Honor Aside

Chapter 11

I visited my parents more frequently after my sister died. My dad would put a lot of pressure on me to move back home. I couldn't do it. He still scared me, deep down. I still had to guard myself around him, always. Of course he'd use my need to be closer to family at that time to pressure me to move back, I reasoned. And that's what he did, regardless of his motivations. I've learned many times from my family that intention doesn't matter. My dad didn't mean to make my sister marry an abusive lout. He also never recognized that she'd said no many times, or that she was miserable, or that she was hoping and praying for some good outcome. When the adults screw up that badly over and over again without learning a thing, it's on you to get out. It's a lonely place to be, but over time it can become less so. And I hadn't become comfortable on my own, because I hadn't had a chance to settle in.

Visiting always caused discomfort. I would be anxious taking the train toward their home, and when I got there I'd be happy and relieved to see family, but also very numb and tense. I ate constantly, stuffing myself to distract from the anxiety. When it came time to pack up my things, I was anxious again. It always felt like when I was preparing to run again, deciding what to take and what to leave behind. My mom would sometimes talk about things I'd left behind and what she'd done with them, which made me feel panicked. What if she finally addressed an issue that caused her pain head-on? And she'd never understand my explanation, so we would both be unsatisfied. She did mention at times how sad she'd been after I left, or how much she missed me when I wasn't there. I would freeze deep down, not knowing what to say or feel. 

I felt like I shouldn't exist in that situation. I wasn't supposed to have left and tried to normalize going home and visiting my family. As a young woman, I wasn't supposed to be living away from my parents. If they asked me about what I ate or how I lived (even though they never knew my address), I would find it extremely strange. At my place, the shadow of my childhood and the constant surveillance was hard to shake. My mom would call every couple of days and I'd have to inform and reassure her about what I ate and my daily habits. She wanted me to allay her anxiety, which I could never seem to do. For her, the anxiety existed because I existed, and there was no reducing or changing it. Only I could help her, by making something of my life so she didn't have to worry as much. How exhausting.

At one point, she wanted me to help her divorce my dad. She wanted me to return home, and then we'd figure out a way for me and her to move out by ourselves, and my dad would live alone. She had said so many times before that she wanted to leave, but this was her hurting, wanting a way out after my sister had died. I wanted to help her, but she only wanted me to say that I would live with her separately. I felt numb because it reminded me of the time when I told my sister I'd help her after she told me how much pain she was in. Even then, my mind raced as I thought about the fact that she was finally reaching out for help, but I didn't know what to do. I didn't know back then that I couldn't help my sister get out of that situation unless she understood that she had to operate outside of the system and family culture that was holding us back.

Over time, I realized that having contact with my parents was hurting me. A few months after my sister died, my parents took an extended vacation by themselves for the first time. For the first time, I felt the peace that came with minimal contact. I decided that I couldn't visit again for a while. I contacted them occasionally, but I had to make sure I wasn't going to get pulled into deeper conversations. They clawed at me, trying to draw me in. But it hurt, even though I knew that such mundane conversations shouldn't hurt. It wasn't the topics of those conversations, but all that they brought up. I felt scrutinized and stifled. While I was going through all this, I got laid off from my job. I disliked that job, but it made me money and having money kept me independent. I had been struggling with work anyway, because even though people think you can bounce back from a sibling's death, you can't. Not me, anyway. I grieved a lot over the family I would never have that year, and then I grieved my sister. Grief made my days long and lonely. Having some time off allowed me to grieve and work on healing and developing an identity separate from my family and the trauma they'd caused.

One day, my parents messaged me to tell me that my aunt and uncle were interested in possibly having me marry their son. When cousin marriages are the norm and not the exception in a family, rare diseases can pop up after a few generations. That's what happened to my sister, in my opinion. We had a couple other family members develop diseases that were rare in the general population or rare in our family, and I had explained many times to my parents that they should discourage others in the family from pursuing cousin marriages for their children. But in the end, it was "Cousin marriages have been happening for years, and nothing has happened," and "Western countries just demonize cousin marriage because they're racist," and "God makes everything okay, so don't worry." I responded with one word: "No." They kept badgering me, telling me to think again. I was used to their tactics by this point, so I didn't care. My dad told me that I was going to have a miserable life alone, without family. He said I'd be lonely and live in small, cramped rented rooms forever. I would never make anything of myself, never choose a good partner, never have a house. As always, he urged me to tell him if I had a boyfriend so he could arrange something so I would at least be living respectably. Even when he said he believed me about not having a boyfriend, it was his first line of attack when I didn't do what he wanted. I carefully considered the situation and blocked my parents. They constantly created negative situations and dragged me into them, making me feel responsible for their emotions and responses. I couldn't do it anymore.

A few weeks later, I missed Eid with my family. It was the first one without my sister. My parents left me an angry message, saying they knew where I lived (they didn't) and that I'd taken the "marry your cousin" thing too seriously, because they would obviously never force me to marry someone I didn't want to marry. It made me feel very unsafe, until I realized that it was really just a sad situation. They couldn't continue to emotionally abuse and manipulate me, and that was all the power they'd had. I changed my phone number. The cycles of grief and loneliness continued. However, I could always appreciate how being away from my parents felt freer and more relaxed. My negative beliefs started to change, with lots of effort from me and distance from them. I felt less anxious and depressed. I had to work at it, but learning to let go of the belief that I had to be an active part of my family allowed me to relax into myself. I didn't have to contort myself to fit in, always in fear of being deemed unworthy. As much as you might try, you can't logic yourself out of an emotionally unsafe environment. You can only recognize the danger and plan to get away.