After my last therapy session, I came to the realisation that my mother is the only reason I’m still clinging to my traditional presentation of the Muslim girl.
It was actually quite a surprise to realise that I didn’t care if others would condemn me or anything. I mean, all the other people in my life that I care about actually already know about my real self. Which, by the way, is amazing, if you think about it. How far I’ve come from hiding my entire self, to slowly revealing it to each one of them as I slowly gained confidence, to realising that my friends are actually gems who accepted me, whoever I was.
I didn’t care about people talking bad about me or anything professionally. I’m prepared for it. I mean, given our Malaysian mak cik bawang culture, people might gossip about me for a few days or even a few years longer if I started being hijab-free professionally, but I thought about it and I couldn’t actually get into any legal trouble and so yeah let them talk shit about me, I don’t care. I’m pretty sure I can take it.
So the only block is my mother.
And previously I thought it’s because everything is tied up to religion etc. etc. when it comes to my mother’s identity and core of her coping mechanisms – I couldn’t do that to her, I couldn’t shatter her. But more and more I am learning that she is she, and I am me. And as her daughter, I am not responsible for her emotion and identity. She has to be accountable for her own self.
But you know what, even with that understanding, I’m still stuck where I was. I was unable to take any steps to become honest with my mother.
And then, for about 3 weeks now, I have been obsessed with Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi. Like, unaccountably obsessed with it. Like, one day I just felt like I wanted to watch that film so I put it on. And then it finished its run and I let the TV play it again. On loop. Now I just have it in the background still on loop. Even as I’m typing this.
Isn’t it amazing how perceptive our subconscious is?
I suddenly realised that I was terrified that my mother would be unable to accept me for who I really am. Looking at the situation logically, if I were to come out to my mother, her reaction would be one of shock and dismay, and then she would start worrying that I would go to hell, and she’d do everything in her power to change me.
I have transcended worrying about shattering my mother’s identity by coming out. Previously, I was never in the consideration if I thought about coming clean. What coming clean meant to me was completely eclipsed by my worry about what would happen to her. But now? I don’t know if I’m angry or merely sad that I think my mother would not have it in her to genuinely care about me. Like, she cares, I know, but her care and her love for me could only be defined by her perception of the world, and because what I think and what I feel and what I want are not in alignment with her views, they would all be buried under her version of the truth.
At the heart of it, I’m just a little girl who is scared that my mother wouldn’t love me if she saw the real me. I understand that she would be doing it with her best intention and kindness, but the best intention and kindness still amount to a rejection of my real self and an attempt to change me.
Where do I go from here? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. In therapy it says that if you need something, you can give it to yourself if others are unable to meet your needs. Do I have to become my own mother now? How do I become my own mother?
OtakMonyet 