ﺒﺴﻤ ﺎﷲ ﻠﺮﺤﻤﻦ ﻠﺮﺤﻳﻤ
What a story it is for each and every revert, and how different – the first year as a new Muslim. Mine has not yet reached all through the calender back to Rabi-ul-Awwal where it all began, but looking back these last seven months, it has been quite a time! I don’t want to bore you with personal details of my life, but I thought I’d share some experiences in case there are any reverts who are struggling with their new life, and who will feel encouraged reading mine. To be honest, I need to write for my own sake, too, because I need encouragement too!
Seven months into becoming Muslim, I have come face-to-face with a crisis of some sorts. The novelty of the new life – the ‘honeymoon’ if you want to call it that – has worn off somewhat, and the hard reality has set in. In plain English, I am coming to realise just how different my life is now. I think that is why it was said that the first year is the most difficult. It is the year in which your life changes forever and you go through various strong emotions; first of ecstasy and joy at what you gained, then of grief at what you lost, and finally of peace and integration. I suppose if I tell you my version, dear reader, it may make more sense, because what I wrote above seems to be just a jumble of conceptual ideas!
In the beginning… there was light (excuse the pun! J). The joyful light of new Imaan. And the light separated from the darkness and showed it to be dark indeed… Pork? Wine? How could I have consumed that stuff? How could I have dressed in such revealing clothing? How could I have believed that we could pray to others besides Allah? La illaha illallah, Muhammadur rasullullah… Now I am a Muslim, with a whole new exciting life ahead of me! New eating habits, new dressing habits, new toilet habits, new washing habits, new prayers, new Scripture, new language! Lots of new things gained – and yet more to come in the form of new friends, new books and new clothes! J
But, there was the other side of the coin too – lots of old habits to break, comfort zones to abandon, belief systems to unlearn and perhaps even old relationships lost along the way, too… I was lucky – my parents didn’t kick me out, even if they didn’t want to get involved. Nevertleless, I felt the distance growing between me and my Christian family – and the dog!
A new revert seems invincible – at first. Trials – like adjusting to new daily laws and being cut off somewhat to their old life and loved ones – don’t seem to faze them too much in the beginning. They are blinded by love. the gain is more than the loss. As for me, it was difficult at first to live in a non-Muslim household, but after a few months, I got used to it. After all, I was in love with Islam! I wanted to learn the prayers, the Qur’an and Arabic as soon as possible; I didn’t want to crawl if I could leap and jump – after all my heart was jumping in joy all over the place! Eventually – after a few times of feeling the weariness creep up on me – I realised I was not Superwoman and would have to wait for my mind to catch up. I would have to take it easy; I cannot expect to know as much as a born Muslim yet! Oh, the joy of new love… J
When I moved out to stay at the halfway-home, I was elated to be in a Muslim environment. However, it took adjusting to that, too. Yes, I gained freedom from trials with haraam foods and dogs, made many friends and attended awesome classes, but I also lost freedom to be in my own environment and the peaceful silence it feeds me with. There were noisy housemates – and worse – often there was a lack of Deen. Seeing un-Islamic habits practised around me, and sitting in a near-empty salaah room, used by only a few, I kept to myself, questioning the reality of Muslims who didn’t wear hijab and make salaah. It was sad for me as a revert to observe. I was told to be an example to those around me, and I tried my best. Whilst others went out, wearing their headscarves with tight jeans, I wore my favourite style of hijab – flowing khimars reaching to the wrists, in black or other dull colours, along with abayas. I made my salaah. I went to Jumu’ah prayers. I tried to be gentle and considerate of the others, and I did my duties. But then I wondered… I am a revert – I must be the one who is supposed to be taught! Why do I have to do the teaching? In the end, the loneliness I escaped from by leaving home, found me there at the Home, too. I began to lose more than I gained; I went into eclipse.
What to choose?
To be at home on an island,
Or a stranger in a familiar sea?
Whilst I was there, the honeymoon ended. One day, I woke up, and was hit with cold reality. I think it was the day when I saw a mualimah who was teaching me to recite the Qur’an. I pitched up there for a lesson and, instead, I poured out my heart. Tears turned to sobs, and sobs to shakes. I said to her how terribly alone I felt; how destitute I was. I said to her that I wished I could get out; that I even wanted to return to my parents, as I couldn’t take the stress anymore. Then she said to me: “But you can’t go back; you’re a Muslim now.”
You’re a Muslim now… those words hit me like a sledgehammer. (Duh… as if I didn’t know I was Muslim! But that day it hit me – I was Muslim.) I am Muslim. And my life will never be the same again. The choices I needed to make in my life with regards to my future overwhelmed me and I began to panic. I was on my own and needed to find a secure place. I increased my salaah, but soon realised I needed to help myself in this major adjustment. I could feel it taking its toll on me.
This was the first real test I had in learning to have sabr and trust Allah SWT. For the first time since I became a Muslim, I was tempted to get angry and rant at Him. It was hard to put into practice what I was told – to not question Him, but to accept His decree. This required a shift of belief systems. When I was ill and was told that it was “Allah’s sickness” and we must accept it and say “alhamdulillah,” it challenged over twenty years of being told that sickness is from Shaytaan and that “faith alone will heal it” – unrealistic but comforting.
Living with so many others, after living all my life as a loner, had affected me – their sorrows became mine until I was too weary to carry any more. I already had the burden of coming face-to-face with my own difficulties, and I think they felt the same, too. My ambitions were to stay at home and work from home, doing my sewing and writing. Being a traditional-minded woman, I wanted to follow what Allah Ta’ala enjoined on the Prophet’s (SAW) wives: “…and stay in your houses”. And it was impossible to stay there unless I was out all day.
Then there was the scary face of my nafs staring back at me. Living with others, even for a short time, is one of the most foolproof ways to get to know yourself. The experiences I have had, taught me about myself – and some of them have reminded me of my hurts and weaknesses, which was not easy to admit to myself! People are like a mirror for your soul – you see yourself in them and in how you relate to them.
Despite all the opportunities I had there – and despite being a Muslim – in the end, after nearly three months, I left and returned to my parents’ home for the sake of my now-fragile health. So here I find myself, back to square one – back at the place where I began. I felt really defeated. If at any time I still thought that I was invincible, and that nothing would faze me as a revert – I was now certain that I was not any more invincible than a drop of water! It was really humbling for me. However, I knew I needed to attend to myself first before being able to help others.
I also knew I needed my health to be good in order to pursue studies next year, insha’Allah. For I do not intend to remain here and be in isolation again. With the help of friends I made in that area – and only with the Will of Allah Ta’ala, I hope to return to that side of the city next year and find a new place to stay whilst studying Islam full-time.
On a lighter note, it has been quite an experience to return to a largely non-Muslim area where ladies in hijab are about one in three thousand! I went to the local shopping mall one day, and it was so difficult to wear the hijab I had worn on the other side; I was jittery and very self-conscious! Then something funny happened…
I was browsing in a bookstore, when suddenly a man working there put a book in my hands. I looked at him, then at the book. It was called “Disgraced” and was about a Muslim woman who was used as a sex slave and was terribly abused. The first thing that came to my mind was: “Did this man wish for me to leave Islam? Did he give a silent message that Islam was oppressive? Did he really think Islam condoned sex-slavery?” I looked at him, and he looked back; a serious expression on his face. Surely if he meant well he would have found a more positive book? After all, how would he know I was looking for Islamic topics? I have other interests as well… Whatever he intended, it made me feel truly part of a minority. For one moment I felt so small – and even lost in the sea of non-Muslims.
It was a strange feeling. I put the book down, looked at him again and thought: “You won’t take me away from Islam; it has set me free and I wear the hijab with pride!” I felt so terribly self-conscious, but nevertheless, found a part of me being so excited to do silent da’wah again!
Back with my parents, I have found it much easier to talk about Islam now than before, and they have been good about it; very tolerant. My dad had even encouraged me to wear my hijab when he mentioned one day that it is a free country and I could wear what I like; that others could even possibly admire me for it! Alhamdulillah, and I am so grateful for that! Someone only recently said to me: “I don’t know how you do it; I really admire you.” And with that, I hold my veiled head up high, despite the nerves and lowered gaze. Yes, I am a Muslim, and no matter what I go through, it is so worth it!
Salaam
Saadiqah
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