If you have found yourself stumbling on my blog, the first thing I want you to know is that I have no idea what I’m doing. The second thing I want to share with you, in an attempt to tease out my own narrative from others, is MY story.
After almost 3 decades of dissociation, I am exhausted.
It’s not a matter of whether or not I want to be the “bubbly, outgoing” Mrs. Sunshine anymore.
Because trust me, I do
—that “facet” of me is far more…personable. It’s more cheerful & loveable.
The problem is that no matter how hard I try, I simply CANNOT maintain it any longer. I have lost my ability to dissociate.
I have been “too strong” for “too long”.
It’s ironic, though, because I’ve never felt weaker.
My “functionality” if measured by productivity and performance has plummeted severely, and yet–mental health professionals seem to agree that this is the “best” I’ve been doing in decades.
Why?
Because after decades, I have started to FEEL again.
“In my 40 years of practice,” an esteemed psychiatrist stated, “your case is one of the most compelling and confounding cases I’ve encountered.”
“With the intensity and frequency of traumas that you have experienced, I would expect you to be curled up in a mental health facility for life—probably, on the verge of psychosis.”
To them, “these darker components” of me are completely congruent with the horrific experiences I’ve gone through.
The problem, they declare IS the façade.
That ditzy, bubbly, “happy-go-lucky” persona does not accurately reflect the life I’ve lived; It does not reveal the struggles I face or do justice in celebrating the adversities I’ve overcome.
For so long, I viewed my ability to get everything “done” in a tormenting environment as my greatest strength. Being able to “detach myself from my feelings” has been the key to all my successes.
Or so I thought.
When we cut ourselves off from our “feelings”, we aren’t just blocking out the negative emotions; We, inadvertently, also lock our hearts from experiencing joy, intimacy, love, and connection.
It isn’t normal to get beaten brutally at 5 am, letting myself cry for about 5 minutes, and then forcing myself to shut down and “get my sh*t together”.
I remember walking to the library in the early hours of the morning, completely numb–absolutely oblivious to what had just happened. I studied for a few hours—only to arrive at my 8 am organic chemistry class to ace exam after exam.
It’s as nothing even happened. I didn’t feel pain. I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t feel at all.
I remember noticing the odd glances, the hushed whispers, and the puzzled expressions of my classmates, as I pranced into the auditorium covered in bruises.
At the time, I thought there was something wrong with everyone else. Why were they staring at me?
The day of my final exam was no different. I walked in at 8 am; I recall my professor pulling me aside; I remember studying him curiously as he tried not to glare at the blue-black bruises that were now forming around my eye sockets.
He empathically offered to arrange for me to take the exam another day, however, just like every other time, I resisted his offer. Instead, I marched vehemently to my seat to ace the exam.
& I did. I graduated with summa cum laude; what i didn’t realize was that the cost of those “perfect 4.0’s” would eventually catch up to me.
You see…my professor had seen me throughout the year, pulling off these dissociative stunts nearly every week.
& as the semester continued, his growing suspicions became more and more plausible. It is saddening now as I think about it–
— because I know that he “knew” what was going on. His hands were tied because I denied everything.
Every week, it was a new excuse, “oh I ran into a blunt tree branch because I wasn’t looking”, “I accidentally fell and hit my cheekbones against the console”, “Besides, I have anemia and tend to bruise really easily..”
“It’s really nothing” I said over and over again–until I accidentally started believing it.
In retrospect, I think ANYONE with half a brain probably “knew” what was going on at the time.
The problem was that I had shunned that “half of MY brain” deep into ignorant oblivion.
Recently…I’ve realized I’m doing something similar again.
I’ve been utilizing my social media platforms as a way to convince MYSELF that I’m “okay”.
Maybe if I just manufacture a life that FEELS good on Instagram, I might feel “okay”….
However, the truth is… I am not okay.
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced what “okay” actually feels like…
I haven’t been even close to being “okay” for the last 7 months.
I haven’t driven my car in 7 months because I’m terrified.
I haven’t gone to a single modeling shoot in 7 months.
I haven’t applied to a single casting call in 7 months.
I’ve barely left the house for 7 months.
I haven’t hung out with anyone I consider a friend for 7 months.
I’ve finally crashed.
What I HAVE done in the last 7 months is hide behind my phone –
I’ve wasted countless hours laboring over Instagram algorithms, hashtags, and engagement strategies in an attempt to gain external validation from all of you because I loathe myself.
I dove headfirst into trying to portray a life that “looked good” on the surface because, in my heart of hearts, I felt so hopeless, sad, and repulsed by myself.
— but what I’ve noticed is…
…the more adamant I become about my attempts to “fake it”, the more drained, lost, and depleted I feel at the end of the day.
And the vicious cycle of distracting myself from the self-hatred goes on and on.
The truth is…
that through social media, I was being inauthentic with myself…with God…and with all of you.
& it’s ironic because in my heart of hearts, I truly believe that connection and community are byproducts of authenticity and vulnerability—two things I am fatally afraid of actually practicing.
Despite how much I crave connection and belonging, I haven’t allowed myself to be vulnerable or authentic—in a very long time.
In my adolescent days, when I did practice vulnerability–when I did truly let someone in— I nearly lost my life to their abuse.
However, advanced medicine and meticulously trained doctors helped revive & restore my physical body to health.
But who do you go to help you revive your soul? How do you restore someone’s sense of safety in the world after it’s been taken away?
The truth is…I had stopped “living” long before my heart ever gave out.
I don’t know where to begin my story.
I haven’t come up with a strategy to tell it. There is no rhyme or reason.
& for the first time, there are no angles.
I don’t even know if sharing the ENTIRETY of all the horrific details surrounding these incidents is even helpful to me or you.
I don’t want to trigger you or re-traumatize me.
& these blog posts take a lot out of me.
Honestly, I don’t know much at all right now.
What I DO know is—I have to start somewhere.
I have to start— because I want to live.
I want to connect.
I want to move and be moved by people.
I want to feel like I’m worthy enough to take space in this world.
I want to feel like I’m worthy of being Ayrah’s mother.
I know that I eventually want to use my experiences to help elucidate the hope, resilience, and relentless will to survive that lies dormant within each of us.
How curious it is that the words of a stranger online—some that I’ve never even met—help to feel more understood than some of my closest confidantes.
I posted, authentically, for the first time on Instagram a few days ago—
& the responses I received from you all—your messages glowing with genuine care—
I cant disregard or downplay how much they meant to me.
They bring me to tears even now.
How is it that mere acquaintances and even strangers can communicate such a piercingly deep empathy for another?
And what’s more confounding is that they can do it over an impersonal digital platform.
What a puzzling and powerful world we live in…
So…for those of you who are willing to walk alongside me in this journey…
Please know that it is going to be the furthest thing from perfect; In fact, it’s probably going to be a very messy ride.
I wanted to thank YOU
For caring. For existing. For reaching out.
–for helping me get to a point where I am willing to myself be seen.
If there is one thing I want to make abundantly clear through my blog, it’s this—
The EFFECT that even ONE person, like you, can have on another’s life is immeasurable.
Your responses led me to question the unchallenged abusive & demeaning narratives I’ve been repeating to myself for years.
Because…
WHAT IF those people were wrong?
What if I do share myself openly with you—with the world—and I discover that I AM actually worthy of love and belonging?
What if I hush the voices that tell me that I will be rejected, ostracized, and ridiculed again just long enough to be seen for who I am?
Even though, this may be the scariest endeavor of my life—
What if, to my surprise, I find that the world loves me back just as deeply as I love it?
What if all the “sunshine” I’ve tried to sprinkle in the lives of so many is finally returned to me?
What if I’m not a waste of space? Or a burden to this earth?
What if I’m not “damaged goods” that no one will want after being raped?
And the biggest “What if?”
What if there ISN’T anything inherently wrong with me?
Or even better—
What if there is SO much wrong with me…
— & yet still, I am met with acceptance & love despite my numerous imperfections.
Ever walked into the middle of a movie—no clue as to what was happening prior to you seeing it. Why is that guy trying to kill the other one? Who is she, and why is she carrying a baby alligator around? Huh?
Our very existence is like watching a movie from the middle. We woke up in this world one day, with no recollection of where we were before—no recollection of where we came from, how we got here, and why we’re here.
If we’re lucky, we awoke to two “somewhat functioning” adults holding us, and helping us. And perhaps along the way, they decided to bring some other equally confused little aliens into this world. We begin to call these people “family.” Who are they? And why does it seem like they have our whole lives planned before we even can form our first words?
“What am I doing here?” Slowly, we begin to learn how to produce certain sounds that we associate with abstract objects—we call this language. We begin to communicate about things that are happening; in fact, we become so well-versed, that, some of us begin to spin poetic metaphors and literary allusions into masterpieces, which serve to capture the essence of this confounding life. These will be known as our greatest writers.
However, no matter how many literary tactics we employ to mystify and obscure the concept of human existence, we cannot, with full certainty, pinpoint the answer to the ultimate question: why are we here?
Some of us decide to gain some certainty through pulling on teachings of age-old religions, and others simply turn to testaments of our own experiences. Regardless of where we find our illusion of “certainty”, the inherent perplexity of human existence remains glaring.
As a therapist-in-training, I have some awareness of the unfortunate prevalence of addictions in our world. Yes there are the evident ones such as alcoholism, eating disorders, substance abuse, and self-harm. But then, there are also those faint addictions—the addictions that tend to get “normalized”, as they are more accepted by society. These are the addictions to other people, the addiction to things, the addiction to abstract concepts such as success and accomplishment.
I would go as far as saying that, to some degree, every single one of us is an addict. Workaholics, workoutaholics, codependents, hoarders, sex addicts, money addicts. We become addicted to our partners, to our children, to “best friends.” That’s not the end of it. Some of us suffer from addictions that are intangible—we become addicted to attaining fame, beauty, success.
Why is human existence marked with coming in and out of different addictions? I truly and wholeheartedly believe that it is because our very existence has been out of control. All the preceding addictions are mechanisms that we use to deal with the lack of control we had in our very own existence. No entity asked for my permission before I was born. I don’t recall me signing a document instating my birth. Out of the millions of choices, why did that specific sperm have to fertilize that specific egg to create ME?
This brings me to the point of this blog: CHOICES.
They are beautiful burdensome trinkets. Regardless of circumstances, everything comes down to choice. They say “10% of what happens to you is life, and 90% is how you choose to deal with it.” I am in complete agreement with that statement. The world could be crumbling outside, but I will possess have a choice in how to react to it. Every single thing comes down to choice. “Not making a choice” is also a choice.
Let me tell you about an interesting experience. 19 years into my life, I realized that I had not yet made the active choice to live. HUH? I had become a passive bystander in my life—just letting life do whatever it wanted. “The greatest choice you will ever make is the one to live. Most people simply just exist.” And that’s exactly what it came down to.
It wasn’t so much that I “gave up” on life, as “giving up”, in itself, is an active choice. It was more like I had, simply, chosen not to choose when it came to matters of my own being. I didn’t wake up and DECIDE to be happy. Instead, I let the day’s events dictate whether or not I would feel happy. It was as if, i was (and still am (to some extent)), a leaf that was just blowing around in the wind—untethered to a stable source. For 19 years, I remained unanchored to the robust, secure tree of personal choice. Circumstances dictated my mood, my self-worth, my ambition, my energy—my life.
For 19 whole years. I didn’t even once affirm “regardless of what this day brings, I choose to act in a manner that increases inner peace and happiness.”
And then, I met my husband.
Needless to say, he found me scattered at my most vulnerable, confused state of being. In a lot ways, I was undergoing an identity crisis. “Which parts of my life are truly “mine”? I questioned “Which parts are the ones that I actually chose?”
I never did find the answers to those questions. I stopped looking for them. Instead, I made the very first choice I consciously remember making.
I chose him. I chose my husband.
It’s ironic because our marriage was arranged in nature. I remember the day I chose as clearly as if it were yesterday. I remember, sitting in my blue summer dress, on the sidewalk, barefooted. My husband and his family had just left my house, after seeing me for the very first time. I was 19. I was frightened, uncertain, unprepared, shaking.
A picture of me in my blue dress FROM that very day
I liked him. It felt right. I think. Maybe? What if it isn’t right? What if he’s not the one? What if this is going to be the biggest mistake of my life? Oh my goodness, it is isn’t it? I will regret this forever. Don’t do it. Do it. Don’t do it. Do it.
My dashing thoughts were rudely interrupted by the chirping of a bird. Annoyed, I snapped back to glare at him. And there he was–eating some seeds off the middle of the road, completely at ease, unaware of his agitating chirps. In the distance, I heard a car approaching–it came closer. Closer. Closer.
My heart jumped into my throat as I fretted fearfully for the bird’s life. “WHY ISN’T IT FLYING AWAY!? Is it DEAF!?” I winced, as the car came within touching distance of the bird, and boom. There he went. He flew towards the sky. A few moments after the car passed, the bird swiftly returned to the ground and began picking at his seeds, completely at ease–completely unaware that his life had just been in danger.
I exhaled loudly and stared with wonder and perplexity at this seemingly “unintelligent” creature. And, as it’s beady black eyes met mine, a bizarre thought crossed my mind. “What if I’M the unintelligent creature?”
As human beings, we spend all day and night fretting about what could go wrong. We approach every scenario as if it is one of life and death. For some of us, it is. Many of us are truly brought to “life or death” circumstances, in which we’re spared right at the nick of time. However, so few of us ever focus on the fact that we were spared. WE ARE ALIVE. Instead, we stay inside, worried, afraid to ever go back out “on the road” because we are afraid of the next car that will drive by.
I remember laughing at my fearful thoughts regarding the encounter, and I clearly recall looking up to the sun gently setting in the sky. “In this moment, I CHOOSE to be with this man!” I declared assertively, hoping to convince any higher power that may have resided up there.
I wasn’t going to let life happen to me. In that moment, I chose my husband, and in choosing him, I took an oath to doing all that I could do to make it work. I took an oath to not giving up when things got hard, and above all, I took an oath to go into the marriage FEARLESSLY.
This brings us back to the familiar concept of fear. So many of you may question things that I have questioned before Should I even “fight” for my life? Am I worth fighting for? Do I want to take charge of my life? “Um. Maham. Duh. Shut up. OF course.” These may be answers that seem simple and easy on the surface, but how many of us can honestly say “yes” to them in a manner that is as fierce as a racehorse running, full throttle, out of the starting gate?
Oh honey! Courage is not the absence of fear. It is simply the presence of something MORE powerful than fear. So, the horse passionately runs. It does what it would naturally do, no knowledge of what comes next; he courageously gallops out of the gate, no preoccupation with what’s ahead. He does what he loves to do.
My sweet friend, this is about life being ahead of you, and you making the choice to run towards it courageously! Will you do something for me?
I want for you to figure out what you desire—it could be anything, big or small. Figure it out. Verbalize it. Write it out, and declare your intention to the universe, as I did 4 beautiful years ago.
And now, think of the racehorse. There is no going back. You can only move forwards. Just RUN towards what you want fearlessly—no doubts, no preoccupation with what could go wrong, no energy wasted in thinking about “how hard it’s going to be” or “how long its going to take.” Nobody ever accomplished anything by fretting about how “impossible” it was going to be. You’ve done harder things, and the time will pass anyway. Just run. Run towards it, with arms wide open, and a heart brimming with excitement! Get ready to catch your dream, because, the entire universe and it’s cosmos is running back, towards YOU—the world is so excited for you two to finally meet. Your dream is not a separate entity from you. It was yours. It is yours. It has always been yours.
abidmaham 