My parents separated when I was young.
My mom, my sister, and I were living happily after the separation,
Until my mom got remarried.
I couldn’t bear living with her when she got married,
So my father sent me to live with my grandma.
I wish I had never gone.
My grandmother and aunt both gave me a hard time.
I would cry myself to sleep every day,
Because of how they treated me.
I wore the hijab when I was 17 years old.
I wasn’t influenced by Amr Khaled.
I got really emotional and exclaimed,
“I swear to God I’m not leaving this house without the hijab!”
I wasn’t a member of the community that called itself “The Righteous Companions.”
His cousin tried to convince me to go back to him.
I told him I won’t.
He said, “Do it for the girls.”
I told him, “Growing up with a mother and father, who are divorced, but respect one another, is so much better than living with two people who hate each other.”
My father came in and slapped me on the face.
“Isn’t it enough what you did?” he said.
Then my mother said,
“Isn’t it enough what happened?!
Isn’t it enough what you did?
What more will you do?”
I feel like I aged considerably the moment I got my first suitor.
I was still young, in eighth grade.
After I got married, I started bearing responsibilities, and I grew up.
My father had us thinking that marriage was the end-all-be-all
We weren’t supposed to fight with our husbands.
gender violence, physical violence, parents, marriage, divorce, work
“How can you cross your legs like that?
Do you not have dick?”
I was around 12 years old.
Our relatives were visiting on the day I got my first period.
I hid in the bathroom.
I was too scared to come out.
I didn’t know what to tell them.
My mother then called for me.
She came in and hugged me.
She told me it was a normal thing.
Her parents kept her locked up at home.
Her computer was always being watched.
Her job was located near her house.
She wasn’t allowed out on her own.
She was 33 years old.