I Don’t

Almost immediately after I started writing my blog, I began receiving emails from women.

Each one shared a version of the same struggle: the weight of a decision they now regretted—marrying the first man who came along or, worse, marrying under the pressure of their families. They believed that marriage would be their ticket to freedom, the key to the life they had always dreamed of. However, somewhere between the vows and reality, they realized the life they envisioned was still locked away, trapped behind a cage built by the very man they had married.

As I read those emails, each woman’s profile painted a similar picture: beautiful, successful, educated, entrepreneurial. Yet, behind those polished Facebook or Instagram pages, there was a longing in their words—a desire for real love, for a partner who truly understood them and saw them as more than just a wife. I couldn’t help but wonder: Why had they settled? Why hadn’t they waited for the love they truly wanted? And more pressing:

What was it about the Muslim/Arab community that made women believe love was something for everyone but us?

A few days after posting this question on my blog, I sat on the couch with my dad, watching the nightly news on Al Jazeera. A commercial came on about a couple on vacation laughing and holding hands. Even though my dad was always disgusted by any public displays of affection, he used it as an opportunity to say:

“Look how happy they are,” he said, turning to me. “Imagine that’s how happy you’ll be when you get married.”

I swallowed the laugh that threatened to bubble up. My dad had no idea I had just been inundated with messages from women who felt anything but happy in their marriages. I didn’t want to disappoint him even more, so I said in my usual calm tone:

“I’m not interested in that.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “What do you mean you don’t want that? What woman doesn’t want marriage?”

“Me, Baba.”

The words hit him like a slap. He stared at me, trying to process what I had just said. In his world, a woman without marriage was unthinkable. He simply couldn’t fathom that a Muslim/Arab woman could exist without dreams of a husband and family. To be honest, I had even started to believe there was no one else like me. But then my blog changed that. After reading all those emails from women stuck in loveless marriages, I began to question everything. Maybe I wasn’t broken after all. Maybe I was onto something. Perhaps being unmarried and childless was the best decision I’d ever made.

“That’s because you’re broken,” my dad said, his voice heavy with disappointment. It wasn’t just him—there was an unspoken consensus in the community that I was either broken, secretly dating someone or worse (to them), gay.

Convincing them I wasn’t any of those things wouldn’t have mattered. It never did. I began to understand why so many Muslim/Arab women settled for loveless marriages—to escape the relentless scrutiny and put an end to these exhausting conversations.

Then he asked the one question I wasn’t ready for:

“What’s your plan if you don’t get married?”

I froze. The question was simple, but it felt like a trap—one I had never been allowed to even consider. For my whole life, my future had been mapped out for me, with marriage as the ultimate destination. A woman wasn’t meant to pursue a career or her dreams. But now, suddenly, I was being asked what I wanted to do if I didn’t get married—as if, for a moment, I could entertain a life free from those expectations and roadblocks. The thought was almost impossible. Up until that point, I had never dared to imagine what my life could look like in my own hands. So, I froze, and the only thing I could think to say was:

“Anything besides getting married.”

My dad’s face tightened:

“See? Even you don’t know what you want. That’s why you need a husband to help you build a life.”

His words were like a punch to my gut. The thought that a woman’s life could only be built with the help of a man repulsed me. And yet, as I stewed in my anger, flashes of the emails from women I had received began to surface—women who had sacrificed their identities to build a life with a man, even when love was absent. I didn’t want that.

Yet I wondered, was marriage really the only way for a woman to “build” a life?

I almost wanted to turn twenty-five and expire already, just to prove to everyone I didn’t care about their labels. I didn’t need a man. I could be fine on my own. Even if I didn’t know what it meant to be… on my own.

I was just about to spiral into another cycle of doubt when, on a sunny afternoon at one of my favorite spots by the Adler Planetarium in Chicago, I met a man.

NEXT ENTRY 1/19/2025