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.

Choosing Children - Part III

The OG Trio

 

When I published the first part of this series, someone asked me why I chose to write it now. I didn’t have any other answers except that it is long overdue and I know no other Muslim and/or Arab openly talking about it. It should go without saying (but unfortunately I know I have to say it again), this series is not at all intended to shame having children. Rather, it is to shed light on the fact that having children should finally be recognized and taught as a choice. I don’t know how that is not Parenting 101, but let’s not get redundant. Part I and Part II already covered this fact. However, let me quickly reiterate some religious points: The concepts of reflection, thought, and contemplation are repeated in the Quran more than 200 times, meaning every single thing we do in this life as Muslims requires thorough knowledge and awareness. An intentional mindfulness to our life choices, including having children.

Sometime in late June, months after I intended on finishing this series, amidst final exams and coming to the conclusion that online dating is most certainly a concoction of Satan, I woke up from the strangest dream of my life. The instant I opened my eyes, I knew this was one of two reasons God had me delay the finale of this series.

My mom, brother, and I were sitting on the couch, and I get a notification that my dad left me a voice message. I play it aloud for the three of us, who had been waiting for him to get home, and it sounds like he’s clearly driving. He tells us that gas prices are too high for him to drive home tonight from his business trip so he’s staying at a local motel (counterintuitive and totally not what my dad would actually do lol, but dreams are weird). Then he says to my mom, as if knowing his message would be on speaker, “Tell Dania that her test results came back and her body is ready for reproduction, but her window of opportunity is closing. So if she wants them, she needs to start now, but of course, it’s totally up to her whether she wants to have any or not.” 

In real life, my gynecologist found an abnormal growth in my uterus and I was scheduled for a procedure at the end of June to have it removed. If ever any woman is on the fence about having children, this procedure will traumatize you against it. The pain was so excruciating my tears streamed without my knowledge. This is saying a lot considering my tolerance of pain is HIGH. I wasn’t even crying. The tears just escaped my eyes uncontrollably. Even my doctor (who is genuinely incredible, THANK GOD) deeply empathized with me and periodically checked in to manage my pain level. I knew the anxiety leading up to—and after the procedure as I awaited the results—triggered the dream. After all, my dad was a doctor, and since his passing in 2019, he only shows up in my dreams when I’m dealing with a heavy dilemma. Somehow, he always has the perfect answers, even in the afterlife.

We could spend hours psychoanalyzing the various parts of this dream, but what resonated the most for me was the fact that even when the biological argument came into play (as it often does when people interrogate me), my dad still emphasized that free will is on the table. He reminded me it’s my body, my life, and therefore, my choice. But it wasn’t just the reminder. It was the fact that it was so normal to him for his daughter to be allowed to choose. It was the fact that he built an authentically safe space for me to change my mind (if need be) without being judged or criticized or given an “I told you so.” And while this was a dream, in actuality he always extended these same privileges to me. Privileges I rarely find in the world anymore, and this is another reason I decided to publish this series.

While scrolling through social media, every once in a while I come across a “motivational” quote that isn’t too cliche or nauseating (because let’s face it, pop psychology has become exhaustingly problematic). Last year, I saw one that said something along the lines of: Normalize compassion with those who change their minds because growth is real. Basically, it’s the idea of offering grace when people come full circle in their knowledge or simply change their mind—overcoming ignorance, becoming more educated, surviving trauma and seeing another side to things, etc. As saturated as the world has become with “Be Kind” and “Love is the Answer” mantras, humanity often fails at these things. Why are we so stingy with our compassion and grace to others in this world? Why do we angrily attack anyone who doesn’t see things our way and then relish in unhealthy egotistical pleasure at someone’s shift? Shaming them or rubbing noses in the change? (And then continue having children that we pass on these unspoken behaviors to? Make it make sense.)

The dream left me wondering, what grace and compassion does the world offer someone, specifically a woman, who reconsiders her lifelong choice to remain child free? But I did not have to wonder too long because I remembered the lack of kindness and grace I received when I “finally” got engaged to my ex-husband. The celebratory wishes coming from a place of society’s relief that the feminist they feared was finally muzzled vs. being genuinely happy I supposedly found the one. And then the severe attitude shift following my divorce. (You can catch more on that here in my Domestic Violence Awareness video series.)

But hearing the gentleness in my dad’s voice, assuring me that I was welcome to walk any of the paths that best fit me, was a relief. I realized if (and it’s a HUGE “if”) I ever changed my mind about having children, aside from having my parents’ blessings, I am doing what I know is best for me and that is all that matters. And I hope that the rest of the folks in this world who choose a child free life or are still trying to figure it out, especially those who share my cultural and/or religious backgrounds, can find their way to this liberation.

I share this little aside because interestingly enough for a very brief few weeks this summer, for the first time I found myself almost contemplating it. Life can be really strange—sometimes cruel, very funny, and just a tad bit awkward. Long story short, I unknowingly caught some deep feelings for someone I never expected to fall for. I think what carved the depth of these feelings was the fact that he and I were friends for the longest time, which is not something I experienced in any previous potential relationship. So it built a solid foundation for me to be vulnerable. It also helped to know that the feelings were mutual for a while. However, everyday is apparently opposite day with men, so the moment I started feeling things, his feelings (romantic and platonic) were mysteriously and unexpectedly obliterated. But before he exhibited the shocking twist and disrespect, I had felt a slight “what if” spark about having one baby. And this was, I realized, the second reason God had me delay the finale. I never (and still don’t) believe the notion that when you meet “The One” and fall in love you’ll suddenly crave reproduction because I did fall in love once (like real life-altering-never-forget-this love) and despite crossing oceans and making too many sacrifices for him, I never even had a tickle to be a mom. So it was really weird for me that it suddenly happened with this dude.

I shared this with only three people in my life who I trusted would not overreact or dismiss my lifelong choice to be child free: my mom and two other girlfriends. It’s not that I suddenly contracted baby fever with this guy. Actually I had hoped that if we explored a relationship he would tell me he was entirely open to a child free life. However, I thought if he said he wanted at least one, I’d consider it. But when the rug was pulled from under my stilettos and he completely changed his behavior without an explanation, everything was immediately extinguished. The slight consideration to having a baby. The friendship I loved so much. And my faith in a lot of things.

Before anyone jumps to any conclusion (and I know many *cough* h a t e r s  *cough* surely will), I am not saying I changed my mind. If anything, following the excessive levels of painful disappointment I faced this year, I feel even more committed to a child free life. The lack of grace, compassion, and understanding in this world is draining. We offer women no grace, no compassion, and no empathy to choose what to do with their bodies or their lives—physically, sexually, or professionally. Three different men in the last year told me it wasn’t until now, in their 30s, that they woke up to the realization that women are human and not objects. (Somebody, just end this nightmare for me!)

We misconstrue the understanding of feminism and then demonize and marginalize women when they fight for the right to make their own choices. Case in point is the severe irony that even while writing this, I am anxious about its reception, knowing the number of people who will be utterly devoid of empathy and understanding, but rather malice when reading that I briefly reconsidered being a mom. People who will carry this little piece of information with them, waiting to discredit my choices moving forward. It is so exhausting because I face this in my community and in relationships. This is why I am writing the series. This is why I write and do anything in life. Unfiltered truth based education and awareness to break down this growing meanness we have in society. To eliminate the marginalization and isolation of people who choose to do (or not do) something.

For the longest time, I carried this choice in isolation. I had only ever known one other Arab Muslim woman that chose a child free life. We often exchange stories about the judgment we face, the harassment, the abuse, and the hate, and I think that’s pretty sad. However, since coming forward with Parts I and II of this series, quite a few other women (and some men) from my religious and cultural background messaged me to express gratitude and relief that someone from among our people is speaking up about this and that they no longer feel so alien.

Alienness is a feeling I know all too well and not only because of my child free choice. It started when I was 11 and diagnosed with trichotillomania. I thought the psychiatrist was joking when she said the word but she pulled out the dictionary from the bookshelf behind her and showed me. I cannot explain the immense relief that enveloped me to see that word on paper. As if having it documented means I am not the one “weirdo” on this planet that has something undiagnosable. As soon as I got home, I plugged in the internet cable, waited for that dial up tone, and asked Jeeves to show me all the articles on trichotillomania. (Shout out to the late 90s and early 2000s!) That little 11 year old girl suddenly felt a little less alone, but she still felt compelled to hide the secret until she turned 29. I found an unexpected moment of vulnerability and shared my story on a very public domain and suddenly I was liberated. Feeling shame for something that is not shameful was no longer a weight I wanted to carry.

The same thing happened here and it started when I saw the We Are Childfree feature in The New York Times. It was a photo + interview based spread of women who chose child free lives and it blew my mind! Finally this was coming to light and in such a beautifully powerful illustration. I immediately found their Instagram account and knew I was home. The immense sense of relief, validation, and end of aloneness I felt was immeasurable. At 29, I became the person I had been looking for since the age of 11 when I spoke up about OCD and trichotillomania. And at 32, We Are Childfree became the community I had been seeking since I was 18 and coming to terms that motherhood may not be my future.

From reading (and sharing) stories to exchanging commentary to learning about other helpful resources to finding new friends, I had finally gotten to experience this “village” everyone told us about that helps raise the child but never got to witness. A whole village of child free people who have our backs, provide a judgment free space, and are so loving and nurturing. I highlight these last two qualities because they’re the top two qualities I’m accused of lacking when I reveal my child free choice. To be honest, some of the most empathetic and kindest people I know are those who never had children. Why marginalize us instead of welcoming us into your village? Recognizing that we serve other genuinely significant roles in this life aside from parenthood? We become the fun aunts and uncles that your children turn to when sometimes you lose your sight as a parent. Some of us become the avid babysitters when you need some alone time. There’s this really sad misconception that everyone who chooses a child free life is a child hater, but um, friends, I freaking love babies! I just don’t feel compelled to have any of my own, but let me tell you, I have been counting down the seconds till my brothers make me an aunt.

My point to all of this is enough with the judgment already, and enough with misusing religion and culture to uphold patriarchal agendas. Not everyone has to become a parent. Not everyone has to get married. And not everyone has to make a choice and stick with it to satisfy your impressions. I find it disturbing yet interesting that these hateful attitudes are strictly coming from those who are parents or soon to be ones. Don’t you think you of all people you should be the ones preaching empathy, love, and understanding? You’re basically supplying the world of its next generation and it’s about time we had a better one. Just saying.