Unveiled

I was born in Bengardene, a small border city in the south of Tunisia. I grew up in a conservative, close-knit community. Everyone knew each other, had similar interests, traditions, and they even shared ambitions. I grew to become fiercely independent and very curious about what lays beyond our bubble.

I started wearing a headscarf when I was 18 years old. It wasn’t a decision that I made lightly. I felt that I have to be certain before I made the commitment. I was free to make my own choices and decided to embrace not only a new lifestyle but also a different way of thinking. It quickly became a bigger part of my identity that made me feel at peace, helped reduce street harassment and gave me a sense of belonging. It was common in my community for girls to wear hijab, so I never felt judged for my appearance, but rather, for my character and intellect.

I left my home city and went to the capital after finishing high school. I majored in Computer Science and graduated with High Honors from one of the best Universities in the country. I was very social and outspoken and loved reaching out to make connections with new people whenever I could.

And that’s how I met my future husband. After I got married, I began planning to join him in Seattle, Washington. As adventurous as I was, I grew anxious about the new adventure awaiting me. Not only was I going to assume a new life in a new country, but it was the land of opportunities! The perfect place for ambitious people like me.

After moving to the US in 2008, the hijab continued to be a big part of my life. At first, it gave me a sense of authenticity and allowed me to be my true self. I was not afraid of standing out as a Muslim. I heard a lot about America being the land of freedom and diversity, a place where anyone can be themselves and there is nothing they can’t achieve…though it grew to be a challenge every single day.

When I put on the hijab, I had to mentally prepare myself to encounter people in my everyday life. Their initial impression of me would grow heavy on my mind. What were they going to think of me? Quiet? Reserved? Suppressed? Certainly, when they look at me, they would see someone who was strong and empowered, wouldn’t they?

But that was not the case. Like many Muslim women living in non-Muslim countries, I soon discovered the people around me had difficulty accepting my appearance. My scarf was always the first they noticed.

In Islam, the word “hijab” means “veil”, narrowly referring to a screen that shields you from the gazing eyes of strangers, but living in the US, the hijab only brought more of the very attention it essentially meant to detract. The hijab experience was full of judgment, awkwardness, and feelings of being unwelcome. I felt exposed everywhere I went, and, at times, lonely while looking around hoping for someone who could be an ally.

The hijab also caused many safety concerns. Islamophobia is very real, and it does tend to get violent. I will never forget the day I was in the Home Depot parking lot when a white man attacked us while we were in our car, shouting the famous “go back to your country” line while my children cried in the back seat. My husband stopped him, but the incident became so huge that it ended up in court as police were called.

Then there was the pure awkwardness at work and the discomfort I felt while wearing the hijab there. It was a feeling of being different and of exclusivity. Was it in my head or were people avoiding eye contact? While I am grateful to work at one of the best High-tech companies to promote inclusions, that didn’t mean I didn’t have awkward moments like coworkers not returning my greetings, looking the other way as I was approaching, or avoiding eye contact when I tried to start a conversation. I also couldn’t shake the weird feelings I’d get at happy hours and events, so I just stopped going altogether.

The one reason I loved wearing the hijab 15 years ago was the feeling of peace and comfort it brought me, but after experiencing the exact opposite when I moved to the US. I realized that I couldn’t be who I am. I am not shy or oppressed. In fact, I am very confident in myself, have built a career in digital marketing while having no network or guidance, knocked on doors, I’m not afraid of failing, and do not shy away from challenges. I am someone who values uniqueness, curious to know and hear other people’s stories, and I expect to be treated the same. I wanted to be myself and not have to conform.

Based on my experience, people were just not ready to accept me because they had a hard time seeing beyond my appearance. It was a hard to challenge their bias, the story and the narrative that Hollywood and the media had already built for Muslims in general, and the hijab specifically. I realized it would not change, and it was up to me to decide whether it was worth the daily struggle or if it was time to move on. So that’s what I did. I was ready to be less judged for my appearance and to feel the openness I missed very much. I wanted to be out of the dark corner I was pushed into and be seen as me for who I really am and not be generalized based on a piece of cloth.

In the end, I finally decided to take off the hijab. Just as it was not a light decision to start wearing it, it was no less of a light decision to become unveiled. The stress, anxiety, and fear I faced on a daily basis was not worth it. I wanted to focus on what was really important and spend my energy worrying about what mattered, which was my family, well-being, and career. Now, I don’t have to worry as much about what people might think of me. I feel my family and I are safer, and I started having deeper conversations with neighbors, teammates, and coworkers. They told me they felt that I was not approachable to them before.

In our society, we still rush to conclusions and are repeatedly inconsistent in our judgments. We preach for positive change but are often unwilling and uncomfortable to do the work to bring about said change. Unfortunately, I don’t think that will ever go away. We talk a lot about diversity and inclusion, yet many non-Muslims have long associated this religious head covering with oppression and sexism, something that clearly demonstrates they are not ready to accept what they spend so much energy talking about. Society pushes you to believe it’s important to blend in, conform to standards, and forget about being truly you.

But even through the daily struggle I went through, I am extraordinarily thankful for the friends and family I have who stood by me with openness and appreciation. Just because clothing is the most visible cultural aspect in our society, we should not be blind to what stands behind it all, which should be less about ourselves and our ego and more about showing kindness and appreciation to each other.