Dear Muslim Women,
I hear you.
I hear the apologies you make; apologizing for dressing like you’re oppressed, or for wearing clothes too tight. I hear the silence you scream, the deafening silence you remain in as you are berated at airports and on the streets. I hear the arguments you endure to defend Islam and its name. I hear the words you stumble over because astaghfirullah for saying too much and mashallah for saying what they want to hear–saying just enough–all in the eyes of you and them, he, they, and she.
I see you.
I see the way you pull your hijab a little back and rush to take off an abaya because you do not want to seem like “them.” I see the way you rush to grab a scarf to cover your hair, or slip a skirt over your jeans because you wish they could see that you are them. I see you, silently retreating, because you’re the non-hijabi that’s not Muslim enough. I see you, silently retreating, because you’re the hijabi that’s not American enough. I see you, silently retreating, because for them and you, she, he, and they, it is never enough.
I feel you.
I feel the pain that you feel when yet another tragedy in the Middle East is seen as simply “yet another.” I feel the frustrations that you feel when you constantly feel the need to be the spokesperson for your faith because of extremists that are thousands of miles away. I feel the judgment that you feel when men stare at you for not fasting during “that week” of Ramadan. I feel the guilt that you feel because you’re twenty years old and still can’t conjure up the courage to wear a hijab. I feel the confinement that you feel because of the perfection that society expects you to uphold.
And remember that I hear you.
I hear the “Assalamualaikum”s you give each other in the halls. I hear the excitement over the latest K dramas and watching reruns of Friends. I hear the sweet harmony of laughs and giggles with each “No one ever noticed my hair cut” and watching some people squirm after takbirs. I hear the lamenting about Chemistry exams and the rants about Political Science papers. I hear the passion in your voices when you ramble on about khutbahs and current events.
And I see you.
I see you run to your fellow sisters to help them fix their hijabs when they do not notice that their hair is showing in the back. I see your beauty, the beauty in all of you, non-hijabi and hijabi alike. And I see you, for what you are and who you believe yourself to be, a Muslim Woman.
And I feel you.
I feel your strength, even on the days that I feel weak. I feel your tender nature, when you give me a smile or tell me my hair is looking nice today. I feel our solidarity, when you remind me that I am to be respected for me and my choices. I feel our union, as we stand side by side before Him. And I feel our sisterhood, our ummah, as I stand smiling right beside you, and as you stand smiling right beside me.
So, my dear sisters, from your fellow hijabi-ex-hijabi-now-hijabi-again sister, you are not perfect. You were never made to be perfect. And you simply will never achieve “perfect.”
You will never be conservative enough. You will never be progressive enough. You will never be modest enough. You will never be modern enough. You will never be apologetic enough. You will never be outspoken enough. You will never be enough for them, and maybe even you, and most definitely not he, she, and they. But I remind you that, alhamdulillah, they are not the judges of you–He is–and for Him, you are enough.
Sincerely, and love always,
Just Another Muslim Woman