by Umm Zakiyyah
“But they were few and far between,” he said with a sigh.
“Then why did you view it as a blessing for so long?” Aliyah said, finding her voice.
“Because that’s what living in guilt and obligation does to you,” he said. “You don’t allow yourself to interpret anything in your life except through the lens of a blessing. And if you feel even slightly frustrated or angry, you fight it and tell yourself you’re just being ungrateful to Allah.”
“SubhaanAllah,” Aliyah said, realizing she’d done the same for many years. “But isn’t that a good thing?” she asked rhetorically, reflecting on her own soul. “Is there ever a time that that could be bad?”
“Looking at everything through the lens of a blessing?” he asked aloud to answer his own question. “No, that can never be bad. But attributing every feeling of frustration and anger to some deficiency in your relationship with Allah? Yes, that can be very, very bad.”
Aliyah nodded thoughtfully, moved by his insight.
“Pleasing Allah isn’t about ignoring problems that are literally right in front of your face,” he said. “It’s about handling them in a way that respects the boundaries of Allah and the rights of others at the same time.”
Aliyah was silent for some time as she reflected on what he had said. “But why are we so blind to that?” she asked. “Why are we so addicted to our own misery?”
“Because it’s hard to tell the difference between patience through natural hardships and suffering through self-imposed misery.”
Aliyah nodded. “That’s true…”
“And also because so many of us trust the institution of marriage more than we trust Allah.”
Aliyah leaned her head back and narrowed her eyes at him, a confused smirk on her face. “What?”
He returned her smirk with a disbelieving smile. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Aliyah just looked at him, shaking her head slightly. “No…”
“You and Matt,” he said. “Deanna and I.”
She blinked, holding his gaze, waiting for a less cryptic explanation.
“Why did we hold on so long when it was obvious early on that we should let go?” he asked rhetorically.
“Oh…” Aliyah shrugged, laying her head back on his shoulder. “I thought I was doing it for the sake of Allah.”
He forced laughter. “Exactly,” he said. “And even more than that, we believed in the ‘till death do us part’ marriage vow that we heard at every wedding growing up. But it never occurred to us to reflect on why it’s not part of the Islamic ceremony.”
“But Allah hates divorce,” Aliyah said.
“Allah hates sin and disobedience,” Jacob corrected. “And divorce is neither when Allah is the One who made it obvious that it’s the better option for you.”
Aliyah didn’t know what to say to that.
“What most Muslims won’t tell you is that not getting a divorce can also be a sin.”
Aliyah turned her head, the confused expression returning to her face as she looked at Jacob again, grinning in disbelief. “How?”
“See?” Jacob said, laughing out loud, as if her question itself proved his point.
“What?” Aliyah said, laughter and genuine confusion in her voice.
“Think about it,” Jacob said. “What if you’re in a marriage that’s harming your soul?” He raised his eyebrows to underscore his point. “And you’ve tried everything in your human power to make the marriage work, but it’s tearing at your emaan?”
Aliyah nodded, seeing his point, but she maintained eye contact, listening.
“Or you’re in a relationship with someone who’s abusive and you know it’s harming you and your children? And there’s nothing you can do to help the person because they refuse to believe they have a problem?”
Aliyah frowned, her lips forming a thin line. “But it’s not easy for those women to leave,” she said.
“I’m not talking about ease,” Jacob said. “I’m talking about doing what’s necessary given your situation.”
“But maybe they still think they can make it work,” Aliyah offered. “Nobody can say someone’s sinning for staying in a bad relationship.”
Jacob shook his head. “I’m not talking about what someone else says,” he said. “I’m talking about what you know Allah has shown you.”
He gestured a hand in dismissiveness, a look of distaste on his face. “You know how I feel about Muslims poking their noses into other people’s marriages and offering their so-called opinions. You and I suffered from that insanity with all that ‘hot Muslim mistress’ crap.”
Aliyah felt Jacob’s body tense in anger at the memory.
“And bi’idhnillaah,” Jacob said, raising his voice in emphasis, “unless clear sin is happening right in front of my eyes, I’ll never be okay with even having an opinion on someone else’s relationship.” His voice was full of emotion and conviction. “Especially when I have no idea how Allah sees their choices.”
“I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut and ask only one question when I hear about somebody else’s life,” Aliyah herself had reflected to Kalimah. “What is Allah’s view on this?” It was interesting to see the parallels between her and Jacob’s thought processes.
“I’m talking about when you know you’re no longer in let’s-make-it-work mode,” Jacob said. “But you stay because you’re addicted to the marriage story you’ve heard since you were a child. And you’d rather be able to tell the world that you put your marriage first than be able to tell Allah that you put Him first.”
Chapter 29
The Better Person
Apologize to Aliyah. Deanna’s hands were shaking so badly that the script was scraggly and off the lines. Just writing the note itself was so emotionally taxing that she had to push back from her desk and gather herself for a moment before continuing. It was Sunday morning, and her parents had gone to church while Deanna stayed in her room sitting in front of her computer poring over internet articles about starting life as a new person.
If you want to be a better person today than you were yesterday, one article read, then the first thing you need is new vocabulary. After that line, it had been pretty much the same suggestion mentioned in every other article she read: Start with “I’m sorry.”
The first time she’d read this advice was Saturday night in a self-help book her mother had given her. YOU CAN BE A BETTER PERSON! As soon as Deanna had seen the title—in all caps followed by an exclamation mark—her stomach churned. She had to resist throwing the book out right then. But her mother’s face was so full of compassion and motherly concern when she’d given it to her that Deanna wouldn’t be able to look her mother in the eye if she didn’t at least read the first page. Whoever this hyperactive, nauseatingly optimistic author was, she’d apparently touched Kerri’s life in a significant way. Otherwise, Kerri wouldn’t have offered the woman’s worn, dog-eared book to her daughter.
Deanna had made it through the acknowledgments and the introduction before going to bed Saturday night. But she’d reached her limit of patience when she turned to the first chapter and saw “SAY I’M SORRY!” printed in large font at the top. She’d promptly closed the book, wondering how this author could have a single trusted friend if she could write an entire book with titles in all caps—followed by actual exclamation marks—without anyone telling her it was a bad idea, and a very off-putting one at that. The effect of this literary faux pas was like being yelled at through a megaphone while you were standing right in the person’s face.
Deanna would have to reconsider the pros and cons of this self-improvement journey. Besides, what was the point? She wasn’t a bad person, and she’d sacrificed a lot carrying the responsibility of being Aliyah’s only friend. And Aliyah wasn’t an easy burden to bear.
At worst Deanna had occasionally said some things she shouldn’t have, particularly when she’d first met Jacob and he’d expressed interest in Aliyah. But Deanna refused to beat herself up about set
ting Aliyah up with Matt so she couldn’t marry Jacob. Like they said, All is fair in love and war. And that situation was arguably both. Aliyah really wasn’t good enough for Jacob, and why should Jacob have to settle for less just because he had no idea what he’d be getting himself into?
But Sunday morning, Deanna had awakened from a fitful sleep full of aggravation and annoyance. She kicked the duvet from her body, her mind racing as she lay awake infuriated that she couldn’t pinpoint why she was so disturbed. An image of Jacob, face and arms glistening from the water of wudhoo’, had flashed in her mind, and she’d become even more enraged. How dare you divorce me! Deanna thought angrily. Do you think you’re better than me?
But seconds later Deanna was doubled over in bed, writhing in pain as she clutched her stomach. She felt the scream in her throat but clamped her teeth shut so forcefully that her jaws hurt. The noise escaped in growling moans of high-pitched whines that her clenched teeth only slightly suppressed. Not wanting a repeat of the day before, she let go of her stomach and grabbed a pillow and pressed her face against it, muffling the feral cries.
Involuntary screaming. It was the first thing she’d typed into the search engine when she sat in front of her computer after her parents had left for church. Before these two episodes, she’d had no idea that such a thing even existed in human experience. And it had only been out of annoyance at having absolutely no idea what was happening to her—and her refusal to talk to anyone else about it—that she’d keyed in the term at all.
It was both comforting and alarming to see the dozens of internet search results appear on the monitor in front of her. Deanna found herself getting choked up as she read about so many others suffering from the same uncontrollable shouts and feeling utterly helpless to do anything about it.
There wasn’t a plethora of expert information on the topic, but what Deanna did find was in the field of psychiatry. Suppressed anxiety and unresolved trauma were the top reasons that mental health professionals postulated were at the source of the screams. The only physiological cause that Deanna had found any information about was body tension or physical ailments caused or worsened by stress having gone unaddressed for too long. Some patients’ involuntary screaming first began during something as simple as a massage, in which they were forced to relax their bodies to release tension.
So you’re stressed.
The answer was so simple that it was almost offensive. What am I supposed to do with that? she thought bitterly. For all the professional mumbo jumbo these so-called experts had scattered throughout their research articles, they weren’t very helpful at giving any tangible solutions. Tell me something I can do about it! she wanted to shout.
YOU CAN BE A BETTER PERSON!
The book was lying on the desk near the monitor, and the mere sight of it at that moment was infuriating. This time, Deanna didn’t feel obligated to pretend to appreciate the book. She stood, slapping the flat of her palm on it before picking it up and throwing it against the wall in an angry grunt. She was breathing heavily though the book had merely hit the wall and tumbled right back down to her desk. But this time it wedged itself in the wires behind the central processing unit. And that was fine with her. There, it could remain out of sight, out of mind.
Deanna slammed her body back into her chair and with the force of her weight, yanked the chair toward the desk. She then reached forward and pulled the mouse over the mouse pad until the arrow on the screen rushed across the article on involuntary screaming that she still had open. She then closed each window, having had her fill of self-incrimination for the day.
But you can be a better person.
Her heart dropped at the thought, and the heaviness of grief sat in her stomach like acid. She felt sick at the thought of living as a spinster for the rest of her life. How could she face anyone as a divorced woman? How could she face herself? Oh my God, Deanna’s thoughts raced frantically. I’ll be like Aliyah! The thought was so repulsive that she felt weak. Will my business collapse? Will I be invited to do interviews and workshops anymore? No one in their right mind would take relationship advice from someone with a failed marriage.
But it’s not my fault! Deanna’s heart screamed. I was the perfect wife. Jacob just—
Jacob just what?
For one of the first times while fuming about all the wrongs she’d suffered in her marriage, she drew a blank.
What did Jacob do? The question was like a taunt, and Deanna felt herself growing annoyed with the self-reproaching voice in her head.
“Only people without a proper understanding of God and the sacred bond of marriage have serious problems in their lives and marriages,” she’d said in an interview once. Deanna frowned at the memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“But what about divorce?” the interviewer had asked. “Certainly, people of your faith experience this problem like everyone else.”
“Yes, they do,” Deanna had replied, her voice full of confidence and conviction. “But only the Muslims who are ignorant and take marriage lightly. If they were really following their faith and valuing their relationships, they wouldn’t be in that situation.”
The acid bubbled in her stomach, making her sick in mortification. Then how do you explain your predicament, Dr. Deanna Janice Bivens?
Deanna’s nose flared in aggravation. I’m not the one taking marriage lightly! Jacob is!
Wanting the voices in her head to stop, Deanna stood and reached behind the CPU and withdrew the worn book that her mother had given her. She narrowed her eyes at it skeptically, wondering if there was something to this hyper-optimism after all.
YOU CAN BE A BETTER PERSON!
This time the words hit a soft space in her heart, and she felt tears stinging her eyes. Somebody loves you, Deanna, a voice said. Somebody cares about you. Then the author’s perky voice: And we’re rooting for you to win!
With her free hand, Deanna wiped away the tears before they could fall. Book still in hand, she sat down in front of her computer and searched How to be a better person.
Then Deanna read blog after blog and article after article saying essentially the same thing as the perky megaphone author: You need a new mindset, and it starts with taking responsibility for your actions.
Deanna groaned in begrudging acceptance of her predicament. Somehow she would have to learn to say, “I’m sorry.” She wrinkled her nose as the first person who came to mind was Aliyah. The idea of apologizing to anyone, especially Aliyah of all people, was so repulsive that Deanna felt physically sick at the thought. There had to be a more sensible way to become a better person than kowtowing to pathetic people.
But still Deanna pushed herself to write the scraggly note at the top of her self-improvement “to do” list: Apologize to Aliyah. Deanna then slammed the pen down and pushed away from the desk.
Aliyah should be apologizing to me, Deanna thought angrily.
For what?
The voice came from her own mind, so it made no sense for Deanna to get offended. But she did. What kind of question is that? she thought in disdain. What do you mean, “For what?”
But even in her indignant state, she couldn’t think of a single thing that Aliyah should definitely apologize to her for (key word being definitely).
If you think you deserve an apology too, one online author had written, take a step back and honestly ask yourself, “Is there another plausible explanation for what I’m upset about? Am I projecting my own anger, bad thoughts, and insecurity on my friend or partner? Did they do something that was definitely wrong?”
But Deanna wasn’t quite ready to let go of her anger and resentment. Aliyah wasn’t some faultless angel. She should be apologizing too, even if for no more than being a constant irritation in Deanna’s life.
On the first page of your self-improvement journal, write: “I’m sorry, [Insert his or her name here] for [Here, write everything in detail that you are sorry for].” At that, Deanna had closed the browser and decided it was time to p
repare herself some breakfast.
When she came back upstairs an hour later, her stomach full and having thumbed page by page through the latest issue of every magazine that had arrived in the mail in the last couple of days, she begrudgingly returned to her self-improvement tasks.
Deanna mentally wrestled with herself, searching for any way she could skip the apology and jump straight into self-improvement. But either guilt or the article she was reading would remind her that there was no self-improvement without self honesty, and that there was no self honesty without acknowledgement of wrongdoing. So whether she liked it or not, the first painful step was contrition.
After an excruciating back and forth, Deanna had begrudgingly decided to do the apology—but on her own terms. She wasn’t about to write some soppy, longwinded “I’m sorry” friend’s love letter. If Aliyah was going to get an apology in writing during Deanna’s self-improvement, it would be in the form of a “to do” list. That was all Deanna was willing to offer Aliyah right then.
Exactly what Deanna was sorry for, she’d figure out later.
Having had enough of stressing over her life, Deanna stood and walked over to her closet to find something to wear. If she was going to have any hope of becoming a better person—and getting Jacob back—she would have to reach Jacob where it mattered most. And the best place to start was with his parents. She hoped they still had their Sunday brunches after church because she planned to join them today.
***
