Am I Scared of my Own Power?

I write to you from a tiny room, nestled on a not-so-quiet street of Brooklyn. I lay down in bed, duvet up my chest, and a hot cup of bone broth in my hand. I take a sip, and another sip, and before I know it, I’ve devoured it all. I hear faint pop musical notes from the Vietnamese restaurant downstairs. It’s day 8, 9, or maybe 10 of contracting covid, who knows? It’s a bit of a blur. I've been home alone for more than a week now. In “isolation." And as one would expect, that has sent my mind wondering. 

What the hell am I doing here? Why do I choose to be so damn far away from home? What type of life am I trying to create for myself? What is all this for? Who is all this for? All valid questions that I’ve pondered long and hard, and whose answers I know live somewhere inside me, but on a day like this, these answers are not as easily accessible. 

Regardless, I’m recovering, slowly, certainly non-linearly. Somehow, after almost 2-years of being covid-free, I thought I was invincible. Clearly a false egotistical thought. Like most of us, I had experienced some level of isolation amidst the pandemic, but after 10 days of sickness and no human contact, I find myself in an utterly existential headspace. A lot has come up for me. It's been a wonderful time to slow down and ponder.

The number one thing I ponder is why the hell I haven't followed through with doing the things I said I wanted to do last year? I longed to dance more, to write more, to express more. I longed to create a space for Middle Eastern women to be unabashedly themselves. Yet, the needle hasn’t moved much in many of these domains.

The lack of manifestation of the things I have dreamt up are really coming from a place of deep fear. I realized I am so damn scared of my own power. I'm scared of even allowing myself to take a peek at what awaits me on the other side of the wall. I know it's magnificent, it's freeing, it's grand. But I'm scared to even go there. I have chained myself to society's perception of me that I’m just drowning in people’s expectations. Unable to find myself present and in awe with the enchantment of life and my ability to build and create within it.

In the spirit of remembering: I am power and so are you. Let 2022 be the year that allows us to dismantle the structures that prohibit us from going there.

Becoming

When Michelle Obama’s “Becoming” hit the best-selling book charts a couple years ago, I felt the pressure to pick up the book, but something didn’t fully register for me then. “Become what?” I thought to myself somewhat ignorantly. The title didn’t seem to lure me in at that point. Interestingly, tables have since turned. I find myself today feeling deeply drawn to the word becoming as I’ve actualized its meaning as a living experience. Before I get on to reading the memoir, I would love to share with you what has changed for me since 2018.

As the last sun of 2020 disappeared beneath the horizon, I gazed into the distance over the Pacific Ocean and felt a huge sense of relief and excruciating pain at the same time. Pain that I could feel deep in my stomach, concurrently occurring with relief that I could feel offloading my shoulders. I felt a sense of mourning and blossoming all at once. Mourning the loss of my inner child and blossoming of me that I am today.

I felt my body wish goodbye to the child who was a product of her past and forcefully create room for the becoming of me today. Me as a thing of the present, irrespective of the past. I found myself shedding all the external layers that no longer serve me and getting closer than ever to the core of who I really am. Finding only infinite love at the core of my existence, absent of anything else. Getting so close, yet recognizing that I’m still so far. Realizing that my journey of becoming has no end goal and no time urgency. A journey that has no specifications. A journey that just is and will be so long as my breathe infuses me with life.

You may be reading this and feel so lost at what I’m trying to say. To bring you closer to how I feel, I’ll share with you a little anecdote.

When I was about to graduate from high school, I was so eager to leave Jordan to continue my education abroad. I was determined to get into a leading educational institutional to foster my curiosity - and if I’m being honest with myself - to prove my worth too. In the process of applying, I had to explain to others who I was. I had already built that narrative years preceding that so it wasn’t a particularly challenging task for me. The narrative more or less went as the following: “Aya is an Arab woman born and raised in Jordan to Palestinian parents. A victim of the patriarchy who fought endlessly to shatter its existence. A smart woman who deserves to be trusted, as her intellect has proven."

That was my narrative for the years to follow. I stuck to the principles of the story so that it didn't change much. I played the cards that I was dealt, not realizing there were many other decks to choose from. I victimized myself and portrayed myself as the heroine of my own novel. I stayed so close to the rules of the societal game so that I didn't burn any bridges, even if I knew that burning was the only way to heal and move on.

The narrative was beautiful and I’m so glad I built it. It served me for a long time. It allowed me to mark my territory. It allowed me to establish myself as an individual. It allowed me to gain the trust of others around me. But that narrative doesn’t serve me anymore. I am no longer just a product of all that’s happened to me. I don’t want to continue to pass down intergenerational trauma. I am no longer just an accumulation of others’ actions. I am as I am today, simply. I exist in this beautiful body and mind that allow me to be without explanations. Without the need for a story or a narrative.

And that to me is what “becoming" means. Getting closer to an inner truth. Feeling lighter. Feeling freer in my hips. Feeling freer on my shoulders. Feeling freer in my connection to the Earth and all of its offerings. Feeling infinite love for myself and others.

And this is just barely the beginning...

Am I Enough?

Am I enough? Do I deserve to be loved? Do I deserve to be free? Do I deserve to exist? Shame, self-loathing, and anxiety creep up on me vehemently. I must outperform, outsmart, try harder. I need to get recognized somehow. I try harder, I stay up at night, I put my head down and go go go. I leave no room for anyone or anything to come my way. “Bulldozer” my teachers name my phenomenon. "Aya needs to learn to relax" the counsellor shares with me and my mom. Her words enter my right ear and leave through the left. I dismiss her comments because "she just doesn’t get it.”

I get the recognition I seek: “Student of the Year.” I proudly run up to stage to pick up my medal and hurry home to share the news with my parents. Confidence and pride fill me up as I break the news to them, they acknowledge and congratulate me, though with not as much excitement as I’d wished for. I get some other award the following year, and another the year after, but it only takes a day to two for my confidence to ware off, and I am quick to identify the next thing to be done, to be accomplished, to be achieved. I quickly become aware of all the areas where I’m lacking again, where I’m not enough, where I need to change. It only takes a few years of this cycle to to break me apart, to burn me out, to cause me to lose faith in myself and those around me.

What was all this for I ask myself years later? My counsellor definitely did not understand what was happening, and frankly, neither did I, nor did my parents. I was on auto-pilot mode trying to survive. Trying to prove that I deserved to be free, that I deserved to be loved, that I deserved to be attended to, that I deserved to express myself in all the ways that I chose. And yet, whatever I did, it was never enough to earn me the same rights, freedoms, and respect the men around me had access to by default. I’m not sure I was even convinced that I fully deserved all the freedoms they had that I didn't. I was 16, I did not know better.

For years, I did not know how to trust myself. I was constantly drowning in wells of distrust of my wisdom and intuition. I felt lost, confused, loveless. I continued defining my self worth by my accomplishments, what others saw in me, how others perceived the work I was doing.

This mentality took me far away from embracing the power of the feminine energy within me, the sultry side of me, the manifestation of nurture, indulgence, softness, and self-care. I became a robot, defining myself by my accomplishments, how much money I earned. I assumed that success meant abolishing all sides of me that were more feminine.

I carried this into the workplace too, where I continuously defined my accomplishments by production. Where I was taught to believe that consistency is what I needed to offer, which led me to ignore the cyclicality of my body, my energy, and my true essence. I shied away from expressing myself authentically because I was “too much” or “too little” for everyone around me. Not only in my own country, but also the country I fled to!

I’m 26 now, and every cell in my body tells me loudly that I am enough, that I deserve to be loved, that I deserve to feel safe, that I deserve to express myself in all the ways that I choose, and that I deserve to be free. That I deserve to be free. That I deserve to be free. You do too. It’s a human right. Don’t let others take it away from you.

Venturing into Unknown Territories

Since the world sort of hit pause over 6 months ago, I've found that I have more time on my hands. Time that has gotten me to realize that my default existence is to consume, consume, consume: food, social media, music, news, TV, reading materials, clothing, beauty products, friendships… 

For whatever reason, actually many that I can identify, including my very structured upbringing in Jordan and my lack of confidence in myself and my creative powers, when I’m not “working”, I find myself consuming. And I intentionally use the words "find myself", because more often than not, my consumption is mindless and I infrequently wake up to it.

Today, I am writing to you because I need you to hold me accountable. Honestly, I have had enough… I’m so done, seriously. I am exhausted, overwhelmed, and overstimulated by our consumer culture: constantly being bombarded with, and usually subconsciously persuaded by, chatter, photos, and advertisements of what to buy, how to look, how to be, how to love, and how to exist. Constantly being trained to surrender my power to everything external. Constantly living through others’ feeds. Constantly being trained to seek instant gratification. Constantly being trained to lose trust in myself, my body, and its infinite wisdom.

This mode of existing is killing my brain cells. It leaves me feeling used, empty, inadequate, and unsatisfied. It leaves me living for the "next thing.” Planning my next move, my next social gathering, my next job, my next set of goals… It leaves me feeling like a robot: programmed, predictable, tamed.

It’s only as of recent that I started realizing that our consumer culture is designed to take advantage of our mindless conscience. It’s designed to take advantage of our feelings of inadequacy and of our susceptibility to addiction. As a consumer, she is predictable, tamable, and submissive. Even Instagram can predict with substantial certainty what she'll do next. 

On the flip side, as a creator, she’s destructive, unpredictable, wild. That’s when she becomes unstoppable. That’s when she ventures into unknown territories, territories that may even challenge those around her. 

I’ve become curious to explore what it means to indulge in creation for the sake of expression. I’ve become curious to explore what it means to creatively and fearlessly express myself, to jerk my hips to the beat of the drums, to whip my hair like no one’s watching, to roar out loud like a volcano erupting.

I’ve become curious to explore what it would feel like to wake up every morning and choose to create. To create day after day. To create something that feels wholeheartedly authentic to me. To create something that awakens me, awakens my senses, and provides pleasure and fulfillment in the mundane tasks.

It’s not easy for me, and I’m sure for many of you too. It’s hard when our society limits how we can express ourselves. I ask how can she explore the avenues of her existence when there’s such black and white boundaries? How can she create freely when she is not allowed to go over “red lines - alkhotoot alhamra”? How can she be empowered to tap into her magic when she is expected to follow one path and one path only? 

I’m slowly discovering there’s ways, regardless of the noise. The paths have never been more illuminated, thanks to Mr. Covid. Thanks for forcing me to stay at home. Thanks for helping me seek reconnection with my long-lost creator essence. I am determined to find her.

Dear Thoughts

Dear Thoughts,

Hesitation and fear creep up on me as I begin to write you down. I drop my pen and attempt to get busy with something else instead. I admit. I've been running away from you. Wow, I guess for a while now... Running as far as I possibly can to avoid meeting you. Most days you force a visit to me anyway. Even when my door is locked shut, somehow, you find your way to tumble through like a backpacker coming home after a long trip.

The thing is, since we've been on lockdown, you got me going haywire. I can't exactly put my finger on it. You have taken me everywhere and nowhere. By the time I think I've figured out where you're taking me, you've already steered the ship in a different direction. 

Your ceaseless fluctuation has brought on a lot of self-doubt. You’ve taken me with you to the darkest of rooms, the highest of mountains, the windiest of roads, and the calmest of oceans. I have struggled to sit with you for long. I have shied away from sharing you with others in fear of feeling invalidated, in fear of feeling alone. You left me feeling alone anyway.

You left me confused, scared, yet also, weirdly curious. Curious to see what destruction you bring along with you. Curious to see what pain you carry. Curious to see what love and wisdom you store in your sack.

Six months into lockdown, I finally begin to feel that the foreign lands you've taken me to don't feel too foreign anymore. I finally decide to trust  you, to surrender to you. I decide to give in to your cries for attention. I want you to know that I hear you. You can take me wherever you choose to go. I will hold space for you. I will love you, all of you.

Yours truly,

Aya

Coach Covid

It never occurred to me that that I would witness a global crisis during my lifetime. And even if I did in some vague capacity, I never thought we would be at threat from an invisible-to-the-naked-eye virus that would take us by storm. As I sit here in my living room in San Francisco, “Day 10" of the quarantine, I wonder what all of this means for me, for my community, and for the world.

Every morning, inevitably, I start my day by checking the latest news. Some days, fear overwhelms me to the point that I manifest the symptoms of the virus or worry about my job, others the virus feels so distant from me, and others I find myself feeling agitated with the changes the virus has presented to my life, the lack of information on where this is going, and the misinformation floating around.

Day after day, the distance of the epidemic is slowly shrinking as I hear of friends and colleagues who have been diagnosed, lost their jobs, or were hit hard economically. Some who have been affected mildly, others who are struggling to survive. I’d be lying to you if I said I am not worried. I worry for myself, I worry for my grandparents, I worry about the economic repercussions, I worry about those who have lost their jobs, I worry about those who rely on a daily income to feed their families, and I also worry about those in war-stricken areas as I begin to empathize more with their struggle around limited mobility driven by fear of losing their lives. 

Yet, strangely, amidst the fear of it all, I feel a sense of unity that I haven't felt before. I am oddly finding myself on the exact same page to my friends and family in the Middle East, Europe, Latin America, etc... All of a sudden, I go to bed sharing the same concerns, fears, struggles, and pains as those around me both near and far. In one way or another, there is something deeply comforting about that. Something so unifying around it. It weirdly creates a sense of community, even if illusive. While the health and economic repercussions for some groups are much more grave than others, in the eyes of the virus and the economy, we are all at risk. 

And amidst collective unity, I also observe internal loneliness and chaos. Chaos generated from being forced to sit with myself. Chaos from the internal dialogue that goes on when I find no distractions. Chaos coming from observing my thoughts, feelings, and self-destructive behaviors. Loneliness that emerges from not socializing. Loneliness that comes up from self-isolation. I begin to doubt how well I know myself. I begin to realize that Covid has an important message for me; to teach me to slow down, to teach me to reflect, to teach me self-care, to teach me to sit with myself, to teach me to heal, to teach me to be, to teach me to surrender. 10 days in, I know I am exactly where I need to be, have no where to go, and no-one to be. 

What are Words?

I’m a woman of many words. I think in words, I dream in words, I express my feelings in words, and I write using words. Words capture my soul. They give me profound ways to share myself with others. They also provide me with infinite journal entries and lists of goals and to-do’s that I spend countless hours drafting and redrafting everyday.

When 2020 kicked in last week, I decided to challenge myself by significantly reducing the number of words I uttered over the course of 7 days. I took it upon me to be more cognizant of the words I used with others, as well as the words that roamed my head day in day out. 

I’ve had very few days in my life when I said little to others, but fewer days when I said little to myself, and even fewer days when I said little to myself and others in the context of meeting them for the first time.

Typically, when I encounter someone for the first time within a social context, or even a fleeting context at times, I have an urge to tell them my story and ask about theirs. I use the same familiar words and repeated self-constructed narratives to buy their empathy and validation, and fish for words from their mouth to find empathy within me to give them the validation and comfort I assume they need. I usually use my eye gaze to aid my communication but rarely ever use my eyes as the only way to communicate. 

Last week, I was blessed with meeting a group of incredible human beings in Nicaragua. I itched to share my story to with them. I craved to win their validation in someway. I itched to share where I was from, what I dream about, how I perceive the world, how I feel, and what’s important to me, only to realize I was limiting the ways in which I was sharing myself with the group. I was limiting the ways in which I was being perceived, not only by others, but also by myself.

Instead, I tried not to. I tried to share fewer words and create more room to listen; to listen to my body, my mind, and all that was around me; matter and living things alike. I was worried it was going to be a really difficult task at first, but I was blessed to find it wasn’t actually that hard. Thanks to the amazingly supportive and empowering people around me and the endless natural beauty of San Juan del Sur, it felt so natural to tap into my primal self, to communicate sans words, to interact without firing up much activity in my prefrontal cortex. 

In the process of using fewer words, something magical happened. I felt for the first time, I loved for the first time, I experienced for the first time. I realized I’d been thinking about experiencing, loving, and struggling this whole time. I’d been so caught up communicating to the world what I was seeing, feeling, and experiencing. Yet suddenly, I had so much more room within me to actually feel and listen. My means of communicating with others was widened infinitely. I found endless space within me to share my love without words, to share my curiosity without asking too many questions, to share my gaze just for the sake of sharing my gaze, and to really feel without the need to share for the sake of validation or love. 

This leaves me wondering what words are and how they came to be. Did we create words to describe feelings we had before language emerged or are our feelings and thoughts today limited by the language we’ve chosen? I even ponder whether words actually aid me or limit me. Either way, I’m grateful for words. Thanks to them, I can share with you how I felt without them. 

Outward to Inward

I’m back. With another realization, of course. Simple, yet so profound.

Not gonna lie, I was totally caught off-guard last week. I had two interactions that lit up something in my head. I was attending a professional development session when I learned there was a life coach coming in to share the wisdom he’s accumulated over the years from working closely with founders and CEOs. In case you don’t already know this, mental health is my second name. I go around urging people to seek therapists and life coaches, to the point that it’s become a joke amongst my family and friends.

To no one’s surprise, I ran after the life coach as soon as he got off the podium. I approached him hurriedly, and even before introducing myself, I quickly asked if he can advise me on how to seek-out a mentor or a life coach. He listened to me attentively as I complained for two minutes about my youthfulness and the lack of idols or mentors in my life. I went on and on about my struggles and how badly I need someone to help me unleash my potential. He looked at me softly and very calmly proceeded to suggest that maybe I was paying too much attention to external guides and had not been paying enough attention to the voices of my body and my mind. I felt a rush of energy flowing through my body as his words echoed in my head. I wanted to ask a million follow-up questions but was interrupted by the announcement of the next segment. I kept my thoughts to myself and carried out my day.

Only moments later, I found myself in the midst of an intense heart-to-heart discussion with a peer. I unveiled my traumas and shared my pains around my feelings of lack of belonging. She attentively listened and showed endless signs of engagement and empathy. As soon as she had a moment to speak, she looked me straight in the eye with a piercing gaze and asked: “Do you consider yourself a confident person?” I felt like I was just hit by a lightning bolt. Nobody had really asked me that question so seriously and boldly before. As someone who had emitted an aura of confidence as a teenager, I realized that the aura that I put up was built on constructed narratives that I wasn’t sure I even believed. Seemingly, others were able to see through these narratives too. It became evident to me in that moment that I had not been trusting my body and mind, therefore was unable to use my internal compass as my primary source of navigation. No wonder I’d been feeling unconfident.

Thanks to my peer and the life coach I encountered, I was reminded of the importance of trusting my inner voices of wisdom. It took an outward source to remind me to go inward. I guess that’s the irony of it all…

A Rebel without a Cause?

Spending the last two months under my parents' roof has unsurprisingly brought back many of my childhood behaviors. Thanks to the commentary of friends, I have been reminded that I am a rebel without a cause. I guess I am a contrarian. A little more than I would like to admit.

As an avid, young, female gymnast, growing up in a patriarchal society that condemned gymnastics as an inappropriate sport was not the most fun. I woke up almost everyday feeling like I had to fight for my freedom. And freedom, to me, meant survival. A life without the personal freedom to make one’s own choices never seemed too attractive to me. I felt a lot of pressure from my community to morph into a certain type of individual who did not feel true to my being. That did not fly for me.

While my contrarian mindset helped me get on my feet at first to fight for the things I wanted, with time and age, I started to notice that making decisions just for the sake of proving others wrong started to consume me more than advance me. I felt it taking over my ability to reason through my decisions. I overlooked the benefits of using the structures that others built before me. I mistook the concept of freedom for building everything on my own from scratch: questioning every norm, tradition, and societal structure. Yet, even as I write, fully aware of the toll that this questioning has taken on me, I still can’t help but question all that’s been handed down to me.

The truth of the matter is that questioning is what I do best, for better or for worse. I even think that my questioning is what has allowed me to achieve what I have set out for myself to do. It has been a filtering mechanism for the things I don’t value. I constantly wonder how many of us live the lives we really want for ourselves versus the lives that others want for us. I also ponder what is it about human nature that makes us so fearful of judgment that we choose to live our lives for others most of the time?

And while finding one’s true essence via questioning is one of the most beautiful, complex, and rewarding challenges of life, I have also learned that going against the tide, just for the sake of going against the tide is not a healthy way to live. When somewhere along the way acts of rebellion made their way into all areas of my life, I came to realize that contradiction for the sake of contradiction was actually the biggest obstacle between me and uncovering my real self. I learned that meaning and fulfillment in life come from a balance of questioning and using the wisdom of those who came before me.

Instead of focusing on proving others wrong, and trying to dim their light in the process, I hope to focus my energy and efforts on shining and refining my own light, so that wherever I go, whoever I interact with, I can inspire someone else to do the same.

Somewhere…

Leaving the US after a long 8-year streak of calling it home with a vengeance, has revved up my thinking engine again. The concept  of “identity” has been brought back to the forefront of my consciousness. "Who am I?” I pose. How do I explain to others, or even myself, who I am? Does my history need to be a part of the story? Do I just talk about the present? Do I need any labels to categorize myself? Will that help me understand myself better? Will that allow others to have more empathy towards me?

If we’ve ever interacted, you probably know I identify as Arab. I have taken my birthplace, my upbringing, and my family roots as an attachment to a Middle Eastern identity. But as I contemplate the concept of identity further, I can’t help but wonder: what does it mean to be Arab or Middle Eastern? More specifically, what does it really mean to be an "Arab Woman?"

The boundaries for what women can and cannot do, be and cannot be have been drawn for centuries. I was introduced to these boundaries from a young age, well before I made a trip to the mall to purchase my first bra. But it is was then and there that I had a choice to make: either to accept those boundaries as the confines of my being or challenge the status quo and embark on a quest to find answers for myself. I chose the latter, with all the blessings and curses that came with it, and left to the US seeking a wider aerial perspective. The melting pot that I stumbled upon, and more overwhelmingly, the feeling of starting over in unfamiliar territory along with the sense of limitless possibilities that created, left me even more confused by the plethora of options I could take on as my identity. With time and with a lot, a lot, of trial and error, I grew closer to understanding my essence, but also, found myself increasingly feeling at a loss for something. This state of confusion left me resorting to my thoughts to help me dissect the complexity of identity resolution, an effort that proved to be futile and even at times, destructive. My narratives became how I defined myself, and that threw me in a state of chaos, where I left behind all the order I once knew, especially as I started to uncover some of the dark sides of being human. 

In this vein, I thought this meant I would find the missing pieces of the puzzle where I left them, in Jordan, my homecountry. Upon returning, even if for short periods of time, I keenly searched for the those pieces, both subconsciously and consciously, and to my satisfaction, I found many of them in various corners. In the thrill of eating fresh Khobz Taboon out of the oven, in the congeniality of my grandma’s Friday gatherings that came with the best home-cooked meals, and in the endless love and comfort my family provided. During this same search, I lost other pieces of the same puzzle, which led to more and more searching, which ultimately led to endless searching. It was somewhere along the way that it occurred to me that my quest to untangle identity was way more complex than I had initially anticipated. I came to reckon that perhaps my personal identity need not be tied to a geography, a thought, a person, or a thing. 

Alas, I am Aya Darwazeh, and I guess my name too is just another label. I have not quite fully figured out who I am, and frankly, may never really fully figure it out. What I do I know is that I exist somewhere, somewhere that knows no boundaries of geography or metaphysical space. Isn’t that the story of every nomad anyway?

Celebrating Community

Today I write to celebrate community, to celebrate unity that exists amongst us, to celebrate the feeling of limitless possibilities when surrounded by people who lift you up, to celebrate gatherings of people from all walks of life sans judgement. Four months ago, I decided to embark on a journey to deepen my yoga practice. After some time of desperation, I sought yoga as a practice of self-care and healing. I was focused on reaping its benefits on a personal scale to complement the work I was doing in therapy and otherwise. Little did I know that months later new realms of connection and intimacy were going to appear in the form of community. A type of love and support showed up in the form of a group setting that I did not know was possible.

My upbringing in Jordan exposed me to the power of community from a young age. I was surrounded by family and friends on a daily basis. People always went out of their way to ensure the wellbeing of community members. Since I relocated to the United States, the concept of community as I knew it slowly started to disappear. I became much more focused on my own individual goals and wellbeing. While this allowed me to explore myself in new powerful ways, and also showed me the importance of taking care of myself first, ultimately, I felt limited in my scope as an individual to live a fulfilling life without a community of supportive and loving members.

In juxtaposing these two environments, I reflect on the concept of community and what it means to me today. Rather than just belonging to a community that I was born into, I now also actively think about setting intention around supportive communities. I am thankful to my community for showing me that it is possible to have a space that celebrates quirkiness, embraces life’s various nuances, and above all, ensures that love rules all.

My Journey with Suffering

Suffering is a formidable word. It primarily comes up in settings to express conditions of war, oppression, imprisonment, and/or pain. In other words, it is mostly expressed as an extrinsically enforced state, rather than an intrinsic one. In doing so, we underestimate the pain experienced by those who suffer from mental noise, whether linked to a mental diagnosis or not.

We do not have to necessarily get into mental disorders to know what mental noise is; it’s a daily occurrence for most of us. If you ever try to meditate or sit still to fully witness the present, you're probably quick to realize the level of difficulty of the task, and ultimately, the futility of that effort. This realization in of itself is so powerful as it alludes to the mental noise and narratives that we create for ourselves on a daily basis. 

Sometimes these narratives are constructive: they allow us to feel like we deserve the best relationships or that we are really good at certain tasks, which then become self-fulfilling prophecies, as we ultimately behave as our minds tell us. But many other times, these narratives can be really destructive. Narratives such as: I’m lazy, I’m fat, I’m ugly, I don’t deserve love, I am not worthy, I am unintelligent, I am unproductive, etc... These narratives become so inherent to our day to day that in some instances, we take them to be our truth for a lifetime. 

In the last year, I met this type of suffering in a way that I never had. Some people around me did not quite understand where it was coming from, and frankly, I am not sure I fully did either. My biggest realization through it all, that has left me so perplexed, is that we really look down upon mental suffering as a society. We try our best to cover our insecurities from those around us and pretend to be “happy" all the time. Happiness is one of an infinite number of emotions. Mathematically, it seems unreasonable that that’s how we’re going to feel at all times.

Suffering is not a negative emotion, but the judgment of it is. When we judge ourselves for experiencing suffering, that’s when it becomes destructive. We have to learn to embrace suffering more as a society. In embarking on a yoga journey, I also learned that there are a plethora of tools out there to limit this suffering, to quiet the mind, and to be more observant to emotion without judgment. I hope for a world where we all acknowledge the suffering we undergo and help each other through it. In the end, suffering is what makes us human. To be afraid to speak of our truths and ask for help seems so counterintuitive to our essence.

Why I Changed my Mind about Changing the World

If you know me, even peripherally, you would know I’m a dreamer. And I don’t just mean the type that over indexes on the trait to land the best jobs and get into top schools (although let’s be honest, I'm 100% victim of that too), but also the type that some might see as fluffy, excessively emotional, and/or impractical. My heart aches at the thought of any type of segregation, I sob profusely at the thought of a world built on the premise of empathy, love, and openness, and I get inspired by even the most cliche of movies that depict a kinder and more loving world.

As a kid attending private school in Jordan, I was bombarded with the phrase "changing the world”, mostly by foreign university representatives who would occasionally visit to share the type of person they were hoping to admit into their selective schools. It did not take me long to realize I was one of those dreamers; I itched at thought of making the world a better place for others. I spent way too many hours of my teenage years in my bathtub dramatically shedding tears as Coldplay’s lyrics “if you try your best but don’t succeed” swiftly landed on my ears. I told myself so many stories of how I was going to change the world for the better and have an impact on others. For a very long time, those images defined my existence, they dominated my thoughts, my words, my actions, and even my sleep.

Over the last couple years something shifted: I fortuitiously met “ugly Aya." I was confronted with my deepest subconscious thoughts around my motivations and insecurities. I came to reckon that perhaps the reason for me viewing the world in this way was a bit more selfish than I had initially thought. Where was this “savior” mindset of mine coming from? Why did I itch to save people and change their ways, behaviors, and actions, when most times they weren’t seeking the change themselves? Did I see myself and my way of living as better than others? Or was I trying to win society’s validation by making a grand impact? Was I hypocritical in being a voice of change when I couldn’t even change my own “bad" traits and habits? 

This series of questions continue to plague my brain today as I work to redefine my existence without the attachment to changing the world, others, or even myself. I learned the hard way that by forcefully trying to change others, I was doing more harm than good, not only to them, but also to myself. I carried the weight of others on my shoulders, depleted my energy, and very quickly, ended up in situations that brought up quite unglamorous sides of my personality. I slowly started realizing that perhaps it was more productive for me to be responsible for managing myself only and to improve myself in the ways that I can, while remembering to shower myself with unconditional love along the way, and hopefully finding the space to shower others with unconditional love too. 

In trying to change others, I had an underlying assumption that I knew something they didn't, and that my way was better than theirs. While I am still working on completely detaching myself from this idea, a form of surrender that has proven to be more challenging than expected, I ultimately concluded that whatever the circumstance, it is more productive for me to try to control my own words, my own actions, my own interactions, and hope that somewhere in the process, I can inspire someone else to do the same. 

It is for these reasons that I changed my mind about changing the world. Instead, I now vow to try to be the best version of myself everyday. While this can be so effing hard at times, I’m positive that if we each tried to bring out the best of ourselves, without trying to change others, or even fight our own nature, we would likely make the world a much more inviting place for all ❤️

The Potency of Unconditional Love - Illi 3ala "Bali"

I stand in front of the group and I’m tasked with listing 50 things I love about myself. I get through the first five and quickly realize I’m stuck and don’t have much else to share. A cloud of silence blankets the room. The facilitator gives me a piercing, almost snarky look and, without uttering a word, makes it abundantly clear I have no exit.

My body feels funny. I feel quite awkward even, a construct I’ve refused to believe in, yet I find it overcoming me with full force. I usually enjoy speaking in front of an audience - but this time is different. I carry an immense weight of self-loathing, with the extra pounds I’ve put on reminding me of that. I lack the confidence to show myself love, let alone share the reasons for it with others. I try to utter more words, but my body is working against me. 

The facilitator asks the group to help me get the momentum going. The group goes around sharing things they love about me, until it’s my dad’s turn. He looks at me with glistening eyes and a wide smile and shares, “I love the way you light up my life.” My eyes instantly well up with tears and a flood of energy electrifies my body. I muster the courage to go on and to my surprise, the words start rolling and I begin to recall all the things I once loved about myself. In that moment, I was face-to-face with unconditional love. The type of love that frees you. The type of love that makes you feel anything is possible. The type of love that empowers, transcends and has no boundaries. 

See, the months leading up to this moment were some of the toughest of my life. A void had been slowly emerging, one I was at a loss on how to fill. Nothing seemed to do it for me: work was unsatisfying; social gatherings were unexciting; and alone time was far from replenishing. Food seemed to be the only outlet through which I could temporarily numb my pain. It provided me with an instant, yet ephemeral, sense of relief. I was being confronted with some of the darkest thoughts I’ve ever encountered and was determined to find a way to deal with them. 

I decided to embark on a retreat to Bali. I expressed my intent to my parents and took off, only to find out hours after I landed that my dad had decided to join. His spontaneity, quite unusual for him, left me intrigued and eager to see how the trip would unfold. I knew the experience was going to be a sentimental one, and as an Arab daughter (as I’m sure many of you can imagine), the extent of our emotional vulnerability was limited to “Keefik Yaba? “Mnee7a”, which translates to “How are you baba?” and “Good”. Side note: I never quite fully understood why in Arabic your dad also calls you “baba”.

Over the course of the week, we wrote a lot, shared a lot and answered a myriad of questions, in attempt to dig deep into our consciousness and understand why we are who we are and why we do what we do. We were seeking to learn how to control our brains rather than be controlled by our thoughts and emotions. The ultimate goal was to learn how to live our most fulfilling lives, leveraging our utmost potential. 

As the onion peeled day after day, and we uncovered more of our truths to ourselves and the group, I was alarmed to see similarities emerging between myself and my dad, some 30-years and 7,417 miles apart, yet almost an identical mirror image of one another: both experiencing the same feelings of “stuck-ness”, yearning for belonging, love, personal achievement and a sense of fulfillment. It became clear that we were both in search for one thing: unconditional love, from the self and others. 

In the Arab world, unconditional love might be a notion few of us have experienced deeply. Family, friends and society can expect a lot from us. It’s easy, perhaps even easier, to live our lives for those around us rather than for ourselves. Most times we might be doing this subconsciously. We may think we are living our lives for ourselves, only to find out years - or even decades - later, that our actions have been reactions rather than calculated decisions. They could be reactions to our emotional needs being unmet from our families or communities or they could be acts of rebellion against societal expectations. But they are actions we hope will bring us security, love and belongingness.

For many years, I was doing everything I could to obtain unconditional love and unwavering admiration from my family and society. I felt like I had to fit a certain mold to receive that love. Going to Harvard was no mistake; it was the result of years of hard work that were aimed at receiving some form of recognition, and ultimately, love. I was relying on external validation to feel self-worth, not really seeking it from within. 

Hearing my dad say those words suddenly filled the void that seemed to have endured for longer than I could remember. His unconditional love for me made me feel like everything in the world was alright. I was a child again, waiting to be soothed by a mother or a father. 

While I felt so fortunate to hear those words from my dad, I recognize that many of us will not always feel such love from a parent. Whether we do or don’t get unconditional love from our parents, we usually also try to seek it from romantic and platonic relationships. The unfortunate reality is that none of those relationships are fully in our control. However, what is in our control is how we love ourselves and meet our personal needs for belonging, security and self-worth. When we meet these needs ourselves, and love ourselves fully, we attract others who do the same. And that’s when we pave the path for unconditional love for the self and others. 

Last week, my dad and I pledged to the group and one another that we will love and accept ourselves unconditionally. We promised to look in the mirror every morning and say: I love and accept myself unconditionally. Today, I invite you to do the same. Look into the mirror, put on a smile for yourself and say: I love and accept myself unconditionally. Maybe after doing so, reach out to a loved one, a daughter, a father, or a brother, and pledge your unconditional love to them too. #ilovemyself

Captured in Pemuteran - Bali, Indonesia.

Quarter of a Century Reflections

I turn 25 today and I am filled with a plethora of emotions. Confused about my future, yet excited for the unknown. Frustrated as I discover certain realities of our world, yet hopeful as I realize I get to create my own. Longing for more creativity and freedom, yet optimistic about experiencing more exchanges of free love with family, friends, lovers, and strangers. Most overwhelmingly, I feel grateful... grateful for everyone in my life, old and new. We often live our lives chasing after the next thing and forget to ask “why.” I am lucky to be surrounded by people who push me to think big and ask more. My questioning this year has reached an all-time high. While challenged and even debilitated at times, I feel at least one step closer to uncovering who I really am. Thank you to each of you who shared yourself with me over the past year. I hope the years ahead bring us more time together, more questioning, and above all, more love, not just between each other, but also within ourselves.