me. Constant fear of doing the wrong thing led way to extreme issues with anxiety and depression, issues that I still struggle with today. I followed my religion out of fear of disappointing my family, and that fear caused me to feel guilty and ashamed of the person I actually wanted to be. I fell into a downward spiral of depression because I felt as if I was lying to myself, lying to God, lying to my mother, just to follow my religion. Anxiety came and I constantly worried about how I would pull all these lies off. Fear controlled much of my actions.
Eventually, I was able to break free of the hold that religion had on my mind. My mind was no longer clouded with the religion my parents forced on me. I came to peace that the religion I was taught and conditioned into as a child was not the religion I had to believe in. I have a free will, my own heart, and my own brain and I have every right in the world to choose what I believe in. It is true that I still keep up the pretense in front of my family. But now, it is me making the conscious decision to do so. Now, I control myself. Now, I know who I am. And that has made all the difference in the world.
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