We are tired and angry that men use our labour to prop themselves up in positions of influence and leadership. We are angry that our voices keep getting silenced. We are angry that our feedback and calls for accountability are continually ignored.

We are tired and angry that men use our labour to prop themselves up in positions of influence and leadership. We are angry that our voices keep getting silenced. We are angry that our feedback and calls for accountability are continually ignored.
For what it’s worth, it’s important to discuss the sex scenes in ‘Bridgerton’ and analyse whether or not they are a representation of what good sex should look like. In this writer’s humble opinion, ‘Bridgerton’ sex is terrible and should never be a model or a “how-to” manual for sex. This is especially in relation to female orgasm because as women, we deserve better. Bad sex scenes are unfortunately common in a lot of TV shows and ‘Bridgerton’ is not an exception.
Belonging at the margins of society without any facilitation or channel, more visibly Muslim women are finding themselves at the receiving end of the growing Islamophobia and the perils of it. They feel unsafe both at the hands of the liberal who finds it a responsibility to rationalize them with modernity and to the far right-wing which views them as objects of fascination to be subjugated if they ever raise their voices.
I didn’t have a name for what I was going through. My trauma vocabulary didn’t include domestic violence, spiritual abuse, victim blaming, or power and control. But it sure was full of self-loathing and blaming, helplessness, and hopelessness. I had internalized every woman-hating khutba (sermon) that echoed outside of my apartment once a day, if not more, at the nearby mosques.
You cannot receive healing from the very person who has oppressed you. You cannot sit there and pray without “tying your camel”. You know you’ve waited long enough, you know he’s never going to change. You know if you keep staying, you will lose every single bit of yourself.
He had a spreadsheet with all the family’s bank details and passwords and would enter our online accounts to check our banking activities. When eventually I could no longer tolerate living with my father. I left. He thereafter used my bank activity to trace me and followed me in the streets.
The issue is that those who are afraid of losing hold of power often resort to using spiritual abuse tactics in order to maintain their grip. That is rather damning and must be confronted by academics and activists in alliance with influential and sympathetic scholars.
Women are afraid that they will be shut out of the community if they talk bout Gender-Based Violence. They will rather speak in hushed tones or not speak at all.
There is a sense of defensiveness, of not wanting to acknowledge the diseases that we have within our community, because to do so feels equivalent to admitting to the non-Muslims that we are not as perfect and pure as we claim, or that we are as bad as they make us out to be.
I fought to stay alive. I fought back so hard, struggled to get my hand on something (I can’t remember what it was for the life of me) and whacked it over his head. He looked shocked and bewildered for a moment, then he got up and left. He has not touched me since that day. It was the first time I fought back.