Wednesday, November 16, 2022

An Anthology of Lessons in Myths & Stories (Choosing Children Addendum)



Myth 1: Childfree people are selfish, reckless, and living a life devoid of any valid stress or responsibilities.


There was always this lingering doubt about whether or not I wanted to make this decision—leaving my job. The pay was decent, especially since I had recently moved back home following my divorce. The job itself was sublime, everything I was born to do: customer relations management, a decent amount of traveling for field work, and engaging with staff to bring the humanness back into the corporate. So why leave? Aside from the excruciatingly policed office environment (we were once punished for not having the lights on at 7:45 a.m.), I was commuting four hours a day with no accommodation to work in any of the three remote locations closer to home, upper management spent most of their time schmoozing instead of working and reprimanded us if we caught a mistake caused by their lack of efforts, and I was exhausted of the harassment (and by harassment, I mean I was being spied on meticulously, including in the restroom, so much so that I stopped using it at work and would hold it till my lunch break or my commute home where I’d stop at the nearest mall).

I realized I had just come out of an abusive marriage and should not have to endure another abusive relationship for money. I took the bold first step and put in my notice and was immediately called into the office of my boss’s boss—one of my least favorite people at the company. He began his superficial spiel about the necessity of a hard work ethic and needing to be an adult, suggesting that I take some time to reconsider my decision more maturely. That’s when all lingering doubts vanished. “I have one of the hardest work ethics out there, sir, and with all due respect, I know what is best for me. My time has run its course here and I have made my decision. There is no need to rethink.” He sat back in his chair and cracked a condescending smile as he put his hands behind his head. “Wow, it must be so nice to live so recklessly and not have to worry about adult responsibilities, like bills and children. Once you have kids, you won’t make such rash decisions.”

It’s been almost seven years since that day but it remains etched in my mind for two very contradicting reasons—he was so wrong but so right. Let’s start with the latter. It’s true, I don’t have to carry the burden of parenting responsibilities, but unlike him (and many others), I took the time to reflect deeply on my life and came to the conclusion that I neither needed nor wanted to carry those responsibilities. Maybe had he (and the many others) taken the time to do the same and actively choose parenthood, they would never feel compelled to use their children and the responsibilities that come with them as mechanisms to try and reduce someone else’s life.

On the flips-side, however, being childfree will never mean my life weighs less in responsibilities. This is probably one of the most ridiculous and pathetic claims people with children make about us. I could have most certainly given him the laundry list of responsibilities I was carrying at the time (leaving an abusive marriage alone being the weight of the world), but I am constantly reminding myself I owe no one an explanation for how I live my life. One month later, I was free and embarking on what would become the next incredible phase of my life. I published my second book, built my poetry and copy editing career, invested more time in my nonprofit, and experienced the most revolutionary adventures that both this job and children would have stripped me of.


Myth 2: Childfree people are lonely and living boring, meaningless lives.


I wish I could say this story was an isolated incident, but I had another boss, a woman this time, who threw similarly insensitive comments at me throughout my time at the firm. One morning she walked in and said, “You look tired, Dania,” (something no one should ever say). I said, “I am. Just dealing with a little stress.” She cackled loudly and replied, “Stress? Oh please. You don’t have children so you can’t even begin to know what stress is."

A year later, I informed her that I was considering applying for a doctorate program and that if I got accepted, I would be leaving the position. With a confused expression she asked, “Why are you going for a PhD.? You already exceeded your capacity as a woman with the Master’s degree. You should be focusing on finding a husband and having children now.” Before I could retaliate to every dysfunctional word (Exceeded my capacity? As a woman? Finding a husband? As if quality ones are readily available in aisle 5 at Target? What in the actual hell?) she continued. “I look at my daughter’s life in comparison to her friends with Masters’ degrees and doctorates. They’re all living such dull, boring, meaningless lives with that education. But my daughter, with her loud, wild chaotic children in that messy house? Well she has the real meaningful colorful life.”

I know what that chaotic household is like. I used to experience it every summer in Syria, but it was temporary. Beautiful family reunions, that yes, were colorful and meaningful, but when the break ended, I was glad to be home in my quiet haven. Also, why the assumption that there is only one way to live? Or that educated single and/or childfree women (women, specifically, this is never said about men) are bored, dull, lonely, miserable, etc.? Have you actually asked us? Did you read what I said earlier? Hello, writer, editor, poet, author, traveler, nonprofit cofounder, and adventurer over here, pursuing a SECOND Master’s degree and living a whole other world of colorful, joyous, chaos!

But this is what really hurts me, when it’s women—those who should be uplifting us and supporting our empowered decisions to break oppressive cycles—who tear us down because of some clearly deep seated envy they have yet to heal within themselves. I stand by the belief that this is pure jealousy. We are choosing when they chose not to choose. This ex-boss is one of the most successful single moms in my community. She singlehandedly established an empire from the ground up, but was apparently still brainwashed with this backwards rhetoric. These beliefs are so deeply indoctrinated that society is more than happy to push women into abusive, incompatible, or unhealthy marriages, coerce them to reproduce just to ensure they cross marriage and motherhood off their lists. It doesn’t matter if they become widows or a divorcees so long as they got the wifey and motherly roles checked off.

Society is the one labeling us meaningless, boring, and lonely. In relationships, I always ask the men who get angry at me for this choice why they deem the life of a nonexistent (and at this point, imaginary) human more valuable than the life of the real existent human being before them? They can’t answer me. They never can. So I tell them without hesitation, if that imaginary child is more significant in value than I, they never actually were interested in me, Dania. Just the potential of my body and what they expect it to do for their penises and future offspring. Most men are not choosing us for who we are, only what we are. Too vulgar? Not even remotely. The number of women I watched abandoned or cheated on by their husbands because they couldn’t reproduce (or did not produce sons, only daughters) is traumatizing.

 

Myth 3: There is something psychologically or physically wrong with childfree people.


The only “wrong” thing I can point out about childfree/childless people is that we live in a world that doesn’t accept us. In the Fall of 2020, I launched an independent study on a subset of this topic. I have always had this theory about the nuances of postpartum depression and the possibility of its misdiagnosis. Ever since coming to terms with my own childfree decision and feeling so much relief, I began having reoccurring nightmares of being pregnant or giving birth. The emotions I felt in the dream mimicked a sense of suffocation and imprisonment. An “Oh shit, I’m stuck with this eternal responsibility that I never wanted. What do I do? How do I escape?” sensation.

By my early 20s, I started to wonder how many women, who never took the time (or were given the space) to choose motherhood, entered this role and awakened to the realization at birth that this is not what they wanted but had no idea? While drowning in the emotionality of this revelation, they were swept under the rug of postpartum depression and told it would just go away, but it never did because the child didn’t?

My independent study was only an introduction, but I learned that most women who did not have children felt a sense of shame and failure as women and members of society. Anonymous response after anonymous response, I read about the struggles of women coming to terms with childfreeness/childlessness in a world that never made them feel worthy as their own selves. Since childhood, girls are taught only to think of other’s needs and never encouraged to reflect on their own needs. Then we’re taught to look forward to the single life goal: wife-motherhood. That’s it. Achieving personal development, education, success, those are all pastimes to keep us occupied until the husband and children come. To read the painful responses from such highly accomplished and educated respondents to my study affirmed how society was the true failure, not women.


Myth 4: Childfree people hate children and are incapable of being nurturing and loving.


I am told this myth often in my life, both literally and figuratively. Literally, by men and/or their mothers. Figuratively, by relatives, friends, and community. A few years ago, during an annual trip to Syria, I found my cousin’s daughter sitting alone and looking bored at my grandmother’s kitchen table. She was about 6 or 7 at the time and she reminded me a lot of myself. Quiet, reserved, chronically thinking and intuitive, but often misunderstood by this demeanor. The adults always talked about how worried they were for her frequent preference to work or play in isolation and I’d always defend her, knowing exactly where she was coming from. (Y’all, I still prefer my solitude.)

I grabbed a nearby puzzle and walked over to the table, careful to keep my space and not impose upon hers. After pouring out the pieces and slowly organizing them, I noticed her watching me. Jackpot, haha. I nonchalantly asked her, “Do you want to help me with this? It looks kinda hard!” Excitedly she nodded and scooted in closer and began helping. About half an hour later, her mom walks in and exclaims with utter surprise, “Wow, Dania, I’m so impressed you’re putting up with this, considering how much you know, you hate kids.” Taken aback, I asked, “What do you mean? Hate kids? I love them.” And that’s when I realized humanity’s ignorance. We make snap judgments and pairings without exploring the different degrees associated.

Sure, there are probably a few childfree people out there who hate children, but I’m going to let you in on a secret: I know quite a few friends who hate children and have them! Yikes! The truth is many childfree people actually like, love, or feel relatively indifferent about children. No hate. We just don’t want any of our own for a variety of valid reasons. Believe it or not some of my favorite memories are of taking care of my baby brother, teaching third grade, and facilitating a pre-teen youth group for a few years. My entire undergraduate studies focused on the sociology of marriage, family, and child development so I know my way around handling children and adolescents, which is one of the reasons I came to this decision. I am a healthier “mother” when I can give birth to advice, articles, books, community service, babysitting and supporting struggling mothers, advocacy for survivors of rape and domestic violence, initiatives for equality, and so much more.

I genuinely hope this series has been able to not only create a space of accommodation for the childfree folks—especially Arabs and Muslims—who never found their community. But I also hope it serves as an educational launchpad for people with children. An awakening to your role in perpetuating dysfunctional and discriminatory beliefs, as well as the efforts to start changing, beginning with how you treat your peers and how you raise the next generation.

Wednesday, October 5, 2022

Intangible Tangibility: Identifying Abuse (Part I)


 

A frequent question I get asked is how do you identify domestic violence/abuse? This is a really good question but it’s also a tricky one for two reasons. First, it’s twofold when it comes to actual identification—are you trying to identify abusive behaviors in a perpetrator or trying to identify a victim who might need help or support? Second, abuse is still so incredibly normalized that many people are completely oblivious that they are either perpetrating or experiencing it. The handful of times I answered, “What happened?” early after my divorce, I was met with responses like, “But that’s just men,” or “Oh, that’s normal. You let men blow off some steam and then they cool off,” or the worst, “What did you do to anger him?” Quick disclaimer, even if someone screws up in a relationship, it doesn’t give their partner rights to abuse, but let’s get into the identification. In this article, I’ll be discussing how to identify a potential victim of abuse.

Over the years, I’ve noticed that survivors have a developed sense of awareness for abuse—be it a perpetrator or a victim. I know that’s not an answer, but it’s a reminder that we survivors have an untapped resource of diverse information on the matter. Personally, I’ve been able to recognize victims and predict oncoming divorces with ease since my own experience. On my wedding day, a divorced friend of mine came over early in the morning to help me get ready for the ceremony I never wanted in the first place (that’s actually a big identification factor—seeing someone severely alter their behaviors and/or lifestyles in a manner opposing their nature). I obliged to the wedding ceremony—instead of my city hall preference—after weeks and weeks of psychological and verbal abuse from my ex husband and his family.

As my friend zipped up my dress she said, “I know there’s so much pressure with today being the big day, and it could feel impossible, but it’s not too late to change your mind if you don’t want to do this.” After my divorce, I asked her what inspired her to say that. She told me she recognized something in my demeanor similar to hers on her wedding day. Most people claimed we looked so perfect and happy together, but I was reminded that (1) people don’t know me and most were just excited to get their feminist muzzled and (2) people say things like that just to maintain the status quo. I heard these same sentiments repeatedly from everyone around me in my last relationship. At the end of the day, no one knows what’s really going on inside a relationship, but hopefully the following tips help provide some insight, whether you’re trying to identify and support a victim or protect yourself/someone else from an abuser.

My mom often says, a healthy relationship is one that brings out the best in both partners, not the worst. She started saying this during my engagement and I knew that while she was offering sage advice, she was acknowledging a change in me. Not a good one, as would be expected for a victim. I was experiencing chronic anxiety attacks (real physiological episodes), I was constantly emotional and moody, and I developed insomnia that almost a decade later, I still suffer from. Witnessing the onset of these symptoms in someone you know after they enter a relationship is a sign. However, I have to stress that identifying a victim of abuse requires a great deal of sensitivity, compassion, and most importantly, patience. It is not your life and therefore you do not have decision making capacities. I can definitely relate to the frustration this creates, having worked with victims shortly after my divorce, and realizing every victim has their own timeline. We have to respect that, to a certain degree; if you see the potential for severe harm, intervention is a must. Otherwise, it takes time, identifying and supporting a victim.

Some things to pay attention to are moodiness, increased seclusion or isolation or withdrawal (emotional and physical), and severe lifestyle changes. It’s totally normal if your friend is experiencing the euphoric high of a new relationship and getting a little busier than usual with this special someone, but when that friend is doing things completely against their nature, as well as becoming all consumed and way too soon, it’s a major red flag. I really want to emphasize this point because it’s the first indicator for both parties. The romanticism of that “all consuming life altering” love is one of the most poisonous propaganda every industry has fed us. People are finally starting to recognize this as a byproduct of love bombing. With my ex husband, it was impossible not to fall for. It was my first time experiencing it.


We are constantly taught that we must find that one person who “sees” us and values who we are beyond just the looks, and sadly, that's become such an easy act for people to put on. My ex husband played the role so well and proclaimed, repeatedly, this love and wholehearted acceptance, even when my intuition kept feeling otherwise. However, the second time this happened, in my last relationship, I caught it immediately and called it out, eventually ending the relationship. A healthy relationship grows organically. It should not exhibit severe intensity or time consumption. If you start consistently missing deadlines, events, work; if your eating habits and routines drastically change; and if you find that quality time with family and friends suffers, there’s an issue. That’s not romance or love, it's the early signs of a potentially harmful relationship.

I write this and feel disheartened and a little betrayed, realizing how little we are taught about healthy wholesome relationships in life. And this part has nothing to do with religion or culture because my white friends, my Asian friends, my Jewish friends, and my Catholic friends, we are all suffering the same way. Discovering that sometimes, the only way to identify abuse is to sadly experience it, which isn't the most uplifting note to end on, but a realistic one. When I started my advocacy and educational work on domestic violence, I often shared the following disclaimer: I am not promising or expecting to prevent abuse, I am just hoping that I can accomplish the following goals:

(1) Help victims recognize they're being abused and leave sooner

(2) Be an ally and supporter to the best of my ability for survivors

(3) Educate the community, my community specifically, so we can overtime reduce this until we eventually break the cycle or make it far less prevalent

These are the reasons that for eight years, every October, I am here writing, publishing, recording videos, sharing posts, and praying that one day, I won't need to do this anymore.

Friday, September 30, 2022

Intangible Tangibility: Preface

 

 

We were sitting at my once upon a time favorite cafe. I had found it right before the pandemic, on my global hunt for the BEST latte (still have yet to visit Italy where I assume it awaits me). This place, however, had the closet thing: The Churro Oat Milk Latte—better served hot than iced. He criticized this, claiming because he hadn’t seen me at the shop during his recent visits, I can’t call it my favorite cafe. We were meeting because after a year of hitting on me, he decided it was time for him to get married…and that I would be the one he’d recruit to help him find a wife.

I had two choices: impolitely decline (my kindness dam had run dry this year) or somehow find a way to be a bigger person, recognizing how excruciatingly difficult it is for Muslim Americans to find a spouse, and offer my unbeknownst matchmaking services. I quickly learned option number two would be a mistake but a necessary lesson to add to the destructive lessons of 2022.

“Can you just open up your social media and scroll through to pick out some girls for me?” I was taken aback by how easily he requested this but at the same time, I wasn’t. I returned to online dating in March of 2022, after a year of recovering from my last relationship with a supposedly good man. However, four months of sexual assault and harassment later, I deleted all the apps and finally buried the last of my faith in men. [More on these encounters in a bit.]

Taking the road regrettably traveled, I asked coffee shop boy what he was looking for in a wife and he gave me all the cliches. I reiterated to him the importance of being honest with me if he really wanted me to find him the right partner, all while he continued the flirting, which didn’t help the cause (bro was trying to have his cake and eat it too: using me to try and fulfill both his flirty and his matchmaking needs). He pulled out his phone and began showing me hoarded photos of his exes and other women he recently connected with, who sent him photos of themselves without a scarf to seduce him. (This is a whole other level of disturbing that requires another series.) “I want someone who looks like these girls. This is my type, not that first girl you considered for me who isn’t that attractive.” It suddenly became clear that nothing mattered beyond the looks for this guy.

Of course, he was oblivious to the problematic nature of his behavior, from the objectification of women to his stubborn refusal to even try despite his consistent pleas of desperation. As if this wasn’t enough of a degradation, he decided to begin interrogating me about my dating life. Am I seeing anyone? Talking to someone? I brushed him off with a simple, “No,” and it only fueled his toxic masculinity further. “Let me offer you some dating advice,” he began. “It’s no surprise that you are single. You’re quite frankly too much and scare off guys. I suggest you be less of yourself when you meet guys. You know, say less, and don’t be too intense. Also, your social media is a lot. I definitely think you shouldn’t let the guys you’re dating see that stuff. Actually, I say you should make it a private and women’s only account where you can all vent your feminism alone and away from us. Men don’t want to see that crap.”

Stunned, I sat there trying to process the immense level of stupidity. Was this dude seriously insulting, to my face, the woman he was begging to help find him a wife? I should have snapped and unleashed my 33 years of sexist oppression and ripped him to pieces. Instead, I smiled and said, “So is that what happened to you? Spent a year flirting with me inappropriately but was too scared and not man enough to make a move? And so instead you’re here begging me to find you a wife?” Before he could start disagreeing with me (I heard him begin stuttering), I continued. “And thank you for proving precisely why my “feminist crap” is absolutely necessary, and needed on a public platform where males such as yourself, who require severe knowledge, can see it. Repeatedly. Because trust me, bro, I’m not wasting my time preaching to the choir. We women already know this shit. I do what I do to educate and create change.” He went quiet, and I wish I could say he learned something, because even after that day he continued asking me whether or not I found him a date, as well as sliding in my DMs with more immature flirtatious jokes that I ignored until I deleted him. Obviously, I withdrew my willingness to matchmake; there’s no way I’d subject myself (or any of my peers) to that level of disrespect.


But was I really surprised by any of this? Not at all. Even before my divorce men have worked tirelessly at tearing me down. And in the last few years, men have not at all shied away from showing (and telling) me that women are nothing more than objects to them. No matter how many years of therapy they’ve been in, how many times they are talked to about it, or how many women they’ve destroyed, the lesson is not being learned. Online dating only reinforced this truth.

I trusted Muzz (formerly known as MuzMatch), Salaams (formerly known as Minder), and Baklava to, at the very least, connect me with some decent people, even if no relationships came to fruition. What I got instead is the following abridged set of fiascos.

The Lebanese surgeon in New York who kept up his charade until he realized I wouldn’t be sleeping with him, and simply said, “Yeah, I think I’ll pass on hanging out,” when I was already in New York.

The Syrian Italian kid (six years younger than I) who decided, after bonding with me for 15 minutes on our Syrian heritage and his upcoming move to SoCal, he could sexting, me descriptively, and then blocking me after he let it all out.

The Palestinian doctor in Arizona who right off the bat asked me what my sexual fetishes are and if I’m open to a three-way with another man, as well as giving blow jobs while wearing my scarf. because porn made that “so hot!” When I asked why this was his top priority ten seconds after matching with a woman who made it clear on her profile she’s looking for something clean and serious, he replied, “I want to make sure I don’t have a boring sex life.” I told him I wasn’t interested in engaging in this kind of conversation early on, to which he replied, “Okay, can I show you a picture of my dick?”

The Palestinian (whose location and profession are still a mystery) who decided to clarify that he was just looking to make friends. When I said I was not looking for friendships on the app, he insisted on knowing why. I said I know what kind of “friendships” men are seeking today and that’s not what I want. He tried to argue that he wasn’t referring to sex but then began describing where he wants to put his tongue.

The ethnically ambiguous Arab dude who claimed he was a doctor in Dearborn but turned out to be a catfish who sent me a video of his dick getting hard the instant we matched because “my face is such a turn on.” As I was blocking, he sent me a photo of my app profile picture with his ejaculation all over it, thanking me. Post blocking, he tried to find me on multiple social media apps to reconnect.

The Lebanese Syrian vape shop owner (his profile said business owner, which yeah, is true, I guess) who seemed to think calling me “baby” after every sentence was appropriate. “So what you doing now, baby?” “How’s your dinner, baby?” “Can I join you on your summer break, baby?” I asked him to stop because (1) it’s disgusting and (2) my biggest pet peeve is when males get way too comfortable with me too quickly, and so he got angry and said, “So what am I supposed to call you, huh? Dania? Fine, what’s up, DANIA?!?!”

The cream of the rotten crop? The Syrian Palestinian HR associate who talked to me for three weeks, emphasizing religion, spirituality, and Godliness (while judging me for my lifestyle,) who visited me in SoCal and pulled out his penis in a public setting, during Ramadan, to proclaim his love and readiness to marry me.


To be fair, not all of them were dicks (total insulting pun intended). Here are the three who didn’t get sexual:

The Syrian med student who flaked on his three video dates in between heart filled texts and faux cuteness.

The Jordanian divorced dad who “really really loves” my energy but then ghosted.

The Egyptian field engineer who gave me a misogynic lecture on our first (and last) FaceTime. He had started the chats complimenting my “vibe” but then criticized the same vibe once we got on FaceTime and began picking apart my outlook and asked me why I’m not enthusiastic about the dating app. I asked him if he was genuinely interested in understanding the women’s experience, especially as a Muslim and Arab one, or if he was just asking for sheer small talk. He insisted he really wanted to know and I briefly began recounting a bit of what had been done to me and how it left me feeling a little defeated. However, instead of listening and sympathizing, he said, “A word of advice, never ever tell men these things. When you talk about them, it makes you look really bad. And also, no guy wants to hear that his wife was exposed to other penises or sexuality.”

There it was, coffee shop boy’s echo reverberating around me and assuring me that with man it will forever be one step forward and two steps back. Meaning? We’re probably not likely to move forward and it is exhaustingly defeating. Why is feminism—the mere idea that we, women, are f***ing human—still such a problem in 2022? How is educating about human rights, domestic violence awareness, sexual assault, and human decency seen as a threat? Why is an unafraid, educated, and intelligent woman “scary” and intimidating? The answer to these questions is actually a question: Why are men still such insecure beings?

In all my years, I have not yet met one truly genuine male ally who is straight. The only real male allies I have ever come across are my gay friends. Every other guy who bought my book, shared my posts, retweeted my articles, offered me verbal support, or showed up to my events always had an ulterior motive (i.e., seeking a hookup/relationship/sex). Actually, every guy friend I turned to about my experiences this year either laughed or scoffed. Laughed! And you want us to have faith? To be quiet? To censor our normal selves for your easier consumption?

I was sexually assaulted early 2020, shortly after my dad passed away, and I remember his laugh when I confronted him afterwards. I also remember how he threatened me with single hood because of my social media, claiming the feminism is scaring men so I should consider more make up posts, or videos of my cats, or modeling shots that would make me look “cuter and more approachable” (his words).

This month marks eight years since leaving my marriage, meaning eight years of advocacy and outreach, but also eight years of chronic harassment. I needed to (unfortunately) start this year’s Domestic Violence Awareness Series with this disclaimer piece. Everything I laid out in this article happened this year, proving we have not come very far. Women are still unsafe, physically, sexually, and emotionally, and until that changes, until men change, I hope every loud, scary, intimidating women keeps her horror blasting. Because speaking for myself, I have never felt more hopeless and tired than this year, and if you’ve been an avid reader, you know life has been a roller coaster. Nonetheless, I decided I would continue with this series and uphold my annual tradition for the sake of myself and survivors worldwide.