The first time he hit me was the day I found out I was pregnant.
He picked a fight with me when his friend and his wife were having dinner with us,
And I fried the mombar (a kind of sausage dish),
Before the chicken breasts.
He pulled me by my hair,
And dragged me to the stove,
And threatened to set me on fire to get rid of me.

I am olive-skinned.
There’s nothing special about my features; I look like any other Egyptian.
I have oily skin.
I’ve had acne since I was a teenager,
And I didnt know how to deal with it.

I was bullied at school a lot as a kid.
“Wash your face! You look dirty.”
“You look like so and so, but she looks cleaner than you!”
These are the kinds of things I would hear as a kid from my colleagues and sometimes even my own family.

I was born with crossed eyes.
It’s supposedly subtle,
But it bothers me,
And affects me emotionally,
Because everyone who talks to me,
Looks straight at my eye.
“Did you used to wear glasses?” a lot of people have asked me.
I actually have perfect vision.

I was 20 years old when I went to prison.
I kept trying to run away on the first day, and each time Umm Zakaria would run after me and bring me back.
“What’s the matter with you? Will you keep trying to run away like this?”
“They’re going to hurt me in there.”
prison, bullying

Some people at university would compliment my skin tone and ask me,
“How do you get so tan?”
I would tell them that it wasn’t a tan.
It was my skin color.
I thought they were making fun of me,
And that something was wrong with me.

I’ve been told I’m fat ever since I can remember.
When I grew up, I learned that I wasn’t really fat or anything.
My lower body was fuller than my upper body.
It’s always been my goal to lose weight,
So I’d be beautiful,
And so I could get married.

Baba always wanted me to dress in loose-fitting clothing,
Even though I am petite.
When we went shopping,
And something fit me but wasn’t loose,
He’d tell me that it looked bad on me.
body image, bullying, parents