Finding Myself – An Arab-American Muslim Woman in the US

I recently held a photo exhibit about my journey of taking off my hijab – headscarf. I took self-portraits, each with a thought written on the mirror. The one that really has dictated a lot of my life: “What will they think?”

Reputation. It’s what we we’re raised to think about, to worry about, ESPECIALLY being an Arab-American Muslim woman in the United States. I have to behave a certain way, look a certain way, say certain things. I was raised to get married and have babies, a family, and a job that will allow me to do those things and live a certain lifestyle. Not because of my religion; no, my religion actually encourages me to be a powerful woman with choices, but the culture on the other hand, places expectations on its women. 

You’d think with a European mother and an Arab father, things wouldn’t have been as strict in our household. But they were. My father was very narrow-minded and had a very backwards way of thinking when it came to women. And he expected me to fulfill my role as a young woman because of that. I wore hijab (which wasn’t a big deal because I grew up around other girls who did the same). I couldn’t wear pants. I had to wear oversized shirts. I wasn’t allowed to study journalism (it wasn’t a woman’s field). And of course – then there’s the marriage aspect.

My father suggested I get married out of high school, but I begged him to wait until I graduated from college. Once I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts, I wanted to move on to a master’s degree. But he wasn’t having it. Now was the time to get married, start a family, and be a dutiful wife, whatever that meant. Because “what will people think” if I’m a young single, “overly-educated” woman? Terrible, right?

On top of it, I studied journalism in college without him knowing, and of course, when he found out, he wasn’t happy about that either. So he forced me to teach at a local Islamic school. I hated it – this wasn’t what I wanted for my life. I wanted to be a journalist, to give women, like myself, a voice. I wanted to represent Muslim women everywhere, to show how we have power, we have goals, we can be outspoken. 

A little after my parents divorced, and I moved out with my mom, I was able to finally pursue my passion: journalism. I became a radio reporter, but I still hadn’t found myself, my voice. I was still the young girl who worried about others’ opinions and wasn’t ready to speak out yet. I also got married shortly after to a Muslim convert, probably because it was engrained that that was what was expected of me. But the marriage failed, shockingly, because at this point, I wasn’t even sure what I wanted.

Who was I? I had lived my whole life according to how my father wanted me to, how the community expected me to. So, now what? I’m divorced (which also was a huge moment in my life because I worried about people’s reactions to my divorced status). I’m single. I’m going out with friends to hookah bars. I’m a reporter. Is the community going to think I’m some kind of slut? Will my family?

The first real test came when I started openly dating a Catholic man. Oh wow, did heads turn when they found out. It took me about a year into our relationship to make it public, and even then, I was so concerned with how people thought of me. I got so many comments about how I was going to hell. How I was committing a sin. I started doubting myself. I started doubting the relationship.

I lost a few friends. But thankfully my family members were supportive and encouraging and told me to do what made ME happy. 

Fast forward to four years later, I was 30. And I had been wanting to take my hijab off. For a while now. But again – what will people think? Will I be shamed? Will I lose more friends?

The hijab is a choice in Islam, so why couldn’t I make that choice as a Muslim woman without worrying about others’ reactions? 

I finally woke up one day and thought to myself, “F*** what they think!” It was time to be myself. To not care about how I was perceived. To live my life according to what I wanted, not what others wanted of me. Or expected of me.

The journey has been a long one, and until this day, I still make some decisions based on what I think other people would want me to do. It’s difficult to break out of the cycle. Especially in a community where many people watch you and silently (and sometimes not-so-silently) judge you and your actions. 

Like I said, Muslim women are a force of nature to be reckoned with. We have a voice, we’re outspoken, we’re mothers, we’re entrepreneurs, we’re badass.
And really, f*** what society thinks.  

#sorrynotsorry

Zahra Huber is an Arab-American activist, a former journalist, and the host of the Breaking Pita with Zee Podcast.