Tag: growth

Stood Up

Posted on by Khadeejah in Art, Creative writing, faith, hijab, Inspirational, Journey, Lifestyle, muslim, Struggle

When I first opened the package containing the crimson dress covered in a pattern of white hearts, my immediate thought was “Date Night”. But after quick contemplation, I realized I would not be able to accurately depict something photographically that is beyond my experience. I therefore opted for “Stood Up” as the inspiration for the photo shoot as I have more than enough experience in that arena. (I should also point out that being “ghosted” is the online equivalent of being stood up).

The photo shoot brought a myriad of thoughts, feelings and experiences to the surface. Thoughts, feelings and experiences that I would rather pretend don’t exist, except that I can’t… Because sadly these are still on the highlight reel of the current events of my life.

With the exception of one, I have been ghosted by EVERY SINGLE guy that I have ever been interested in, thought that I was building a connection with, or claimed was interested in me.

Men don’t like me. At least that’s the narrative that has been reinforced over the 3 decades of my life, starting from my father. I try to convince myself otherwise. I tell myself that I am amazing and that I am worthy of being loved and accepted, that I am quit the catch. Well, the guys that I have talked to would beg to differ. With the exception of one, I have been ghosted by EVERY SINGLE guy that I have ever been interested in, thought that I was building a connection with, or claimed was interested in me. I still don’t understand if I’m doing something wrong to send them packing without so much as a goodbye or if they only pretended to interested. After all, these are men who approached me, men who claimed to be interested in me, men who wanted to talk to me and supposedly wanted to contact my father because they were just sooooo seriously interested. The lies and deception yall, lies and deception.

What’s the point of it all, I wonder? My younger, more naive self could never fathom that a guy would pretend to like me because I couldn’t understand what he would have to gain from it. I don’t always understand why “normal” people do what they do. I suppose it’s entirely possible that they became uninterested once they realized I was an actual person and not just a picture (surprise!). But I’d be lying if I told you it didn’t affect me a bit at times. You can tell yourself you’re fabulous all you want but when guy after guy keeps pulling the vanishing act your brain comes up with two options: there is something wrong with you or all men are lousy. Now obviously those are both false statements but sometimes the consciousness likes to oversimplify for the sake of self preservation. Because gosh dangit I AM fabulous [and quirky, kind, intelligent and a whole of positive (and negative) qualities].

Some of you may know I have been on a journey to prove that not only are there great men out there, but there is one out there for me. It’s been a rather tragic journey, I must confess. I’ve been taking a breather from all of the matrimony apps because sis! it was getting dark out there and I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life. Lol. But I haven’t given up hope! No ma’am, I will not be defeated! #ChallengeAccepted #NotTodaySatan

My youtube series Kissing Khadeejah documenting my journey to find love.

I thought it was important for me to talk openly about this because for years, so many people, people who know me, have insinuated that the cause of my singleness is that I am rejecting all who are interested, which to be clear, is not many at all. The fact is, they keep leaving me. I guess I’ve just been too embarrassed to come clean because I thought to made me look bad. I allowed people to believe I was some cold, heartbreaking maneater.

Heartbreaker

I dont know what is about me that has people thinking I go around collecting hearts in jars and leaving scars
They think….
Im a heart breaker
And its crazy to me because I stand before today to declare that never have
A heart
I broken
Rather it is my heart
My soul
My feelings and emotions that have been trampled over
By actions about which go unspoken
Discarded like a toy that is no longer new and there therefor devoid of interest and value
But its my own fault you see
I have this need to control the story
So when men do wrong to me
I do right by them
When people ask what went wrong, I shoulder the responsibilty
And never blame him
Because
I guess
Maybe
Perhaps
At the end of the day
Id rather be seen as cruel
Than look like a fool – FKA

By the way ya’ll, dont forget to check out all the photos from my Stood Up photo shoot here!

Switching Gears.. and Switching Back

Posted on by Khadeejah in Creative writing, faith, hijab, Inspirational, Journey, Lifestyle, muslim, Struggle, Uncategorized

Hello Dear Readers!

I know, I know, it’s been a while since my last post, and if you follow me on Instagram you already know what happened but for those who don’t: I WAS IN A FASHION SHOW. And I wasn’t just modelling for someone, no sirree, I actually showcased MY BRAND, Strange Ones Nation in an actual fashion show here in Michigan. Totally epic and insane right!? The whole shebang went down earlier this month, March 9th to be exact.

My sisters and I after fixing our make up and waiting for the show to start.

Early February I was asked by the host of the fashion show if I’d like to showcase and after momentarily freaking out, letting the self doubt, insecurity and feelings of inadequacy wash over over me, I said yes. I would have been a complete fool to say no. I say it all the time, if you open yourself up to the universe, the universe will open itself to you. Anyhoo, as a result of the showcase, I had to halt everything. I stopped typing my book, stopped “trying to better my health”, I barely posted on social media.

My models before the show

The whole experience was INCREDIBLE! I can still hardly believe it happened. I learned so much about myself, about the behind the scenes of big events, production, branding, networking and then some. The most excruciating part of the whole process was that fact that as someone behind the scenes, directing and styling, I couldn’t be in the audience taking photos of my models during there runway walks. Thankfully, my mother did take a video on her not so up to day cell phone (which I will post the link to below) and the host of the show filmed it, I just don’t have a copy yet.

My models and I

Now that everything is sufficiently settled, I can get back to life. But I have to tell you, once you start saying yes to life, be careful, because once you start riding those highs of stepping outside of your comfort zone, you may never be able to live a normal life again.

Me on the red carpet
My mom’s vid

https://www.facebook.com/FeisTea.Kat/

Follow the link to my Facebook Page for the better vid.

2018, I’m Coming For You

Posted on by Khadeejah in Art, Creative writing, faith, hijab, Inspirational, Journey, Lifestyle, muslim, Struggle, Uncategorized

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Hello Sweeties! It’s been ages! I don’t think I’ve posted anything since last summer. It’s safe to say, I’ve become quite the ghost on the social media scene but I’m slowly sliding back out of the woodwork and becoming an active participant in my own life. Scratch that, I’m becoming a leader in my own life.

The first week of the year was a bust but I’ve committed myself to getting my act together, pushing my fears aside and doing the dang thing. I’ve spent the last week sketching and designing, trying to develop a brand identity for myself. Three years studying Graphic Design is paying off. I was up till after midnight last night tweaking designing and finally got something I’m satisfied with; don’t worry, I know I’m being insanely vague but yall will see soon Insha allah (God willing).

My plan was to do some more designing all day today, unfortunately, that wasn’t possible so instead, I got dressed and vlogged a little shopping to buy some filming and organizational equipment on a budget. I went to Dollar Tree and Burlington. Bought a desk calendar, some pens and pencils, a not pad and a vent and window phone mount for my car. The vent mount is going back because the window mount is a far better option. I need the mount because I’ll likely(sadly) be filming a lot from my car because currently it’s the only private place I have. I know it’s not ideal but if I were to wait until I am able to get my own place again, it would be ages until I could anything started and the time is now. No more excuses.

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Anyway, back to my shopping trip, I wanted to buy another selfie-stick but there was this guy standing next to them the ENTIRE time I was in Dollar Tree. I circled back a few timed hoping he had moved. He didn’t. Now, now, I’m not scared of any man, buut, when I was near him the first time getting my vent mount, he said “I like your make-up” and that was it for me. Compliments in general make me uncomfortable, compliments from guys gross me out. I don’t like imagining random guys find me attractive. I know, I’m weird.

I never got to finish filming my day because my phone ever so politely informed me that it was “dangerously low on space’. Son of a biscuit. Oh well. Next thing I need to invest in is a memory card…. and probably a camcorder instead of using my phone for everything. However, the last thing I need is more stuff. My car is already full enough.. Gosh I need to get my own place again. Pray for me ya’ll.

One last thing! If you haven’t already, check out my spoken word post on youtube!

Is My Black Really Beautiful

Posted on by Khadeejah in Creative writing, faith, hijab, Journey, Lifestyle, Struggle, Uncategorized

Just putting it out there, Asian men, #indian, #Pakistani and #Bengali men make me feel so ugly because I’m a #blackwoman. And I’m talking, next level, Smeagol, the Gollum from Lord of The Rings, type ugly. They make me feel like I am less than, beneath them; like I’m a mangy stray dog they found in the woods that they play with, have a great time, become great friends with but at the end of the day, leave in the woods because dogs aren’t allowed in the house.

Perhaps this may sound harsh, but it’s not meant to be harsh or offensive and I’m not backbitting simply by stating how I FEEL. And no one can deny, or bring up a defense to how I, or anyone else feels about something, so please, don’t try.

I’ve seen some of my fellow #BMW (black muslim women) speak out on this and have seen them verbally attacked and torn apart for voicing their experiences and feelings. You cannot invalidate someone’s truth just because it makes you uncomfortable.

And one of my truths is, as stated above, is that Asian men make me feel #ugly. They make my skin, hair, features, background, ancestors all feel ugly and unacceptable. And before you ask why I singled out Asian men, it’s because that’s where my experience lies. In my very limited experience with, say, #Arab men, they either deny my existence all together or I’m the dog they adore and want to take home but their mamas are allergic.

But here’s the thing, you dont need my experience, ask just about any BMW of a certain age. They nearly all have a story to tell. Let’s face it, black people, black women have been seen as the lowest of low globally since, well, practically forever. And if you don’t believe that, educate yourself.

And I’m not the kind of person who ever cared about or focused on #race, but when you’re constantly rejected because of it, your perspective starts to shift.

You have to start actively trying to accept and love yourself not just as a woman, but as a black woman. Honestly, growing up I never cared one way or the other about my race, it was just part of who I was, like being female or short. I look very, what one would call “ethnically black” and never did I see it as a problem. But as I got older and more exposed to the world and saw and experienced how much negativity is associated to that one aspect of me. I started to understand why women would repeat #MyBlackIsBeautiful, creating a positive association with our race and features to combat the hate we get from all sides. And when I say all sides, I mean all sides. Many of our own men find us distasteful and, wait for it, some of our very own black women think we should try to be “less black”, whatever the heck that means. 😐

In #Islam, racism, colorism, culturalism are all explicitly forbidden, but I suppose people will be people, Muslim or not😕. And for those with blinders on and are in denial that racism is alive and kicking within the Muslim community, it’s story time!

I’ve been on a Muslim marriage website for a couple years now, not and active or paying member but I wanted to get an idea of what’s out there. Well, let me just tell you, those websites, no matter how much they claim they are for practising Muslims are not really made for black #muslimahs. Now my profile clearly states that I’m black. But it’s as if guys are like “she sounds incredible.. but… dang, she why gotta be black though.. maybe she doesn’t look black 🤔 *requests photo*”. 99% Of the asian guys disappear as soon as they see me. (About 85% of the Arab guys disappear). Just the other day a guy messaged me, we coincidentally went to the same university. He was all gungho about getting to know me, said he uploaded some photos and hoped we could do a photo exchange. My… slightly irritated and possibly uncalled for response, “I’m so done with all the racism on this website. I’m a black woman, as my profile clearly states. If that’s a problem for you, stop right now.” He stopped. Oh I have sooo many other stories. A little tip, if a guy’s profile says he’s open to all ethnicities…. don’t believe it.. or maybe it’s not because I’m black at all, maybe I’m just #fugly😂💁

I Was Abused…

Posted on by Khadeejah in Creative writing, Inspirational, Journey, Lifestyle, muslim, Struggle

Upon reflections of my upbringing,
It truly is no surprise
That the first man I ever “loved”
Would have been mentally abusive
In every sense of the term.

– Kat

​I don’t talk about it, not to anyone. I’ve only ever told really told one person about some of the horrors I endured for an entire year of my early twenties. My friends at the time didn’t know half, a fourth even, of the mind games, guilt trips and manipulation that man put me through. I couldn’t tell my sister, I was too ashamed. Truth is, I didn’t have anyone I trusted enough to talk about it to. I felt isolated and alone. And anyone who knows anything about abuse of any kind, the abused almost always feels that way; alone, with no way out. And unless you’ve actually been in that situation, you will never, and mean never, understand what it’s like. You’ll never understand the conditions that led to a victim being a victim, and staying a victim.
I had no confidence, no self esteem, no self worth. I had no idea what a functional relationship was supposed to look like, feel like. I had no clue how a man was supposed to treat a woman, or what it was to be  truly respected or cared for.

In the beginning, he made me feel special, desired, and loved. I fell hard. Things moved at a lightening fast pace, and almost immediately we talking about our future and marriage. But it didn’t take long for things to start going south. He would ignore my messages, disappear for weeks at a time, delete me on social media then pop back up saying he missed me, and that he loved me and was “going though stuff”. And the few times I mustered up enough courage to stand up for myself, he’d twist things around and I’d end up being the one apologizing (he was exceptionally good at that). Apologizing for not being understanding enough. Apologizing for not being a good enough woman, saying I’d do better. I distinctly remember begging him not to leave me. It sounds crazy doesn’t it?

Intellectually, I knew the way he was treating me wasn’t right, but at that point in my life, I’d only ever known a man to make his woman miserable, so in a sense, it was almost normal. I would say things to myself like, “who am I to think I deserve a perfect man? I’m certainly not perfect, so I should take the bad with the good.” Or, “Once we’re married, it’ll all be ok.” I was determined to be dedicated, unwavering in my devotion to him because he had a hard life and I  was going to stand by my man. Be a “ride or die”. It all sounds so foolish now, but I’m older, smarter and more importantly, I now possess the self worth that I simply didn’t have back then. But I can remember exactly what it felt like. Feeling like, if I ever lost him, no other man would possibly ever love me. It was my one chance at a happy ending, I couldn’t let my pride get in the way of that. It’s sad to think that as neglected, rejected and sometimes despised I felt by him, somewhere in my mind, I guess somehow still believed he loved me. Or maybe I didn’t believe he loved me. It’s interesting the way your brain finds a way to justify the unjustifiable so you can sleep at night.

I remember how exhausting it was pretending everything was ok, I couldn’t endure being called silly and ridiculous by friends for not ending things, I couldn’t have my sister being disappointed in me, I needed her support more than anything and if she knew of all the nights I cried myself to sleep because of how badly he treated me, she would never accept him. So the worse it got, the more distant I became to others. If he and I were on one of our many “off again” periods, I didn’t say a word, I knew we’d be back on again and all would be right.
I’m not shy about the fact that I have daddy issues, mommy issues, attachment issues, trust issues, abandonment issues and pair all that with my self image issues, I was literally the perfect storm, so to speak, for abuse.
I was a girl desperate for a man’s love while feeling utterly undeserving of it.

My mother still thinks just carelessly cast him aside like I’m some kind of heart breaker and that we were such a cute couple and that I should have  married him. Truth be told, even after everything, after he revealed that he hooked with some chick because he was lonely, I would have. I would have still married him if he’d let me. Thankfully, through a certain circumstance that I won’t reveal, God saved me from it, and from him, because I was powerless to save myself.

Fast forward to last year(or maybe the year before). I open up my Kik app and that man had actually had the audacity to message me say something along the lines of him knowing he messed up bad (darn skippy) and that I probably wouldn’t give him another chance (preach) but he’d like to still at least be friends (boy bye!). See, he thought I was still in victim mode and would race back to him. Sorry boo, I’m a queen now.