Memoir: my strict Muslim upbringing didn’t stop me from losing faith in God
I grew up in an observant Muslim household in Hamilton. My parents were refugees from Afghanistan who spoke Dari at home, read the Quran in Arabic and recited salat, the five daily prayers. On holidays, we attended a takayakhana, a Shiite place of worship in North York—the men and women would sit in different rooms, a live feed of the service streaming in the women’s space.
My parents were strict. They had rules about who I could see and what I could do. I used to sob with frustration, begging my father to let me go to my friends’ houses, attend sleepovers, be like other children. His answer was always the same: “You’re a girl. You’re an Afghan girl. You’re a Muslim girl.” It only got worse when I started middle school. They barely let me out of the house, afraid I’d be exposed to boys, alcohol, drugs and cigarettes. My three older brothers had no such restrictions. They were allowed to get their drivers’ licences; I wasn’t. They were encouraged to pursue university, while I was expected to graduate high school and get married right away.
At home, I was a second-class citizen. At school, I was ignored completely: all my classmates were white, and you can’t make friends when you’re not permitted a social life. I spent much of my adolescence slumped in depression, convinced of my own inferiority. I never understood how I fit with my peers, but my father’s words always echoed in my mind: “You’re a Muslim girl.” Islam was the only identity I knew. If I embraced it, I thought, maybe I’d find purpose and meaning.
I persuaded my parents to let me go to university and enrolled at U of T Mississauga, planning to pursue a degree in communications. That year, I started questioning my commitment to Islam. The Creator I read about in the Quran felt like a vindictive human, not a supreme being. My growing doubts led to frequent panic attacks and invasive, suicidal thoughts. I prayed every day. I told myself God was testing me. But at the back of my mind, I wondered if he was even listening.
One evening, during my nightly prayers, something clicked: I realized I was talking to myself. I no longer believed in God. I went through my Quran again and I looked up all the sexist verses I’d been accepting. Each one felt wrong, circular and nonsensical. In one night, I went from a practising Shiite to a Muslim apostate. I renounced the only identity I’d ever known.
For three years, I didn’t tell my family. I dutifully attended dinners, went to the takayakhana and played along with all the rituals. But for the first time in my life, I also pursued my independence. I moved into my own place in Mississauga and got a job on campus. I overcame my feelings of guilt and rootlessness, and attended counselling sessions. On social media, I started expressing my thoughts on the sexism and hypocrisy prescribed in Islamic texts, and began organizing an underground grassroots community for other ex-Muslims. I finally felt like there were others who understood what I was going through: we had members from Pakistan, India and all over the Middle East, people of all ages and professions, including women and LGBT people who had fled from abusive and intolerant families.
Around the same time, some family friends found me on social media. They told my parents, and one day my mother and father asked me point blank: was I telling people that I didn’t believe in God? That I was no longer a Muslim? I remained silent, not wanting to hurt them, but that was enough of an answer. My mother, through her sobs, pleaded that I take it all back because she didn’t want me to burn in hell. My father, shaking his head, asked me never to speak of my beliefs to others. He was disappointed and ashamed. Most of all, they were worried about their honour, what others would think of them.
For the next year, they kept track of where I went and called me at all hours of the day. When I came home for the summer, they’d demand I ask their permission whenever I wanted to leave the house. I was forced to lie about everything I did. I knew my parents cared for me, but their behaviour pushed me away. I spent less time with them, stopped taking their calls and avoided visiting for weeks at a time. Our relationship only began to heal after we’d been estranged for several months, when I got into a motorcycle accident and broke my ankle—it left me dependent on my parents, and reminded me how much I loved them and needed them in my life. In turn, they began to realize they couldn’t control me or my beliefs. My lack of faith didn’t matter so much anymore: they just wanted their daughter back.
Three years after our reconciliation, my parents have come to accept my beliefs—more than that, they’re supportive and loving in ways they never were before. Occasionally, they still encourage me to pray and speak to Muslim elders, but for the most part, they’ve made peace with my decision. Somehow, my renunciation of Islam has brought us closer: there’s more openness, more communication, more honesty. They understand who I am. And, for the first time in my life, so do I.
Sadaf Ali is the co-founder of Ex-Muslims of North America.
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I think the initiative to create a support group for women who have been repressed is honorable, and your resolve is quite admirable.
Alternatively, as a girl brought up in a devout Muslim family with a brother who does get the odd extra ‘privilege’ (he gets the car more often than I do since his school is farther than mine), I don’t believe I am any lesser than him, or that I am more disadvantaged. I too attended university in Mississauga. My whole life, my parents encouraged me as a Muslim girl to study hard, join extracurricular activities, make friends from all creeds, and achieve my career goals; marriage would come when I was good and ready. I never felt like I was second class. They listened to my early frustrations about the culture clash in school, and found ways around those obstacles; held all girl social gatherings at my house, encouraged me to attend similar social events at school, figured out bus routes together until I got my license. Alhumdulillah (thankfully), my parents are well educated and understand how the Quran and Islam pertain to modern day living. They always emphasized balance: faith and life. I feel blessed. I enjoy staying in touch with my religious, atheist and agnostic male and female friends, while equally maintaining my own faith-based boundaries and my five daily prayers. My parents trust my judgement calls. I am sorry you had a darker experience… it seems to me as though perhaps your parents were more culturally pressured? My university experience greatly strengthened my belief in Allah. I feel protected, cherished, and honored by the high status Islam gives women. I especially feel grateful to be a Canadian citizen, where I can enjoy practicing my faith without being harassed/shamed by self-proclaimed spiritual leaders telling me how to do religion the ‘right’ way, as is often the case in my warring country of origin… Funnily enough, in Canada, on the odd occasion the only issue I have had is people attacking my choice to dress modestly – apparently I am not liberated until I have shown more skin. True freedom, as told by the media that makes money selling sex.
I’m not much of a devout muslim but my family is and i’ve kept my lifestyle from them for years. The hardest thing i find is a constant lying, sometimes it eats at me and there aren’t many people i can talk to who get it. I wish i could tell them. sadaf you’re braver than i. good on you :)
doesn’t sound that dissimilar to my christian upbringing. except when i couldn’t keep up the lies and left the religion my parents chose the religion and i became dead to them.
Congratulations on freeing yourself from fear-based conditioning and helping others to feel good about themselves. And it is very nice to hear that you were able to find common ground with your parents. Surely they learned to put love first, making the whole family happier.
Oh man. That’s so sad. Very sorry that they made that decision.
I think it’s not the fault of Islam, islam allow women to do things they can…but usually our strick family rules some time bring cases like this.
It wont effect God at all if you believe in him or not…thats your Afghan strict culture do not mix it up with Islam…may God helps you n shows u the right path…Aameen
From a fellow Hamilton Atheist. You are always welcome here. ;-)
This woman sounds uneducated and on a mission to discredit her former religion. And of course Toronto Life prints this essay because they have shown themselves to be racist and anti-Islam over and over again. Would they ever print something like this about a former Christian or Buddhist? Highly unlikely. After all, many of their wealthy elite readers belong to such groups. Such trash.
I’m sorry but are you Muslim hiding as Annie? You sound like a person with an axe to grind. What about this woman’s opinion do you find uneducated? She’s telling her story and apparently the story of many like her. Perhaps it’s the family and males that are the problem more than the religion. I, with a mainstream Christian background, have witnessed many people from different religions including my own entrenched in their beliefs to the point of hating others or feeling they will go to hell for not believing what THEY want to believe. Many seem to hide behind religion. I believe Toronto Life has shown other valid points of view in the past. Are you wealthy and elite? Because you just read it!
if it’s racist to suggest that muslims are fools for believing in make believe and fairies, then I guess I’m racist.
.
In most Christian faiths you can leave without being monitored 24/7 .. but in cases where you can’t, the media prints the story.
who cares? why is that boring rubbish in the paper?
good, you are dead, spiritually. anyway, if you’re an atheist what difference does it make? you expect your parents to be nice to you? why? you rejected christ but then bltch and moan coz your long-suffering parents rejected you? cry me a river, worm-feed.
must Muslims are liars and don’t believe in anything except their ego and appetities, so chill out, you’re typical
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
you’ve got it completely backwards. it’s only in the “news” because it’s about a Muslim, so we’re all supposed to care for some stupid reason. Anyway, isn’t the editor of this thing a Muslim?
You should change your name to Snowflake416
Snowflake is my Norwegian cousin.
smh
#christianmorals
What a lovely example.
What a stupid comment.
#kike