I was born Muslim, and I’ve always been Muslim. I won’t claim I’ve been perfect, but I’ve always tried—and I still do.
From a young age, I became the one who took care of things at home, even though I’m not the oldest child. I had to grow up quickly. I was independent early on, and at one point, when my father was ill, I was the one managing his medication. I was only 17 at the time. That’s just a small glimpse into the kind of life I’ve lived.
Of course, coming from a Muslim family meant that topics like sex, relationships, and anything romantic were never discussed. They were taboo. The only thing my mother repeated to me was that boys are not good, and that I shouldn’t talk to them. That message stayed with me for a long time—and in many ways, it still does.
I’m someone who naturally wants to please others, and because of that, I avoided causing problems. When I was younger, I didn’t push my parents’ boundaries as much as I probably should have. My teenage years were full of challenges within the family, and it often felt like my own struggles were overlooked, pushed into the background.
At the same time, it feels like because of all those challenges, I never got to experience even half of the things others did growing up. I’m not saying I haven’t made mistakes—but the kind of exploration that’s natural when you’re young, the curiosity, the experimenting… I largely missed out on it. I was always very reserved, constantly afraid that I would embarrass myself—or worse, bring shame to my family.
Now I’m 24, and even though I’ve achieved many things in life, there’s one area that feels like a question mark. I’ve never really had meaningful interactions with the opposite sex, and I’ve never even been in what people would call a “situationship.” Sometimes I get attention from men, but it’s often superficial, and the conversations rarely go beyond the surface.
I love books, and I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. But when it comes to this part of life, I feel completely lost. I don’t know how to navigate it.
Lately, I’ve also started to feel pressure from my family about getting married. And I can’t help but wonder—what if I end up marrying the wrong person? I’m so inexperienced… how am I supposed to know what a good partner looks like? How am I supposed to understand any of this, when no one has ever talked to me about it?
And then there’s another layer to all of this—one that I’ve been almost afraid to admit, even to myself.
Because of the way I was raised, I’ve started to question parts of my faith. And that thought alone makes me feel like a terrible person. I find myself wondering why I do certain things—like wearing the hijab—and whether it comes from true belief, or simply from how I was brought up.
I feel deeply uncertain, not just about relationships, but about myself. Sometimes it feels like everyone around me looks more beautiful, more confident, more sure of who they are—while I’m still trying to figure it all out.
What makes it harder is the double standard I’ve witnessed within my own family. The boys have been allowed to do whatever they want, to explore, to make mistakes—while I’ve always felt like there’s been an unspoken, heavy expectation placed on me. A standard I can never fully reach.
And the thing is, I know that this isn’t what Islam teaches. I know that the rules are meant to apply to both men and women. But still, I can’t help but ask—if that’s true, then why has my reality felt so different?
And maybe the hardest part to admit is this: because of all these contradictions, even praying has become difficult for me. I find myself questioning—does anyone hear me? Does it even make sense?
It feels awful to say that out loud.
I see people living their lives to the fullest without any worry, and I can’t help but wonder what that would feel like. How would it feel to not be wearing long sleeves in the summer heat? How would it feel to let my hair down and feel the wind through it? How would I feel knowing that nobody is making assumptions or throwing racist slurs at me when they see me wearing the hijab?