The Muslimah Rebel: Why Quitting Ain't an Option

I almost allowed them to stop me.

Even the most stubborn of people will crack. They will allow that seed of doubt to fester and they will stop. Quit. The ones that do quit will become bitter. Always wonder why they didn’t finish a project or travel the world or not have as many kids. Most of them will become the very person or people that stopped them from pursuing their dreams. A vicious cycle.

That was almost me.

When I say ‘them’ I mean the people closest to me. The kind of people you’d think would be rooting for you, not one plotting your demise, not one secretly jealous of your God-given talent, and definitely not a husband or a mom or a dad, or a best friend you’ve known for over a decade.

I am not perfect, which by admitting doesn’t justify or validate my actions. I’ve done my share of fucked up things. Said my share of fucked up things. But one thing I’ve always done was try to be the best version of myself. Whatever that meant at those integral times. And, I’ve always stayed in my lane. People called me selfish, when really, I was just an empath protecting my vital energies.  

I think as you get older, not just older but wiser and more self-aware, you began to float above yourself and others and dig deeper for understanding, meaning, and purpose. As a thoughtful person, I have to evaluate all of the relationships I have with people. Because everyone isn’t meant to ride with you to the end. Even in Islam, says the same thing, nothing is permanent.

As I started to evaluate my life in relation to others, I began to see a pattern. Many people tried to discourage me from being my true self. That’s crazy, you’re probably thinking. Why would someone want to stop another person from being themselves? There are so many different reasons why humans stifle or oppress other humans, but the one I found most common was a shift in power. A hyper-masculine man doesn’t want you to become your true self because you would no longer have to lie under his thumb. Same for a jealous friend, if you truly reached your highest potential then she’d feel left in the shadows. So many people wear these masks, several masks, and so caught up in the false perfections of social media or being a ‘good’ Muslim or a perfect mother that they are angered when you ditch those masks and become a rebel. When you no longer have those mental constraints, those physical constraints, people who are still trapped began to envy you, hope for your downfall, because you’ve tapped into a power source in which they’ve never seen and cannot get to.

It makes me angry when I think of all the times someone has stifled my creativity. Caused me to quit something that I truly loved. Made me feel as if I couldn’t just be. But in reality, I have only myself to blame for being weak enough to allow them to guide my life. I stopped writing for many years because I allowed others to dictate how it was done. I only wrote on certain topics to appease my ex. I allowed the Muslim community to dictate what I shared on my timeline. I allowed white fragility to stifle my Blackness and my voice. I allowed those things because I thought I was trapped. I thought that I had nowhere to go. Not a left or right in sight.

If you take nothing else from this, know that there is always more than one route to take. I solemnly promise that. And, the only entrapment we face are the ones that we create for ourselves.

Recently, I was flown to Canada to speak at the Muslim Identities Summit at the University of Ottawa. Which was such a huge honor. There, powerful women of all shades spoke about anti-Blackness, feminism, and Islamaphobia. I couldn’t contain my joy. The energy of that day was intoxicating. And, as I looked out the window from the 13th floor, I couldn’t help but to reflect on my journey up until that point. I had wanted to quit so many times. I had quit so many times and came back each and every time. And, I can only attribute the comebacks to Allah (God) because I alone am not that powerful. Obviously, I’ve been chosen to do something because every time someone trolls me or causes me to rethink my value or makes me feel like I’m not Muslim enough, he somehow sends a sign, a message to keep going. Keep pushing against the waves.   

Eyes were attentive. Smiles were large. I looked at each face over and over again during the Q&A. Was it all a dream? That every little thing I’ve done and didn’t do led me up until that exact moment. All the pain and trauma and accomplishments meant something. That the zero budget photoshoots, the messy divorce that almost derailed me, and my words, my art had got me to that point. Where I sat in front of a packed room of educated Canadians to talk about being a fuckin Muslim rebel.  

xoxo,

Leah V

When I Finally Noticed that My Uniqueness was an Asset

I was an odd child. Of course, going through an identity crisis of how white I could act or how much percentage of black I was. In between that I was Muslim. During those times, who knew what that was supposed to mean…

I was heavy into makeup way before the makeup boom we see now was ‘in’. When I tell you no one I knew wore it, like no one wore it. You might have seen an occasional girl wearing a light wing line or some clear lip gloss, but nothing heavy. That wasn’t ‘in’. I wore foundation that was clearly too light for my caramel complexion and glitter on my cheeks like a mermaid. People thought I was weird. And, I was.

At that time, there wasn’t any dark eyeshadow palettes. I was a creative kid and had a dark lipstick palette. I was feeling mischievous so I dug my finger into the mixture and smeared it on my lids then on my lips. I was this deep, dark seductress. I think I might have been fourteen.

Mom called my name from the bottom of the stairs. I slowly crept into the light. She gasped. “Amerra, what is that on your face?”

“Makeup,” I said with my arms crossed.

Mom didn’t like the makeup I wore. She didn’t like that kind of expression. She just didn’t get it.   

Makeup: Janet Doman

I wore black nail polish and lace gloves. I wore miniskirts over my jeans and heavy eyeliner. I was heavily insecure, but you’d never know. The kind of girl that’d cuss out your grandmother. I was driven and educated. Obnoxious and funny.

For those who didn’t know me, my style stood out. Many Muslims didn’t agree with it. I was deemed a ‘hoe’ because of the way I dressed; when in reality, I was much less of a hoe than their fully covered daughters…but that’s another story completely.             

I don’t care what anybody says, the world has been stacked against me and my unparalleled uniqueness. This world, this society, the way it thinks and moves wasn’t built for people like me. And we already know why. We see it every day on the cover of magazines and plastered on billboards.

I’ve never fit into any specific categories of Muslim-ness. Of beauty. Of education. Of Black-ness. And, I don’t plan on it anytime soon.

For so long, I’ve taken my complexities and thought of them as hindrances.

I was tired. Angry. Mentally ill. People were tired of me and I tired of them.

I needed a change. And, in order to change, I had to rewire my entire mindset.

Instead of viewing my intersections as negatively as how others viewed them, I decided to try a different approach. What if I could embrace those differences? Create a path containing my truths instead of someone else’s version of what I should be?

Why is this world so obsessed with making people fall in line? Why aren’t we groomed to think outside the box and embrace differences? Well, for one, it’s easier to control individuals who don’t have their own opinions. Secondly, it’s easier to sell people things who constantly follow trends and feel the need to keep up with the “now”.   

It’s so important to always, always embrace your differences, those quirks and idiosyncrasies. They make you original, one of a kind. You’ll have people trying to change your outlook. Change the way you dress and how you speak and how you view the world from your lens. Don’t let them.

Location: Paris, France 

People were uncomfortable with my differences then and certainly are uncomfortable now. I’ve chosen to take that core value of expression and exploit it. Scream it at the rooftops. Wear it as a badge. But being your true self doesn’t come without it’s downsides. I get attacked with every new feature that sprouts. I get called ‘fat’, ‘disgusting’, ‘gross’, ‘not Muslim’, among other harsh choice words and phrases.      

What these trolls fail to understand is that I’ve been through a hell of a lot of shit in my life. The absence of parents. Friends that allowed jealousy to rip apart our relationships. Doors slammed in my face. Bill collectors on my line. A failed marriage. I’ve already been through hell and back. I’ve been through decades of self-doubt and loathing and hatred. I’m at a place where I can finally be secure with myself and a stupid comment from a faceless nut job from behind a computer screen won’t catapult me back to that insecure girl.

So, to all my weirdos, black girls who listen to 80’s rock, artists, unmarried Muslim girls being pestered by their families, trans, fatties, and dark-skinned individuals who are constantly teased, do not try to fit into a mold, allow your uniqueness to always carry you because the very people who are ‘making fun’ of you for these intersections want to secretly be you…    

xoxo,

Leah V