Sipping on cold ice drinks until midnight in mid July. Chattering nonstop on my parent’s balcony until our voices trail off in the dark sky. Spontaneous late night drives with friends around the city. The only worry keeping me up is the research paper I need to submit by Tuesday.
This was my life in the early 20s, where friends and university were at the centre of it. I had a newfound energy after graduating from college. I had a strong desire to shed layers of my skin and connect with the core of my being. It was the start of my self-discovery.
A history student who dwelled into the past by first decolonizing the mind. I learned what I was never taught. In return, I began longing for my land and a return to my roots. My identity took on a new mold. I was Muslim, a visible one on a land committed to alienate me in every possible way. Neither did I fully belong to the land of my ancestors. Then who was I? Where did I belong? These questions lingered during the first few years of my 20s.
Almost two decades of being in school, it all came to an end with a Masters degree now sealed in a picture frame in my parents basement. Who was I outside of the four walls of a classroom? I had no idea. I never discovered my true self. I never tapped into my true potential. Yet every day I slowly paved my path towards self-awareness without even realizing it.
Post-graduation, I got my first professional job in my field. A dream. Yet it came with a cost; it was in a new city, few hours away from family and friends. I took it because I needed something new. To step out of my comfort zone and feel capable.
I dived into the corporate 9-5 life. I woke up in my tiny bedroom in the house of family friends. I prepared my quick lunch, wore my fanciest outfits, and left the house before the sun rose. I paced my steps towards the bus stop. It was a quiet neighbourhood. Ideal for raising a family. It was safe. Uniform houses. Yet eerie and boring at the same time. Not a place I’d want to live.
I took the bus then the train and saw the world change as I entered the downtown area, where most life happened in this city. I crossed the same people. Those heading to their corporate jobs wearing suits and skirts, family people who left their work as soon as the clock hit 5 p.m. I became one of them. However, after work, I’d roam around the tall buildings, visit museums, or eat at the cafeteria of the nearby mall. I enjoyed my solitude.
Although I missed my family, I loved being alone. I felt free. There was no sense of urgency; life slowed down. My thoughts were my only companion. I became more observant and aware of my environment. Deep down, I knew this was not meant to last for long, and did I truly want this? The same dull routine on repeat for 5 months. Chit-chatting with colleagues and laughing at jokes I didn’t relate to. A city that died down after working hours. I didn’t belong here. I questioned my purpose. Is this all it is to life?
Living in a new place away from my comfort brought forth a new side of me. I was capable of adapting to a new environment and finding my way around it. It gave me the confidence I never had in my school years. I became more independent. The insecurities, the shyness, and anxiety that were once part of my core were slowly shedding. I liked who I was becoming, yet this was just the beginning. This short journey became the stepping stone of a much bigger growth lesson.
Right before the pandemic, I got married. I dwelled into a new world. Life changed completely. My first and only romantic relationship was with the man I married. It was wonderful. It felt good to experience being in love. The very first embrace right after our nikkah was magical. A touch only our souls and bodies were meant to feel. Our arms wrapped tightly around each other, never wanting to let go. An unspoken bond only we understood. Alhamdulilah for him.
Everything around me blurred; I only saw him and couldn’t wait to finally live with him. The honeymoon stage (as most call it) was undeniably great. I was a hopeless romantic flying on cloud 9. I didn’t want to come down until the winds of reality blew those clouds aside. It forced me on the ground abruptly. This was the ultimate beginning of my consciousness awakening.
I faced several challenges that I never learned to deal with in my previous years. How do I communicate my needs to someone when I’ve never learned to express them? How do I assert myself in situations without compromising on my personal values? How do I hold my worth and respect before anyone else? How do I draw boundaries even with family members?
Marriage brought forth underlying issues I dealt with for the first time. I questioned my approach to life and what mattered most. Where was home now? Who was part of it? I learned to shift priorities and redirect them in a new direction. I had a new family, and to fully accept this reality took several months to a few years. The disagreements, challenges and differences between me and my spouse fortified my character. It pushed me to the edge and, in all honesty made me stronger than I ever was before.
There is no greater way God tests relationships than through marriage. Living with a man who came from a different upbringing and way of doing things brought many clashes, even unwillingly. It was inevitable because we were grown adults with our own built-in thoughts, learning to live with our differences under one roof for a lifetime.
Along the way, I’ve learned to be patient, to sacrifice, and to hold my tongue during bursts of anger. Similarly, I’ve learned to beautify my speech, to focus on the good character of my husband even in moments of hardship, and to show love in small, consistent ways. I do it all out of love for God because His name is tied to my relationship with my spouse. There’s so much wisdom in marriage, and I’m only now beginning to understand it.
Marriage is life-changing but there’s nothing like motherhood. For the first time in my life, my insecurities and upbringing were reflected in the mirror I held in my hands. It forced me to heal parts of myself. If I wanted my children to be surrounded with pure love where they could grow to be their truest version, I had to learn to love myself first. I had to take care of me so I could be better for them.
To do this, I’ve had many difficult and honest conversations with myself about my upbringing to truly understand who and how I became the me of today. I took accountability wherever I needed to, which helped in beginning the healing process. During this process (which I’m still going through), I’ve learned to be kind and gentle with myself. Most importantly, to be forgiving. Alongside my kids, I’m learning and growing. They taught me to love myself and to accept each part of my being. They’re truly a wonderful gift from God.
As of today, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’ve been the most honest with myself, even when certain truths are hard to swallow. I’ve become better at breaking free from my overthinking tendencies, and this is the most liberated I’ve felt. It feels good. I love this version of me. I’ve embraced it and accepted it fully. I will keep changing with the tides of life, and I can’t wait to ride those waves as life moves on.
For the future, I want to live more consciously. I want to be more present in the moment, to have a present mind. My children are a reminder that time doesn’t stop; it flies with a blink of an eye. I want to embrace each moment as slowly as I can.
…
All praise to my Lord for giving me yet another year of life. As I turn 30, I think about Palestinian children and young adults who’ve never gotten to where I am today. They’ve been robbed of a life filled with dreams, growth potential and joyful moments. As I take another breath, someone in Gaza is taking their last. For anyone who made it to the end of this read, please consider donating to the following GoFundMe pages set up by family members of Palestinians:
Nada Elghalayini and her family
Fundraisers:
Thoughts of Nissa 
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