expectations.

At around 6 yrs old I was riding my bike in my neighbourhood and I saw a car driving towards me (we didn't have sidewalks). I got nervous and feel off my bike. The person probably came out to help me…I don’t remember – but the next thing I remember is being in my bedroom lying in my bed. Soon after some of the neighbours had come to see me – I suppose to see if I was okay…the news must have spread.

I was surprised that they had come. While I felt perfectly fine (the car didn’t hit me I had just fallen), I thought "Oh my goodness maybe I have to legitimize their visit here by being a bit ‘sick’ so they feel their trip wasn’t wasted"...their trip to come see me that is.

All I remember is having that thought process in my head. I don’t remember whether I actually acted sick or was just me (although I probably did the former).

It is probably the first experience I remember of having defined myself by the expectations I felt people had of me.

Hyperventilated

Throughout this whole entire experience...when was it that I felt the most without control...the most in need...the most weak?

It was sometime in 2008 - almost a decade into the whole experience. After years and years of this, I reached a point where in my eyes there was no man better than him. I was madly in 'love'...truly, madly, deeply. By 2008 though, I had made the decision to leave - to move countries to get away and learn how to stand on my own two feet. I wasn't strong enough to carry through and I broke down many times. 'Here is a man you love, why are you moving away from him?' I'd question myself. And even as I knew the whole thing wasn't right, there were times that I wanted it more than anything. Other times I wanted to leave more than anything. On this particular day, I was weak because I felt I lost my grip on him. I felt he stopped loving me. I felt he stopped missing me...stopped needing me. It killed me.

I was at work and he had traveled to someplace in East Africa to visit family. We were together like before at that time, just long distance...settling with long phone conversations and web-caming for hours on msn. When he traveled...he seemed like he forgot me. I would send message after message and he would not reply...I would wait for him online and he would not show up...I would check my inbox for any word from him and get nothing. Then I called him...I was missing him all too much...I was going crazy and could not contain my feelings. And, I was scared. I was worried that something was wrong with him. I was worried he might have been in trouble...maybe fallen sick...something wrong.

I went to a senior at work and made a desperate plea to allow me to use the international line because I had to make an extremely important phone call. She saw the desperation in my eyes and offered me her cell phone...she couldn't break the rule by letting me call from the work line. I tried...it didn't work. I tried again...it didn't work. There was a meeting I had to attend in 10 minutes and I knew I wouldn't be able to sit there for 2 hours if I didn't hear his damn voice.

Finally...I dialed...and he answered. "Jaan, where have you been...I've been trying to contact you. Are you okay where are you?"...these are the words I thought I would say when I finally heard his voice. I was expecting to hear a somber voice...maybe too quiet to hear because he was not well. I got the opposite.

As soon as he said his first hello, I knew he was okay. Everything was fine on his end...in fact he was having a blast. His voice was lively and he was having a great time...everything was okay. A roller coaster of emotions in a split second took me over. The first were tears of relief that he was okay...I felt my heart finally stop clenching. Then sadness and hurt...he was fine and I was suffering and he didn't even seem to care. My hear felt slapped and bruised. And also shock. How can a man change so much?...how can he just forget that we've been in touch everyday for so long and now all of a sudden he forgets. He called me his wife. What was happening now?

"Why haven't you contacted me I was so worried!" I said in tears. His reply made me hyperventilate..."I can't talk right now...I'll call you back. Everything is fine. Don't worry okay".

What had changed? Why was he acting like he didn't care for me anymore? Where did this change come from. I was shaking and crying and I couldn't breathe properly. I felt utterly weak. I called my friend who was out of the office at a client. I was sobbing uncontrollably. "What's wrong - what's wrong?" she asked. "He doesn't care, he doesn't care..." I cried. Her silence while I wept gave me strength. She was listening and she knew my pain. That's all I needed.

Her advise was that I go for a walk and skip the meeting. I wouldn't allow that. He can't be having a good time vacationing with his family while I was in a state of disarray. I locked myself in the washroom...wiped off my smudged mascara and prepared myself to sit through the meeting. "I got some sand in my eyes..." - that was my excuse for the redness.

While I sit here recounting this story, I am remembering the many different times that I should have seen that I wasn't much of anything to him but someone to satisfy his needs. He made me feel so important, but there were so many incidents. The time he raised his voice at me when I told him I didn't want to play that hide and seek game in the dark - we were all kids and he would make me and him partner up so he could touch me while his children tried to find us. The times he told me he needs me and how because he loves me he can't sleep with his wife...yet by chance one day his phone had called mine and on my voice-mail was a few minutes of me hearing him moan and groan as he made love to his wife. I told him about it...made him listen to it in fact (which he did for a few seconds). He was saddened and said he had to make love to her for her... I didn't mind. She was his wife..but he lied to me. Up till today I wonder if that phone call was a mistake or whether he intended me to hear the sounds of him making love. The times he would force me to be intimate with him when I was tired...or when my body was sensitive and it was more painful for me than anything...no pleasure. All he wanted was his fix. And I never saw it as that - I seriously thought he needed me. And that fix came easy from me I guess...there was one time where me made me feel so possessive over him as he told me about this young, beautiful woman who had crushed on him. For months he would tell me about how she would show up at his work or gym...and there was a time where I even exchanged emails with her telling her to leave my man alone. "I went out with her for coffee to see if I could do it..."..he said..."and I couldn't..that is how I know how much I love you" he said to me. Lies, all lies.

Yet...there I was. Hyperventilating because here was a man I loved and he was showing me no care.

Why do we allow ourselves to be abused to this extent in the name of love? The man violated my body. We never penetrated, but he tried to make use of every chance he had to ejaculate. Three, four, even five times a day if he had the chance. And sometimes I didn't have to do anything. He would do what he needed to as I lay down like a fish thinking of my next biology assignment. Sometimes I would be so fed up I'd be so aggressive and do things 'animalistically'. That wasn't enjoyment (contrary to what he believed)...it was desperation. I feel like I need to shower just remembering how much happened. Disgusting.

I'm sorry. I'm being graphic today. A very dear friend of mine is facing a situation, and I feel her pain. Men and love can be a dangerous mix...and its sad when its those with the most beautiful hearts that have to face the brunt of the abuse.

What a journey...

Its Ramadan again...almost a year since I began this journey of reflection and remembering...of self-discovery and strength building. Alhamdulillah.

Yesterday I was at the mosque praying taraweh - a prayer that Muslims usually pray at night during the month of Ramadan. The last prayer is called withr and the imam often makes emotional and long dua (supplications) to God. Yesterday, the imam made a dua that I hadn't heard before. He asked God to 'forgive the man that needs forgiveness'.

When I heard that, the first thing I thought of was him. I saw his face with those puppy eyes I have mentioned before. I made a prayer that God forgives him. I never thought I would go from complete hate and disgust, to now praying that God forgives his soul for everything that elapsed...and this time I know I am sincere in my asking for his forgiveness.

We are all humans, frail and weak. And we all make mistakes. And yes we make horrible and bad mistakes. But if God can forgive, who are we not to? Who are we to have hearts that are hardened and heavy? Even if I forgive him, I know he still must answer to God for all that happened. But to be honest...for me it means I am letting go of the baggage and blemish he marked in my heart. I'm a free bird ready to soar great heights and not be weighed down by the burden of hating another person. I'll let Allah deal with his deeds...

I remember just a few months ago I had asked a spiritual leader about forgiving a person who has wronged you - and he said when you travel on the path of purification of your heart (tazkiya) you will surely reach a state where your anger to others turns into mercy. I pray that God accepts my heart, and that He answers my prayer. I pray for my own forgiveness too.

I'm ready to love...and now I can love with no other man in my heart. Even if his presence in it was one of resentment, it would have still inhibited me from loving purely and truly.

Thank you for helping me with my journey. Certainly the most important and transformative year of my life. God is Greater than all.

Waves.

When I come back to this blog, it reminds me of the ebb and flow of waves...I come usually when I feel I need to.

I got an email today from Al Maghbrib Institute - an organization that is both an Islamic education institute and one that offers development training, amongst other things. They will be holding a seminar soon called Threads of Hope, and it is inspired by the story of Prophet Yusuf, Prophet Joseph in English, on how through studying his life, we can take many lessons.

Today Mohamed Al Shareef - the founder - sent this short 5-minute video: http://www.facebook.com/nationbuilder.prime

The message in the email was:
========================
But
The touch felt...
What was it? She asked herself
Icky.

Later
She started
crying.

Would you like to know how the life of Prophet Yusuf relates to this situation?
========================

Its ironic that I got this email right now. I saw his face in my dreams today...its because I saw pics of him yesterday. He looks exactly the same - forever young. The family have gone on a trip together (2 different families). Again his face in my dream was that of someone sad - as if remorseful. But yesterday, as I saw my cousins in the pictures (young girls in their middle to late teens), I wondered - just wondered - whether he was at it again.

The lesson from the life of Prophet Yusuf - announce it! Let it be known...speak to someone...hold the person accountable. I wonder if I ought to? Whether I should. Whether I can.

No one needs to tell you.

My friend just found out she was not accepted into the PhD program she applied to. She was sure she would get in. I was sure for her. The other day I wanted to donate blood. I was rejected. They said I had low iron in my blood. The first thought that came into my head was 'I know my blood is good. I do not need a machine to tell me whether my blood is worthy or not'.

In the same light, you do not need anyone to tell you what you already know about yourself. To my friend...I know she is a scholar - a scholar and a half! No program needs to tell her that. She should know it...and deep inside she does know it - I know she does. No one should have to tell us we are beautiful on the outside for reassurance...because deep inside we know we are beautiful. No one needs to remind or dictate to us how pious or close to God we are...because deep inside we know where we stand when it comes to our spirituality. No one needs to validate that we are being wronged when we are wronged...because if we feel we are, then we are. Our hearts know.

Mirror mirror on the wall...I do not need you to tell me anything. The most honest of opinions come from deep within you - no sugar-coating and no exaggeration. You know. Know yourself.

Abuse. (without the question mark).

I'm feeling very uneasy right now. I have a pile of work I need to finish for school that is due Thursday; my grandma is not feeling very well and is very weak; I have non-school things that I must get done this week too; and, my friends are coming to visit for the weekend so I need to make sure I'm done everything I need to by Thursday night. Bismillah...this will be quite the feat. Plus...I didn't workout for 2 days. That is not normal behaviour for me...it is as if something is out of place when I don't.

I'm also anxious because I've been meaning to write this post for a couple of days now and just never had the time. After the article was published on altmuslimah (see previous blog post on how I spoke to HEART)...I have been reading so many comments from readers on the story. At first, it was as if those comments were not about me at all. I felt like an observer, reading about Rania's story like everyone else. Then the comments on the blog began fluttering in...and a couple of emails were sent directly to me. It was a bit overwhelming. And, I cannot explain why.

When I see words of praise...of me being brave or strong....although I do appreciate it, it does not move me at all. I truly do not see brevity in what I am sharing. Instead, I just feel as if its the most natural thing for me to do. And strength...while I do feel stronger than before...I don't know...strength is something that comes from God alone and all credit is due to Him. Sometimes I feel very weak. Even the strongest of things face earthquakes once in a while. So I read the word, and move on. What I appreciate most about the dialogue that has emerged, however, is that I have been given a perspective I have not been exposed to ever before. I have not had anyone speak about the experience so openly and for them to share their thoughts in this way. It has been a lot to take in...but truly so important.

The other day, while walking to the Karate club, I thought to myself...'you know, what you experienced was abuse. and you were a victim of abuse.'

For the first time I feel like I can categorize the experience as abuse. One of the comments said that when we categorize what happened as a relationship, it masks the experience as something that was legitimate. And it was not legitimate. So, it should not be referred to by anything that gives it that impression. I agree.

Several comments talked about how it was certainly abuse, because when it began there was only one party that was able to make a free and informed decision. My going through with the experience...even it seemed 'consensual'...was not consent. There cannot have been consent on my part because neither was I making a free decision, nor an informed one. I was too young, and he was in a position of power - not only through age but also his status in my family and life.

Someone made a comment about my first post on this blog...about the experience I had where I was in sex-ed class in grade 9 and was asked the question about victims of sexual abuse feeling pleasure. The commenter wrote that that is part of the struggle...that victims of this type of abuse are stimulated sexually sometimes and the feelings that that gives our bodies confuses us. In our minds and hearts we know it is all wrong...but we are human with bodies that are stimulated by certain forms of touch or movement, and this is sometimes pleasurable, even in the most abusive of situations. Knowing that this was an issue that victims face - even victims of rape, the commenter wrote - certainly gave me a new perspective. Its like hearing...you can't stop your ears from hearing. Yes, we might not concentrate on what we are hearing, or we may try to block the sound...but we can't switch off our ears. Feelings of sexual stimulation are similar...and very very confusing and disturbing to a victim of abuse.

Another group of comments talked about how we do not do enough as a community to make sure that men know how they are supposed to treat women, and their responsibilities. We often tell our daughters to dress modestly...but how many families actually make it a point to give their sons robust training on how they need to treat women? And, when it comes to Muslim women in particular...if we are indeed one ummah, one family (and any Muslim organization will use the words 'sister' and 'brother' abundantly), then men must realize that they have a responsibility to make sure harm does not come to women in their community. They need to be raised to think like that...to internalize it and believe it to be true. - that I, as a 'brother' in Islam, must make sure I do what I can to ensure the comfort, safety and protection of my 'sister' in Islam. Please do not get me wrong...women do not 'need' to be taken care of by men - Allah is the Best of Protectors - but we live in a social word and if men adopted that mentality, I think a lot more good would exist. Call me idealistic, but no one can inhibit me from hoping.

Reading all the comments really made me see better how the whole experience was truly a form of abuse. I realize that I was so young when it started, that my youth was robbed off of me, and that even if I appeared to be consenting, I was not. And, the fact that this continued to adulthood was also not my fault...it started when I was so so young that it grew part of me - I was conditioned - and I could see no way out. And indeed, I saw no way out till I left the country...till I gave my mind a chance to develop independent of him. Alhamdulillah.

While walking to the Karate club, I also said one more thing to myself. I said 'you are also a survivor of abuse'. I enjoyed my workout that evening. Just the other day...given all these realizations, I was overwhelmed with gratitude to God for all the blessings He has given to me. Doors are opening all around me, and I feel nour (light) in my life. God is the Greatest of Planners and the best of Providers. I feel I am being given so much Alhamdulillah...and I am filled with humility for I do not know how I am deserving of it all. I am utterly humbled...

When I think of him, I picture him in a small room, almost like a box, with an 'innocent' look on his face. I do not know why but he is wearing a baby blue t-shirt...his eyes droopy and maybe a bit glossy from tears. He is wondering what has happened. I truly am disgusted by that man. How dare his image of innocence fill that space in my mind. I just want him to leave it. I hate that image.

I told my cousin that I spoke to HEART, and she wanted to be directed to the article. I refused. (I love her to death, but perhaps I was feeling a bit sensitive that day. I told her that I think she knows all the details that are required, so she does not need to read the article, nor this blog. Perhaps it was the way I was asked...but I thought to myself, 'hey, I am not a story book'.) But, she said one more thing that has got me thinking a lot. My cousin wrote "Insha'allah one day when you are ready, you will speak to him and tell him exactly how you feel about what he has done...because he needs to know so that he can feel your struggle...if he can at all". I don't care to ever speak to him. And even more, I do not care to hear whatever excuses he may give. If he doesn't feel my struggle, especially now with how things are...how I have cut him out of my life...then he certainly has major issues.

But what do you think? Should me facing him about all this be something on my list of things to do?

shut down.

“You shut down all feeling because you are trying to avoid the pain. It helps you get through the immediate crisis and the trauma. But if they persist, if they go on for a long time, they become a problem and you don‟t feel much of anything. You numbed yourself from the pain, but you stunted your feelings, your warmth and your joy.”

Maria Yellow Horse Brave Heart