“I see some differences between us that concern me. I see myself as a fairly traditional, conservative Muslim man as opposed to a liberal Muslim.” 

“I am impressed with your general Islamic knowledge. Is there a particular reason you’ve chosen more liberal approaches?”

“So, I think we’re on very different wavelengths of religion (you being on the conservative end). Hence, I am not sure how comfortable we would be with each other. I guess I am quite liberal…” 

“I believe that much of what you are looking for in a man is something I aspire for, or more appropriately wish for, but currently do not have… But I wanted to say that I respect you for being so clear on who you are and what you’re looking for in a partner. If I could do that, I think I’d be in a much better place.”

“You want to stay single for the rest of your life?”

Above are some of the things Muslim men whom I have met online or through introductions by friends have written to me.

I sometimes feel so drained from being put in boxes by others and putting myself in boxes.

Liberal. Conservative. Open-minded. Religious. Hipster. Student of knowledge. Artist. Hijabi. Environmentalist. Family-oriented. Outspoken. Writer. Non-traditional. Feminist.

Boxes. Too many boxes! Am I permitted to step out and define myself outside of these boxes?

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Like many, I had my life roughly planned out when I graduated college two years ago. Unlike most feminists who went to my women’s college, I thought I was “wicked smaaht!” for getting my priorities right so early on in life: I wanted to get married.

Living thousands of miles away from home as an international student and being financially independent from my family during my college career, I learned the importance of having a home. I wanted to create a home in the U.S. This is where I found both my identity and Islam, the main reason why America was closer to my heart than my homeland, Pakistan. The U.S. is where I would settle down to raise a family because back home, women did not attend mosques. Forget being “unmosqued”; most have never been “mosqued” even once during their entire lifetime. I wanted to stay back because I did not want to lose touch with the houses of God, nor did I want my future daughters to not experience what had taken me so long to discover.

So, I would move to a big Muslim community (in my case, Boston), fall in love, get married and have a home. I would figure out grad school and other things later because family came first. I thought that a partner in marriage in my early 20’s would make my life emotionally, financially and physically easier—giving me the chance to enhance my talents and better serve the community with the support of a significant other.

WRONG!

Yes, I moved to Boston, and yes, I fell in love right after, too. But it did not result in marriage. A broken heart and shattered spirits? Yes. A home? No.

Instead, I got placed in more new boxes than I could handle. Loud. Sensitive. Open. Immodest. Talkative. Obnoxious.

I became depressed. I could not understand what made me keep falling for the wrong men. I wondered if perhaps there was something genuinely wrong with me that caused the puzzle of my life to always fall apart right when it was about to come together. I took premarital counseling, spoke to aunties personally about the fact that I was “looking” (honestly it was one of the hardest things to do), made marriage resumes that I passed along to my contacts, and registered myself on a gazillion matrimonial websites—all because of my determination to find “the one.”

Unfortunately, the boxes my friends and I used to define me did not quite work. Based on my involvement in the community, people from the masjid introduced me to traditional-minded men with whom I was a misfit because of the independent life I lived. On the other hand, men online dismissed me for being too religious because of my hijab and Islamic endeavors.

As a result, I found myself shedding unnecessary tears as every rejection came down as a hard and personal blow. Why was God doing this to me especially when I was trying so hard? Did He not see that I was not only praying to Him but also tying my camel ((Anas (radi Allahu `anhu—may Allah be pleased with him) reported that a person asked the Messenger of God ﷺ, “Should I tie my camel and have tawakkul (trust in God for its protection), or should I leave it untied and have tawakkul?” The Messenger of God ﷺ replied, “Tie it and (then) have tawakkul.” (Hasan) [Jami At-Tirmidhi])) over and over again by taking practical steps towards the goal I had set for myself?

Amidst the chaos of my failed marriage endeavors and a career I no longer saw myself in, I became lost and confused about the direction of my life. My friends started calling me “desperate” and my loneliness became excruciatingly painful with the addition of this new box in my life. It hurt the most because it came from those who claimed to love me. The physically comfortable life that had taken years to build was of no avail, because really I had no peace of mind.

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I was blessed to have the opportunity to perform `umrah, the minor pilgrimage to Mecca, last winter under the leadership of my mosque’s imam. Before we left the U.S., he told me, “It’s been a tough year for you. Just forgive yourself and those who have hurt you, and use this trip to clean your heart and sincerely connect with God.”

Alas! It was through those full-of-tears, head-on-the-marble-floor prayers that I regained the peace I had misplaced since the day I began placing myself in boxes according to people’s expectations of me. I forgot that along the way to find “the one,” I had forgotten The One. The One who elevated a woman, Mary (`alayha as-salaam—peace be upon her), without a man through the powerful words of the Qur’an:

“…and the male is not like the female…” (Qur’an, 3:36)

He honored her by acknowledging:

“So her Lord accepted her with good acceptance and caused her to grow in a good manner and put her in the care of Zechariah. Every time Zechariah entered upon her in the prayer chamber, he found her with provision. He said, ‘O Mary, from where is this [coming] to you?’ She said, ‘It is from Allah. Indeed, Allah provides for whom He wills without account.’” (Qur’an, 3:37)

Upon hearing the above ayaat (verses) in one of the prayers, I broke down in heavy sobs. Why was I placing my value in relation to a marriage all this time? While tying my camel* in the pursuit of “the one,” had I forgotten to lay my trust in The One in the first place? The One, the Ultimate Sustainer, who provided sustenance for Mary (as) in response to her devotion, sincerity and trust in Him and Him alone. God even gave her a child and eventually a family of her own, all due to her individual relationship and status with Him. What was I doing to improve my relationship with God? Was I doing anything?

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My experience finding “love” taught me—unfortunately the hard way—that there is truth in being happy with one’s own single self before hopping onto life’s roller-coaster with another person. I realized that if I needed a husband even an iota close to the caliber of Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, I had to first work on becoming a Khadija (the Prophet’s first love and wife, radi Allahu `anha—may Allah be pleased with her) myself.

And that’s when I gained the strength to take a leap of faith and seek The One before I sought “the one.”

The day before I moved to Texas to immerse myself in Qur’anic Arabic, a dear friend in Boston said,

“There’s someone waiting on the other end for the person you are about to become.”

I had tied my camel enough times and it was finally the time to act on the last step of tawakkul (trust in God).

And just like that, I walked away.

“It’s taking a long time to get to jannah” was our five-year-old daughter’s refrain over the past year. During this time, she had been exposed to the terms “jannah” (heaven), “`umrah” (the minor pilgrimage in Islam) and ‘Mecca’, among others, and had learned about many of the rituals of her faith, including the noble acts of Prophet Ibrahim ‘alayhi as-salam (peace be upon him). ((Umrah is considered Islam’s lesser pilgrimage, which involves: donning the ihram (sacred state with requisite clothing into which a Muslim must enter to perform hajj or `umrah) with its restrictions, tawaf (circumambulation of the Ka`bah), drinking zamzam (holy water), praying at Maqam Ibrahim (the station of Prophet Ibrahim), sa`i (running from Mount Safa to Mount Marwa to commemorate Hajar’s struggle), and hair shaving for men and hair cutting for women. `Umrah, which may be completed in a couple of hours, stands in contrast to Hajj, the greater pilgrimage, for which the rituals are longer, taking place over the course of 5-6 days. Note, however, that two of the forms of hajj involve the rites of `umrah as well. Situated in Mecca, the Ka`bah was built originally by Prophet Ibrahim (`alayhi as-salam) believed by Muslims to have been visited by many other prophets and the direction (qibla) toward which all Muslims orient their prayer. The Ka`bah is the geographic center of Islam and the physical representation of the house of God.)) At first I thought that she had inadvertently interchanged “jannah” and “`umrah”/“Mecca” especially since many of her classmates had recently performed `umrah, and travelled to Mecca. Later, though, especially after her elder brother and I had described the differences and she persisted with “jannah”, I came to the conclusion that she may actually mean what she said, and that it was taking a long time to get to heaven.

There are many ways to perceive hajj, the major pilgrimage. One such lens is that it also takes a long time to get there: the time to arrive at the destination in Saudi Arabia, perform the rites, and then to fully appreciate them. One may make the intention, sign up with a hajj tour company, buy a ticket, obtain a visa, receive the requisite vaccinations, prepare one’s bags, seek forgiveness from family and friends and draw up one’s will (among the standard preparatory steps), but actually arriving there and experiencing hajj seems to happen in an entirely different span of time. We returned home 48 hours ago from hajj, but I would argue that we are still experiencing the journey, and God willing, will continue to do so throughout our lives. We pray that our hajj is accepted by God (hajj mabroor) and that the experience and underlying lessons of hajj are unending.

The lessons and observations are multi-fold. Among the greatest for me has been the constant pull between the collective and the individual. The pinnacle of hajj is the day of Arafat, when we stand on a desert plane between Dhuhr (noon) and Maghrib (sunset), following the example of Prophet Muhammad ﷺ (peace be upon him), seeking forgiveness and to know God. Yet this intimate exchange happens amidst millions. We are shoulder to shoulder with those we may know and those completely unfamiliar to us. We can hear the supplications of others, see their tears, witness their joy, and yet our own experience remains intimate and singular, as though we each have a direct, dedicated line. Awareness of the millions does not diminish our experience; rather, I would argue it actually heightens the awe we experience, as we come to understand that the very God we call upon is hearing the prayers of the millions in our midst as well as those afar.

This interplay between the collective and the individual unfolds throughout the rites of hajj, including during tawaf (circumambulation of the Ka`bah), when rather than standing, as on Arafat, we are moving with millions at our side, all in perpetual prayer, as we orbit the Ka`bah. At times, movement is impeded because of the crowds. We may even move backward. It is here that patience, along with trust in God, emerges as the most essential ingredients. Eventually the crowd releases and the seven units of circumambulation are completed.

It is not just the sheer number of people, but also the diversity that is stunning. In the largest annual ritual on earth (estimated at 2.1 million participants), people have come from every corner of the world to participate. As the crowd advances, I am pushed up against brothers and sisters in faith from West Africa, the Baltic states, South East Asia and South America. Initially, I try to discern country origin, but then I stop seeing the borders, and focus instead on the common thread of humanity. It is this diversity cum unity that finally prompted Malcolm X to discard racism in 1964 during his hajj and continues to challenge every form of racism today. ((See The Autobiography of Malcolm X (1987).)) Each worshiper is sacred in this act of collective and individual devotion. No man, no woman, no child has a status greater than another, each judged individually by piety alone (Qur’an 49:13).

A similar effect may be felt during the stoning of the jamarat (walls), where the crowds amass around one pillar, pelt it with small pebbles and then move on to the next (of three). Although intended to be a symbolic act of stoning the devil, here there has always been the possibility for the collective act to actually overwhelm the individual, more so than in any other hajj ritual. Over the years accidents, sometimes fatal, have occurred as overzealous pilgrims rush to the pillars with their pebbles. Fortunately, increased awareness, supervision and infrastructure improvements have nearly put an end to all accidents. Thus, amidst the millions, one has a singular, unique experience, reaffirming faith in the good, in God, and in rejecting that which is evil. That dedicated, direct line, as felt on Arafat, remains open.

Aside from the critical lessons in forbearance and perils of jamarat, there remain social and environmental challenges to hajj that cannot be overlooked. This perhaps may be for me the second greatest lesson and observation of hajj. There are countless people on hajj who after performing each of these rituals went back to sleep on the streets, while others enjoy five star amenities. Food wastage for some is rampant, while others pick up scraps from the ground. Environmental degradation is at its peak, with trash discarded everywhere, during a time when the laws of ihram taught that nothing should be damaged or hurt. Hence there is a constant struggle between spiritual highs and social and environmental lows.

We will each be judged by our piety, but in not only the largest but also one of the most profound series of religious rituals in the world, impiety abounded. It is important that this second lesson/observation not be interpreted as a complaint per se, but a sincere concern for the plight of those less fortunate and the natural environment. Efforts are underway, from uniform box lunches to provision of universal tents for all, but I would argue that it is incumbent on each hajji (pilgrim) according to his/her capacity to serve as an ambassador and to do more to ease the social and environmental suffering which is so widespread during the days of hajj. As one sheikh instructed though, our impact in Mecca may be limited. The real value of this second lesson is in returning to our communities and ensuring we are relevant, engaged custodians there. ((The author is indebted to the insights of Sheikh Omar Suleiman and Brother Munir Elkassem. ))

A third and final lesson and observation from hajj relates to the journey itself. For two and a half weeks, we do not stop moving: first Medina, then Mecca, Mina, Arafat, Muzdalifah, back to Mina and Aziziyya. The minute we acclimate to a time or place, we are on the move again. Bags are constantly being shifted and downsized, as each subsequent part of the trip allows less luggage. At times, we are permitted to bring almost nothing, relying on faith alone to get us through a passage.

We live under the impression that our homes are permanent, but what hajj helped clarify is that nothing is permanent and that the journey is perpetual. Hajj is in fact in many respects like life accelerated, in which we meet our Maker on the day of Arafat, dying a spiritual death before our physical death, with the hope that we will be reborn in peace, harmony, and free of sin, with a true orientation toward faith and piety. Our tawaf is our physical and spiritual reorienting, putting God at the center of that journey.

So what next? How do you return home with these lessons and observations and make them meaningful? As indicated at the outset, I am 48 hours into that experience, home now with a cold, like many hujjaj (pl. hajji). There are action plans related to daily devotions which hopefully will be incorporated, but on another level, there is a much greater awareness of the collective humanity to which we are connected, and the imperative to share our resources with that collective. No man, woman or child is ever an island, as seen time and again on the hajj. As returning hujjaj we are in fact called to serve and to continue to live following the footsteps of the prophets. And that call to serve is intimately connected to our tawaf: namely putting God at the center of our lives. I pray that our hearts remain pure, open and connected, and the hajj dwells eternally within us. It may take a long time to get to jannah, but the journey continues, God willing, always, in that direction.

I am described as a dynamic, assertive, energetic woman. As a teenager, I did not necessarily want Islam to be a piece of my rambunctious identity. I was loud, crazy and fun and I saw piety and religiosity as opposite my most prized traits. At fourteen, my family decided we would visit Mecca for a holy pilgrimage. I was apprehensive; I feared that such a visit might make me somehow devout and that was the last adjective I wanted to use when describing myself. But going to Mecca was everything I never knew I needed. Seeing the Ka`bah transformed my life. And in an effort to maintain a connection with the Divine once I had returned back to high school, I began reading the Qur’an in the English translation.

Reading the Qur’an in the English translation changed me. The more I connected with it, the more I realized I had been blessed with my dynamic qualities so that I could channel them for His Sake by giving speeches and being involved with leadership and community activism. I became the student body president of my public high school and received an award of Student of the Year, presented by previous Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. I was involved in leadership activities with an ever-present hope of helping my greater society understand the beauty of Islam and the empowerment of Muslim women. I had been wearing hijab but now I began wearing it fully and taking pride in it as a symbol of my liberation. I experienced a newfound passion to study Islam because of the empowering message I experienced from the Qur’an, to me as a female, and I wanted all to know that Muslim women are truly liberated.

And so, I began to study. I started taking Islamic classes constantly. The classes I took were mainly from one particular type of methodology and they specified that they were the only authentic source of knowledge. I thus started shunning information from sources other than those I assumed were specifically approved by this outlook. I also started taking private classes with those I considered to be the most virtuous Muslim women. What I did not realize, however, is that I was associating religious understanding with rigidity. Those who were the strictest, I had decided, had to be the most pious. From these sources, I began to learn things I had never heard before, amongst which was that a Muslim woman should not really leave the home ((The way I was introduced to the concept of ‘and stay in your homes’ (Ahzab) was one in which leaving the house for any reason other than strict necessity was inappropriate. So for example, getting together with other sisters for lunch was not taught as commendable because it was not out of strict necessity. The concept of a Muslim woman’s haven being her home is present in our text but sometimes misunderstood in the way it is taught and often practiced. It is not a black and white issue, as it is often taught. My statement is not in reference to the women who choose the hardest job in the world and become stay-at-home moms, nor is it in reference to women who nobly choose to be housewives and focus on maintaining her home. This is not the place for further fiqh discussion on this matter, but I did want to make sure to clarify in case there may be confusion by readers. We pray to discuss this issue in a future article.)) and that women should not be outspoken, particularly in front of men.

The more I learned, the more I changed. I was no longer the energetic, excitable woman who shared her love of Islam with all those around her. Instead, I became insecure. I thought that God had not blessed me with all of my qualities so that I could help people around me see the beauty of Islam; I worried that God had given me these qualities to test me in life, to see how much of it I could contain, how much of it I could ensure would never be seen in public. I wrongfully realized this was one of my biggest tests; hiding who I really was so that I could become what Islam really wanted from me as a Muslim woman.

I also learned, over and over, that I was a fitna (temptation, test) for men. Muslim women who I thought were very reverent came to me to tell me I should cover my face, lest men have distracting thoughts because of my existence (this was to be in addition to the large jilbab (long body covering) I wore and the scarf which went past my torso and already covered much of my face). ((Note: I absolutely understand and respect women who choose to wear niqab (face covering) as a means of coming closer to God, as following the footsteps of the Mothers of the Believers (May God be pleased with them), or as the fulfillment of an obligation. My personal experience should not be taken as a generalized reason for which women wear niqab or other outer garments.)) With this newfound realization that I could possibly be the reason a man commits a sinful thought and that men and women should not speak unless out of absolute necessity, I stopped speaking to men as much as possible (including simply greeting my own male relatives, those who had raised me, who were not blood-related). Whereas I used to politely greet the men I would see on a daily basis at school, in classes or the security guards in the library, in an effort to help them see the beauty of Islam’s kind interactions, I now limited my speech to only what was absolutely necessary, and a greeting was not one of them. I was the President of the Muslim Students Association at my University because no other male or female would accept the role, so I tried my best to be as brief and mechanical as possible when having to communicate with men. I tried to cover my face as much as possible, a task that proved difficult because my mom, a strong woman, was shocked at my sudden transformation and feared I was completely changing who I was without understanding its consequences.

Her observations of me, those shared by my father and those who had known me since childhood, were of deep concern for my development and sudden, drastic changes. I had gone from a woman who drove to pray fajr and isha everyday in the masjid, from a woman who regularly performed spoken word and delivered public speeches, from a woman with an active lifestyle who held a second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do, from a woman who was known for her leadership skills and ability to mobilize people, to a woman who shut herself in her room as much as possible and who constantly lived in psychological fear of becoming a form of temptation to men. I was not afraid of men themselves; I was afraid my covered presence could be the reason one of them had an un-Godly thought.

I, on the other hand, dismissed the apprehensions of those who knew me best and loved me most. As painful as it was, I felt this was the path I had to take up if I wanted to be a righteous, believing Muslim woman. And so I made excuses for those who voiced their concerns; I believed that they simply did not know what Islam really taught- even if many of them had degrees in Islamic law or had studied Islam for years. What they were trying to tell me was the opposite of what I was being told was “The Truth” in the classes I had begun taking and in the books and websites I had started reading.

Aside from the religious teachers who espoused the methodology to which I had ascribed, there was one Imam who recognized the difficult path I had put myself on. He personally continually checked in with me, reminding me of the differences of opinions, of the comprehensive nature of Islam, of the easygoing nature of the Prophet ﷺ. I saw him as my greatest spiritual role model and mentor, but I was entrenched in my personal outlook and had trouble changing my perspective and habits. However, I would cling onto his words as if they were the lifeboat of a person who was drowning. Even if I couldn’t get to coast at that point, I still felt like in the future, there could be a way back to shore. While it took time, his counsel planted seeds that stemmed and helped ground me in the stages to come.

It was around this time that I took a class in college titled Islam, Women and Sexuality. The only reason I enrolled in this class was so that I could defend Islam if necessary (you know, since I knew everything). In the class, I was suddenly exposed to information I had never heard before; the Professor introduced certain information on women in marriage, in divorce and in child custody. I had never heard of the issues she brought forth, but they sounded far from liberating. I had no tools through which I could defend my religion. All I knew was that I felt she was wrong, and that whatever scholar she had quoted was mistaken or misunderstood.

It was in that class, for the first time since I had decided I wanted to fully live Islam and dedicate my life to it, that my faith was challenged. I began to have doubts in Islam’s empowerment of women and I was afraid to speak them aloud because I feared they would become tangible. I knew Islam was the truth; the science in the Qur’an, the power of its message, the miracles of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ and his life, it all resonated so strongly in my mind and heart that I knew it was from the Divine. But it was painful to consider Muslim women not truly being liberated in what I considered the most liberating religion. So out of fear, I intentionally ignored my doubts and focused on what I knew brought me spiritual exhilaration, and that was memorizing the Qur’an.

By now, I had been reading the Qur’an in English for about six years. At this point, I could understand the basic message but I knew that if I wanted to understand it in depth, and if I wanted to become a Muslim scholar (as I did, bar the whole studying about women thing), I would need to learn Arabic. Thus, after college, I was blessed with going to Egypt to study Arabic and Qur’an. And there, it was the first time I finally witnessed what it was like for Muslim women to live in a Muslim-majority country, where there was no huge separation of religion in daily interactions and in life in general.

You see, when I learned about a Muslim woman’s true liberation being in her home, with her empowerment being her ability not to attract men, I really only saw those things in practice by certain groups in the mosque in my American hometown. I knew how to act in the mosque, but my interactions became a little more confusing when I was in any other public space. Yet in Egypt, I experienced something completely different; Islam present in social interactions throughout society. In Egypt, Muslim businesswomen interacted with male clients without awkward harshness and vice-versa. I saw normalcy in their society; spontaneous human reactions to harsh living, to jokes, to social issues. Muslim women in hijab, in niqab, in khimar, all were a part of the social fabric. My Arabic teacher was a lover of the Qur’an, a strong believing Muslim woman who covered her face and was a mother, and she passionately would remind me of the vital role of Muslim women in transforming society for the best and the need to sacrifice to be a part of the struggle.

In Egypt, I began to find myself again. My Arabic teacher, whose knowledge of Islam I deeply respected, helped me understand that conversation was necessary for me to improve on my language skills. Thus, I spoke to everyone, all the time, including men. I spoke to taxi drivers and asked them about their life stories, I stopped men from a physical fight when they were screaming over whose turn it was in line. I ran, shouting to intervene when I saw a man kicking a guy in the stomach, helped men take care of their families’ needs and travelled in microbuses full of men because I needed to get where I needed to go. I was never treated disrespectfully by men. I had to depend on them and constantly interacted with men and women of the Egyptian society to help me figure my way around and my dependency was returned with incredible kindness and professional respect. In fact, twice, when I heard two different men, on two different occasions, calling out to me, expecting that they were trying to hit on me, I screamed in their faces: “Astaghfirillah!!!” only to see their shocked reactions and realize that they hadn’t even noticed I existed and were just saying something to someone else in Arabic. Yet I, being naïve, expecting men to hit on me since I was fitna (remember?) and not really knowing Arabic, had expected the worst from them and was trying to put them in their places. ((I absolutely recognize the social problems Egypt has, but this article is focusing on my personal transformation through my interactions with Egyptians. Kindly keep your focus on that point.))

Additionally, learning Arabic provided me a gateway to Islamic literature that described Muslim women in the society of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him); a society in which dynamic Muslim women flourished. The materials to which I previously could access in English were often poor translations from the original Arabic, or information supporting only the viewpoint to which I chose to ascribe and in neither did I find descriptions of righteous women who had my personality and who interacted in society. The literature I used to read supported a certain paradigm, mixing culture with religion and supporting strict gender separation versus appropriate, kind collaboration. With this newly accessible material, I didn’t see the woman I had become; I saw the woman who I once was before I had become unrecognizable to my own self.

While learning in Egypt, I was incredibly blessed to continue learning from the Imam who worked with me while I was going through the changes I faced during my search for the meaning of women in Islam. It took time for his mentorship to sink into my heart and actions, but he continued to teach me Islam’s balance, reminding me that God describes us as, “a balanced nation,” ((Qur’an 2:143)) and that the Prophet ﷺ, “was not given a choice between two matters, except that he chose the easier of the two, as long as it was not a sinful act…” ((Bukhari)) He helped me understand that there is not necessarily one methodology that is “The Truth,” and helped me maneuver the differences of opinions amongst scholars, how they derive their legal verdicts and the influences that may impact their opinions. His mentorship was vital to protecting me from losing myself completely while on this journey and helping me find myself again.

My return back to America was marked with transformation. I finally acknowledged what I had first learned of the role of Muslim women had scarred me psychologically as I had immediately tried to change myself and my lifestyle to fit some sort of image I had been told was that of a pious Muslim woman, but was not necessarily so. I finally understood that the harshness I saw in whom I assumed were pious Muslims may have, in fact, been a misunderstanding of Islam as simply a set of regulations or Islam practiced under a different cultural backdrop than to which I had been accustomed.

And it is very important that I clarify that the way of life I assumed from what I learned was not completely due to what I learned or who I learned it from; I absolve them of my obstinate tendencies. My actions may have been rooted in a personal misinterpretation of what I learned, where I failed to differentiate the universals of Islam with its particular manifestations in a given culture, something that comes after deep study. And it is imperative to note that I am not intending to draw parallels between women who choose to cover their faces and stay at home most of the time with the difficult transition I went through. That is not at all true; all of those women contribute to communities in incredible ways, may God bless them all. Such awesome women deal with so many stereotypes from within and outside of the Muslim community already and it is not at all my intention to add to that stereotype. The issues I encountered were not because of covering the face and staying in the home; rather the issues were due to a mentality, a paradigm, a methodology that I was taught in relation to my role as a Muslim woman. This individual narrative is not meant to condemn that respectable lifestyle; my personal experience should not be used to generalize the experiences of other Muslim women.

In the years after my return from Egypt, I was blessed to interact with quality scholars who understood our Islamic texts and our American culture; whose wisdom and qualified research allowed them to teach Islam as related to Muslim women in ways that reflected the beautiful psychological, emotional and spiritual empowerment of women in the Prophetic society and how to best translate that practice in North America. I was also incredibly blessed to marry my hero and beloved husband, someone who comes from a wonderful family grounded in living the spirit of Islam. They, along with my own cherished family, relatives and understanding friends supported me through my slow changes and provided resources to help me find myself and the core values of Islam as they related to my life again. I mention this to explain the absolute necessity of supportive mentors and loved ones in order to sustain positive change.

Through these experiences and the support of loved ones, I found who I truly was again. I found Maryam; the dynamic, assertive, energetic woman who knows without a doubt that Islam is empowering, who wears hijab for the sake of God, not for the sake of men, and who understands that the qualities God blessed me with were not meant to be locked up and hidden, but rather to be used appropriately for His sake.

I understand that some of you may disagree with my reflections; I understand because I once felt the same way and fully am aware of how it was the only truth to me, and is for many. I still respect you for your perspective. Even if I now differ, you are my brother and my sister.

Yet I am approached, over and over, by youth and young adults who are confused, struggling to figure out who they are, and are doubting Islam in its entirety stemming from the very notions I mentioned above; they do not know who to speak to about the doubts that continue to persist, nor do they know what to think when they feel spiritually bullied. Those who approach me most are young women who are nervous about the way they hear Islam and women presented by religious figures and are struggling with doubts towards Islam’s empowerment of women in the face of religious guidelines that seem the opposite.

This article is geared towards that group of individuals. I am detailing my personal story because I did not hear one like it from another woman while I was struggling. What I heard was of women who became strictly devout and then eventually left Islam completely. Or decided they could no longer wear hijab or other related coverings and chose to remove them because they could no longer take it. While I was going through those stages, I used to wonder about those women, worrying that perhaps like them, my “eman (faith) wouldn’t be strong enough” and I too would change. Now I understand that such painful experiences may have left many a woman searching, seeking to find comfort and healing, yet feeling stripped of the only thing they could have ever imagined finding that security in- their belief.

And this brings me to important points which I believe are essential for any Muslim, male or female, to consider when learning women’s issues in Islam.

5 Tips for Rethinking Studying Women’s Issues in Islam:

1. Understand the context and that there are differences of opinion.
   • Understand the context of Qur’anic verses or Prophetic traditions. It may seem really confusing or in fact, quite opposite what we have learned Islam teaches. Before jumping to conclusions, first learn why it was revealed, why the ruling was given at that time and place, the wisdoms or the understandings that stem from that, and different interpretations from the scholars. But also understand that as a scholarly interpretation and not necessarily, “Islam’s one and only viewpoint on this entire subject.”
   • As such, know there are legitimate differences of opinions. All that I mentioned here: a woman’s place being the home, covering the face, certain marriage, divorce and custody laws- all of those things are legitimate opinions based on proofs derived by qualified scholars. Are they the only opinions? No. Are they “The Ultimate Truth”? No. Should they all be respected and appreciated as legal rulings derived from legislative texts? Yes. Do they all need to be applied to your specific life? That is something you have to research and, with the help of qualified teachers and loved ones, decide. ((Please note: this article is a personal narrative aimed to provide a perspective not often discussed in our community. The fiqh issues mentioned here are not covered at all in this article, as fiqh is not the focus. God willing, those issues will be covered in other articles.))
2. Find a mentor.
   • A Qur’an teacher or your masjid’s Imam is not necessarily a qualified legal scholar. Simply because a person is in some type of religious position, or seems “religious,” does not mean they are qualified to give you legal rulings, or that what they teach is applicable to your situation. Take your religious knowledge from those qualified and those who combine that qualification with a keen understanding of the social reality in which you live.
3. Learn about the historical legacies of Muslim female scholarship.
   • Muslim women have been scholars, muftiyahs (female of “Mufti”- ever heard they exist before?) and qari’ahs (female for “Qari”- or Qur’an reciter) for centuries. Some of the greatest male scholars, whose names are oft celebrated, like Hasan alBasri, Ibn Hajar and Ibn Taymiyyah, all had female scholars as teachers and contemporaries. We rarely hear about the women who taught all those men, but it does not mean they did not exist, nor does it mean they have to remain a secret or never exist again. It is up to you and me to change the way we view women’s interaction with scholarship in our communities.
   • Here are books and audio I have personally read and recommend or which have been recommended by those I trust:
     •  تحرير المرأة في عصر الرسالة – (Arabic only) for all those ayat and ahadith you’ve heard misquoted or in the wrong context, for which have placed doubt in your heart or mind.
     • Al Muhadithaat by Shaykh Mohammed Akram Nadwi- for thousands of examples of female hadith scholars throughout our history and so much more.
     • A Biographical Dictionary of Muslim Women by Aisha Bewley- to truly understand the vast range of positions Muslim women have occupied in Islamic societies throughout history.
     • A Glimpse at Early Women Islamic Scholars by Imam Zaid Shakir.
     • Audio: Dr. Umar Faruq Abd-Allah’s Women in Islam series
     • Audio: Abdallah Adhami’s lectures related to women in Islam.
4. Have a support group.
   • This is essential for feeling supported through what can be a long, confusing and sometimes emotionally painful process. (It took seven years for me to go through this process. It may take time for you, too.)
5. Understand that negative rhetoric or policies surrounding women’s issues by community and/or religious leadership should never be linked to the Islamic perspective of women in Islam.
   • If you hear something weird coming from a person in religious authority (ie: “If a woman gets her period while in Hajj, it’s a punishment from Allah for her sins.”): Be critical! Even Aishah (may God be pleased with her), more pious than all of us combined, got her period while on Hajj! So ladies, instead of doubting Islam when hearing things like that, remind yourself that many well-intentioned Muslim men (and women) are schooled in cultures where negative views of women dominates even religious circles and of course it seeps into religious knowledge. So study and actively work to help change our community narrative and understand that such rhetoric is exactly what Islam came to change.

If you have felt guilty because you had doubts, if you felt confused because you considered something in Islam (especially as related to women) oppressive, if you have chosen to distance yourself from the Muslim community because you simply could no longer take feeling intellectually, emotionally and spiritually judged, especially as a woman, I want you to remember something: God did not create you, as a woman, to punish you or to crush you or to make you less than men in His eyes. If anyone makes you feel so, then do not be the one who turns away from Islam or the community. We need your voices, especially, to help change the narrative many of our communities have when we especially address women in Islam.

Always remember: Islam does not aim to mute our personalities, rather, to enhance us. If we become unrecognizable to our own selves, we need to think critically on the messages we are accepting into our lives. The Prophet (peace be upon him) did not train people to warp into who they are not. Rather, he built people to become better versions of themselves. God brought you to Islam to help you progress towards a better version of your own self and to benefit humanity. Seek Him, study seriously under solid mentors, and be a means of transforming yourself and those around you for the best.