Dear Hana,
All I can say is I am so sorry for not fully understanding
That value given to you by God
Is invaluable
And that all you will ever need
Is with Him.
H. Alasry
The greatest challenge I face today is not what many people would anticipate. It’s not life after college, it’s not the Trump administration, and it’s not my career plans. What it is is a lot more exhausting. It is facing the world while carrying the shards of a confidence that continues to shatter... over and over again.
My days were [and are] cycles of not feeling “enough.” Not feeling smart enough. Not feeling pretty enough. Not feeling articulate enough. Not feeling strong enough. And lately, not feeling impactful enough (a commentary on this point might be in the making). Behind my motions, there seems to always be a voice that mocks me. It is a voice that I actively have to wage war against. A voice that underlies several of my life’s choices.
It is the voice that is the reason why so much of my writing remains unpublished. Because “Hana, nobody cares what you have to say.” It is the reason why speaking engagements have been turned down or accepted hesitantly because “Hana, you’re not bold enough for people to listen to you.” It is the reason why I fear to reach out to friends and times of difficulty because “Hana, you’re just a burden to them. They have their own problems.” It’s why I find myself manipulating my arabic accent to send less “village” and more “city.” It’s the reason I never publicly share my poetry because “Hana, you sound so stupid.”
Did I disappoint you because I wasn’t what you thought of me?
I want people to know I never “faked” confidence. The “zeal” with which I speak, the way I walk, the ease with which I *sometimes* decide what I want is more out of a trust in myself than a confidence in myself. I trust myself because those previous actions are usually rooted in a connection to Allah and of course, I trust Allah. When I speak, I try to speak truth because Allah loves truth. When I decide, it’s because I feel like whatever the decision, Allah will take care of me.
The way in which I weigh confidence is by a measure of how “inadequate” I feel and how much hate speech fills my head. And lately, I’d been feeling very inadequate.
But the poison of self-confidence isn’t ALL bad. It brought forward a special kind of empathy for me all my life: I don’t let hurt people hurt people (something I hope is clearly characteristic of my personality). This is why I don’t sit back when I see someone’s self-esteem being terrorized. This is why I make an effort to elevate the beauty of people, reminding friends and mentees of the qualities they excel in. This is why I make time for whoever asks for it, because sometimes we need that reminder that we are worth 30 minutes of someone just listening.
I realized, if I do this for other people… why can’t I do it for myself? Why can’t I stand up to the Abu Jahl of a voice in my head and let her know she’s not in control here. Well, that’s what I decided to finally do.
I’ve decided to start taking even more deliberate action against that voice. I’ve finally accepted that she is never going away, and that’s just fine. I won’t work to eliminate her. But I will work intentionally spite her. I will write because I *think* I’m a heck of a good writer. I will speak because *sometimes* I have awesome things to say. I will laugh because *usually* I’m hilarious. I will remember my real friends never see me as a burden. I will speak my village arabic and speak it proudly because Yemenis are a force to be reckoned with. I will *at times* share my poetry because it is truth. And despite all of the asterisks, I will work to appreciate the worth that Allah gave me.
H. Al.
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