I am an American Muslim woman

Hiba Ahmad
Contributing Columnist

If you asked me whether I liked being a Muslim four years ago, I would probably have said, “No.” The restrictions in dress code, not being able to hang out with my friends late at night and not being allowed to have friends that belonged to the opposite gender infuriated me. On top of being Muslim, I was a girl, and above all else I was growing up in a society where Muslims were not the majority. If you asked me the same question today, my face would beam and I would proudly say, “Yes.” Being an American Muslim woman is challenging to say the least, but quite possibly the most rewarding blessing I could have asked for.

Growing up, I had an exceptionally difficult time accepting who I was because I was surrounded by people who didn’t have to deal with the culturally and religiously driven insecurities I had. Knowing I had certain expectations to live up to at an early age that none of my friends would ever have to encounter was incredibly lonely. I constantly had this paranoia that my parents would catch me doing something that they or others in the Muslim community would deem shameful or disrespectful when in reality I was simply just being a kid.

I wrongly blamed Islam for things that had nothing to do with the religion. My problems were from my identity as a multi-cultured individual, not as a Muslim. Today I turn to my faith as my moral compass and a guide in helping me be the best version of myself.

Having lived in liberal areas, such as Boston and northern Virginia, education and awareness stumped racial and cultural stigmas. Along with the abundance of diversity, I personally never came across direct religious intolerance. However, I did realize that a lot of people didn’t exactly know that I was a Muslim even though they knew I was Pakistani. No one cared about my religion or culture, until it came to doing certain things I was restricted from.

Whenever someone asked if I wanted pepperoni pizza, I declined due to the inclusion of pork. That would be followed by a series of questions that centered around what else I was restricted from. A blank stare and pitiful head shake would follow immediately after.

It bothers me that people believe that Islam is something I was forced into and that religion suppresses me. The truth is, I did grow up with the teachings of Islam and they have always made sense to me. Of course I disliked some of the protocols while growing up, but I have made peace with them now.

When the topic of oppression comes up, the misconceptions cloud the truth. What people need to realize is that nowhere in the religion does it say that women are lesser human beings compared to men.

I never dealt with the struggles that came with looking different as a Muslim woman. For example, I do not wear a hijab, the headscarf many Muslim women wear to display their devotion to God. However, I have listened to many stories of women who received unwanted sympathy for a choice they personally made. The hijab is not a symbol of oppression, yet it is viewed by many ill-informed groups of people as exactly that. As someone who doesn’t look like the stereotypical Muslim woman, my faith and how I practice it are not taken seriously by non-Muslims and Muslims alike.

My faith is something that drives me to be a better human being. Islam is simply a guideline I follow in everyday decision-making and moral conduct. It defines my individuality without undermining my views and ideas of the world around me.