Finding Her

Finding Her

Ever had one of those moments where the world just stops for a minute? Like, the forever hectic and fast forwarded life, the busy streets and the sounds of the never ending honks and car engines, all just...disappeared. Like, for once, everything was peaceful.

And out of sheer awesomeness, it just so happens that, in that moment, your brain Isn't going haywire, and is quiet and peaceful.

I do. Not often enough, but I do. And at those moments, I tend to have a conversation with someone. The conversation being my story and the someone being myself. Except, I don't talk to that someone like I'm talking to myself - It's more like a conversation with someone that I've never met, someone that doesn't exist. But the conversation never went far. The story never got completed.

Mostly because some scars were so well hidden, under so many layers of excuses, lies and the product of hours upon hours trying to convince myself they didn't exist, that the knife never cut deep enough to scar. And peeling it all off would not only physically and mentally hurt, but also hold the unknown threat of what would happen to the now revealed scars. Was i ready to finally face the world if they were visible. Was i ready to finally acknowledge their existence? I don't think I was even ready to ask myself those questions yet, so telling parts of my story remained as something to pass the time, something to fill the silence.

That was until a few weeks ago, when the concept of the Inner-child came up and I was asked, with a few other amazing Individuals, to connect with our Inner-child, to get close to them and ultimately tell them our life story - from the time before we were In the womb, to during, and then afterwards.

Having started something somewhat similar, I thought It was an awesome opportunity for me to finally finish what I once started. To finally take It all the way from A to Z. To finally face my scars.

I was so driven and excited for this exercise, that I asked my mother that same night, about all the details of before, during, and after I was born. I couldn't wait till the day was done so I could finally get right Into It.

As I was about to start, I realized I didn't know how. Then these questions started flooding In, complicating the already difficult process. Questions like, how could I make my past into a person? Say I managed to do that, was I supposed to tell my story or theirs? Sure It was the same story but surely a child wouldn't understand that. Why would they even want to listen?

I didn't even know how to start this. Talking to a person of my Imagination that wasn’t really an actual person is different than talking to an actual kid.

Just the process of imagining and actually holding a conversation with a person that doesn't exist, but was once upon a time an actual person, was difficult for me.

I was so confused. I felt so lost in all of this. I didn't really know how to start, until I was advised to write it down. A dialogue. A written conversation between me and my Inner child.

Writing It down felt like I was getting into both characters, her and I, young Nadia and Now Nadia. Writing as Young Nadia allowed her to truly speak and be heard, while writing as Now Nadia allowed me to surface. It was perfect. It felt like the curtains were finally opening and a little light overcame the confusion.

When I first started writing down the story, it progressed as the timeline of the story passed. I wrote myself into the day my parents found out they were expecting me. I wrote myself into the day I was born. I wrote myself holding little Nadia. I wrote myself when my parents were expecting again. And everything in between.

It was when I wrote myself comforting little Nadia as she went through things no three year old should, that I realized that this wasn't working. I realized that I couldn't just go through life with my Inner child. I couldn't watch her go through things or talk to her afterwards, because If I do that then maybe certain things wouldn't have happened twice and thrice. Maybe certain feelings would’ve never been felt, and certain thoughts would’ve never been thought. That's when I realized how much I needed that as a child. Someone to tell me it was wrong. Someone that would change what would come. Someone to patch up the wounds before they became scars.

I understood that I was going about this the wrong way, but I decided not to delete anything I wrote up to the year and a half mark, because I realized that I was now connected with this child. I was there during her birth, I was there when she came to existence, I was there when the cord was cut, I was there when her family took her home, I was there when she was crying at night, and I was there when she spoke her first words. I had a bond with that child and I didn't want to lose that. So Instead, I kept It, left for a few days and then continued writing using a new tactic.

When I came back, she was ten years old. I thought a lot about the age I wanted her to be when I talk to her. And I settled for 10 because when I think of what she's been through, big and small, and how it all impacted her, I feel like she's old enough. And at the same time, when I think about what's waiting for her, I feel like she’s still so young. But I settled for that age because I wanted to take It one step at a time. One level at a time. One chapter at a time. And then one day, maybe I'll connect with my older Inner child/teen. Talk to her about her own problems that are so different yet so similar.

For now I'm spending some of my nights talking to my 10 year old self. I'd like to think she's subconsciously connected to me, and that's what’s helping her warm up to me. Helping her listen to my story.

That's another thing I decided. I decided I would tell her my story. Not hers (even though, technically, they're the same) and hopefully she'll be able to relate and that'll help her understand a bit more. She's observant. Maybe she'll figure it out herself one day.

I had noticed and learned a lot of things during this ongoing exercise. One of which being, the overwhelming sense of hope that came over me; seeing where I was, and where I am.

Just remembering and writing down how I felt at certain times, I saw how far I've come since. How I handled things and how profoundly strong willed and awesome I was. All of that gave me hope for a different future, hopefully a better one. A future where i don't just face my scars, but rather, I wear them as a badge of strength - my strength.

I know how hard it is to see the rainbow when you're In the middle of the storm. But after starting these conversations, I can now confidently say that there really is a rainbow. Just hold on. Hold on and fight. Until It becomes another chapter In a story worth writing. Because one day these scars will mean one of many things, you survived the battle.

Everything wrong with Yasir Qadhi’s, “Like a Garment”Course on halal intimacy and sex in islam.

Everything wrong with Yasir Qadhi’s, “Like a Garment”Course on halal intimacy and sex in islam.

Loving Blackness

Loving Blackness