Although I had stood up to my atheist boyfriend when he had spoken disparagingly about Islam, I did not return to my childhood faith in the months or even years that followed. The anger and bitterness I felt towards my Creator for the sexual abuse I had endured as a child had set down deep, gnarled roots in my heart, roots that could not be pulled out overnight. But an overwhelming desire to earn God’s forgiveness had now also begun to bud alongside those dark emotions.
Yet I was reluctant to return to Islam. Even after so many years, my Islamic school teacher’s unsympathetic, accusatory voice still rang in my ears—“You are being sexually molested because you don’t wear hijab!” If she had been right, what place did I, a girl who had turned to drugs and drinking, have in such a punishing faith? So I took the last remaining option open to me; I ran into the welcoming arms of the church.
The Christian call of Jesus’ unconditional love appealed to my broken heart and did, initially at least, satisfy my yearning for divine love and forgiveness. For two years I attended almost every Sunday mass. Had it not been for my analytical mind that simply could not reconcile itself with the concept of God having a son, I just might have accepted Christianity.
In an ironic twist, my time pouring over the Bible nudged me closer towards Islam; while reading the Bible, it dawned on me how similar this book was in its stories and principles to the Qur’an. If this book spoke again and again about God’s immeasurable love for His creation, about His forgiveness surpassing His wrath, then these ideas must also be in the Qur’an, I reasoned.
So I resolved to return to Allah, to Islam, sincerely and wholeheartedly.
At this point in my life, the Internet had become widespread and accessible. Information and interactive support groups, unavailable during my childhood, were now at my fingertips. I dedicated myself to re-learning my faith, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say learning my religion for the very first time. As I communicated with Islamic scholars outside of my country and culture, becoming exposed to Qur’anic verses, hadith and philosophies never touched upon at my childhood Islamic school, I was able to shake off the misinformation I had been carrying since then.
I discovered verses in the Qur’an and hadiths that spoke directly to my circumstances:
“God does not burden any human being with more than he is well able to bear”
Surah Al-Baqarah, 2-286
“Verily with hardship comes ease”
Surah al-Sharh: 5-6
“The greatest reward comes with the greatest trial. When Allah loves a people He tests them. Whoever accepts that wins His pleasure but whoever is discontent with that earns His wrath.”
Tirmidhi and Ibne Majah
“Allah has divided mercy into 100 parts, and He retained with Him 99 parts, and sent down to earth one part. Through this one part creatures deal with one another with compassion, so much so that an animal lifts its hoof over its young lest it should hurt it.”
Al-Bukhari
How different my life could have been had my teacher responded with any one of these quotations or something similar? I hope to show her more compassion than she showed me so I like to think that she spoke out of ignorance and not malice, that she didn’t realize the damage her flippant and judgmental comments would do to my impressionable mind and already wavering faith.
She, and so many teachers, parents and Imams, lecture young Muslims on the Dos and Don’ts of Islam, placing a disproportionate amount of focus on “looking” the part of a Muslim – from wearing the hijab to the observable motions of praying five times a day and fasting in the month of Ramadan—while glossing over the spirit of our faith. Forgiving the one who has hurt you terribly, quietly showing compassion to the one who others say is underserving of help, covering the faults of another rather than airing his sins—these expressions of faith seem to carry less value in our communities than measurable, observable acts of faith.
I do not intend to dismiss the importance of fasting, prayer and modest dress because they are undeniably fundamental principles of Islam, but to only practice these aspects of our religion is an incomplete Islam. And all too often, we see Muslims execute these fundamentals more out of cultural and community expectation than out of sincere submission to Allah.
Why does this happen? Because of a number of overlapping factors, I’m sure, but first and foremost due to the way in which we educated our children about Islam. In my experience, so little focus was placed on understanding our relationship with our Creator. We rarely discussed the concept of Allah, His attributes, the purpose and meaning of life as explained by the Quran, how our purpose applies in modern-day society and how it is reflected in our daily, personal choices. In other words, the Dos and Don’ts of Islam were not taught within the context of submitting to Allah out of love and duty.
Sometimes I wish I knew then what I know now. Had I been exposed to the heart of Islam, and not just rules and rituals, perhaps my teenage years and early twenties wouldn’t have been laced with so many mistakes.
However, I accept that Allah wills for things to happen the way they do for a reason. I cannot be certain, but I suspect that had I not endured sexual abuse and subsequently deviated from my faith, I would never have had reason to truly study my religion. And although I was not born into Islam by choice, my return was one of choice and conviction. That in and of itself is a blessing.
Other blessings include the gift of a stronger voice, one that is unafraid to speak up whenever I see injustice and is ever ready to help other abused women and children find their voices.
Most importantly, I have learned to forgive. Allah’s most frequently mentioned attribute in the Qur’an is His mercy and forgiveness. And after many tortured, angry years, I no longer blame my school teacher for saying what she said. For too long, I allowed her words to dictate how I saw myself, leading me to embrace the identity of a victim and a rebel. Thankfully, therapy and a better understanding of my faith has helped me to shed that adopted identity.
If there is one piece of wisdom I wish for you, the reader, to take away from my story, it is this. Allah will test you, be it in the form of sexual abuse, poverty or depression. And you will inevitably ask, “Why me, Allah? Why this?” Others will likely judge you, as they rush to explain why you are enduring what you are. But, remember, they do not have the answers, and only Allah knows, in His infinite wisdom, why you are temporarily in a place of suffering. Rest assured that the tribulation will pass, but, in the meantime, do not allow your anger and confusion or the judgments of others to define you. These will only become walls that obstruct your connection to Allah and cloud what your soul knows to be true: Allah’s love and mercy has always been, and is always there, for you.
Maryam Hamza is a writer who believes that education and striving for a purposeful life is the key to healing and growth. She focuses her writing in these areas to empower women and children.
