A Confession
I have a little addiction.
I keep saying I will take a break from Substack. I say that I will take a leave of absence for a month. I drop hints, suggesting that I need some time away from my Sunday posting schedule. As a creative, I know how critical time away from “work” can be generative and important for the mind and spirit.
However, I can’t seem to stay away from Substack.
I love writing little notes, reading, and publishing first drafts on Sundays. This writing thing doesn’t feel like work. I feel a deep sense of accountability to my paid readers. Despite declaring that I will take an extended break, I am not really taking a break. I took a break, two weekends ago, right? Wasn’t it Mother’s Day weekend?
I have no fear of losing subscribers. I don’t care about growing my audience or making a living from my writing. I have no ambition for more at this moment. I am content with what is. Alhamdullilah.
So why can’t I stop writing?
The main block is personal.
To share? To not share?
This has been a perpetual question over the past few months.
I’ve written personal tributes to my father-in-law, my Abbu, and my daughter. I’ve been sharing a little bit more and more about my personal life.
But these personal essays take SO much time, so much of my heart. Hitting publish on “personal stuff” is extremely difficult. Writing summaries, philosophizing, and ruminating out loud about ancient Sufi texts is not so hard. Did I mention I studied philosophy in college? I could write 500 words on the word “river” if it were the assignment, but if I have to think about what is happening in my body, I freeze.
Despite my attempts at keeping a distance, I’ve started to get more personal online.
Yes, I write about love, a divine love, love of the Prophet (S) but I stay an arm’s length from personal vulnerability.
I do not use my full name.
I do not post photos of myself.
I do not identify myself fully.
I feel safe as an anonymous entity with a bitmoji face. Or maybe a painted face from a mural I saw at school. (Do you like my new profile picture?)
Maybe there’s a safety in being “just another Muslim woman writing on the internet.”
I know deep down that the privacy wall I’ve erected does not always work.
We live in a culture of sharing our innermost thoughts, reactions, and aspirations with an audience all the time. Young girls are taught to be their own brand, and the number one aspiration for Generation X is to be an influencer.
Because my background was in public health and philanthropy, where I wrote for a specific purpose, I still try to write with a thesis in mind. I feel odd sharing feelings without citing scholars or writing a newsletter that doesn’t also have some nugget of wisdom from an external, divine source. I’ve struggled to share my identity or personality in a deeply personal way because I am afraid of the consequences of NOT keeping a low profile.
My experience with social media is that it invites the part of our nafs that seeks and wants attention.
And yet…
I would like to seek deeper, more robust conversations about topics that you find interesting: living prophetically, learning about the Prophet (S), ancient Sufi texts, the paradoxes of living faithfully in a faithless world, parenthood; the struggles of American motherhood; pregnancy and infertility; social and gender inequity.
I’m brainstorming more personal topics for Season 3 of this publication. Honestly, Sufi aphorisms are not top of mind next season.
Here’s The Ask
I plan to get more personal in Season 3.
I invite you to join me in going deeper on my journey as a Muslim mother writing her existence and getting more personal with the details. I might default to something cerebral and esoteric out of sheer panic but I want to be more emotionally present for the moment.
Sharing something personal with a small group of paid subscribers doesn’t feel so hard.
It helps that most of my paid subscribers (so far) are people I know in real life. Some have been to my home. I’ve served them Hyderabadi biryani and chicken tikka pizza (I know some great restaurants). I’ve stood in their kitchens chewing ice from their ice machines. When their credit cards don’t go through Stripe, I text them directly to ask for another credit card. The people who have founding memberships are people who know me. College friends. Childhood friends. Spiritual teachers. Mentors. These are the people who have opened up their hearts to my writing. I am eternally grateful for their generosity and support because I wouldn’t be at season 3 without them!
Now, it’s time to lift the curtain a little more, and let more people in. The friends I’ve made on the internet, people who share my interests and want to support the work of a visibly Muslim creative, trying to stay creative through some tumultuous changes.
Maybe that’s you?
I invite you to join me in getting more personal in my writing.
We live in a time when honesty is punishable. We live in a society in which being cruel is profitable and welcome in American society. The egoist, the narcissist, the deluded, the numb, and the dumb are all center stage in our national discourse. I choose none of those pathways. After a lifetime of being told “Never talk about money, politics, religion, or family in public” I am trying to do exactly that next season.
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Memorial Day weekend marks my marriage anniversary.
By God’s grace, we have reached almost* 20 years. I feel like I’ve been married most of my life. I’ve written love notes, made lists, cards, and of course letters. Lots of love letters. I usually find my letters scattered around the house, so I take them and attach them to scrapbooks. On my anniversary I reread the letters I wrote to my spouse. Dorky, right? But letters are precious. Today I reread the letter I wrote from 2013.
So in the spirit of quirky experimentation, which I believe is the ethos of Ugly Shoes Paper Planes, I’ve written “10 Things I Love About You” but it’s not what you think.
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