For as long as I could remember, my father was always in and out of jail, selling drugs. I remember when I was younger, and he’d be in and out, he would tell my mom to say, “Oh,  tell her I’m in London. Don’t tell her I’ll be in jail”. But you’re not naive to these things even when you’re young. I always knew what the code words were. I could always tell. I always had a feeling that my dad was up to something because there would be lots of money for a good couple of years and then none, and then back again. He’d disappear and come back and disappear and come back.

But along with that, when I was in middle school, my father and I completely lost that emotional connection. It was almost as if when I started maturing, he felt more and more out of reach. He disconnected himself emotionally. He stopped trying, and I stopped too. It’s like we’re both stubborn in that sense. We have that similarity. I would try, and there wouldn’t be a response, so our relationship stayed like that for the longest time. But, he was always around. He still lived around me, like vicinity-wise, but I would never see him.

Drugs have always been the main component of all the issues in my life. I’ve seen my mom addicted to drugs. I’ve had to flush her drugs down the toilet at the age of 8. She dealt with it. She overcame it. I remember that day vividly, she had put me in a cab to take me to her friend’s house and then she tried to jump off the second floor. Thank God, that failed. She was high as fuck. I remember her tripping out saying “I hear sirens. Flush this down,” I was really confused. I didn’t understand what the hell was going on and I just did what she had asked me to do. So it had always been a common thread in my life. Drugs have been the source of fucking everything up around me. My mom managed to overcome that, but with my dad, I guess it was the only source of income that he knew and he just kept going back. It didn’t matter how many times he’d go to jail. What else would he have done after leaving prison? There was nothing else to do for quick money other than to sell, I guess.

My parents got divorced years back because he cheated on my mom repeatedly, but my mom always filled that void with a smile. So, I thought for the longest time growing up that this wasn’t an issue because she was able to provide everything that I thought I needed and the love as well. So, I just never focused on it, and I guess I normalized it. To a point, I was even able to joke about having ‘daddy issues’. He’s just always been absent, like very very absent and I never realized until I went to therapy that that was the pinnacle of everything that I am now.

I think I started therapy like two, three months back, after finding out about my dad being in jail again. I think this time he’s in for life- because of the amount of stuff that was brought into the country. In March, I received the WhatsApp message from my cousin, and it was an Instagram message showing a photo of my dad getting caught. I could see his blurred out face in the picture, and for some reason, that hit me. I guess when I was younger, it was an easier news to bear because I would always hear about it. There was even a point where I got to visit him in jail. But even then, I was such a brat, I concealed the pain of seeing my father in that state with wanting material things, with only asking him for material objects. Only making him see that I wanted financial or material things from him because I didn’t know how to ask for that kind of love from him. He’s cold. I don’t know if providing raw emotion was something he could provide.

It wasn’t until the last time my dad went to jail that I thought to myself, “none of my personal relationships will ever get better.” That’s when I decided to go into therapy, hypnotherapy, to be exact. I felt like I will remain with these traumatic ‘inner child’ memories- if I don’t fucking seek help now. Like, when? If not now, fucking when? I can’t keep thinking adult me is doing just fine when the young Shereen, the 10-year-old Shereen, kept screaming for help and attention — asking to be able to talk to her father. I can’t do that in physical life. I can’t. So I just took myself there, where that inner child lived and had the chance to speak her mind to her father. I didn’t even know what to say, but I was like, “I’ll take myself there and see what happens.”

It took a while and even through all those sessions my conscious mind was so fucking stubborn, that I didn’t even want to speak to my dad there. It wasn’t until the fourth and fifth sessions that I managed to do it. I had to avoid some sessions too. I’d keep getting texts from the hypnotherapist saying “you need to continue the sessions.” I’d respond by saying, “I’m busy with work.” It took all that time to just be able to release and let go finally. I was put in a position where I had nothing else to do for two hours but sit and be placed with my father in the more subconscious form, nothing else. No consciousness, no deterrence. So I just had to sit and talk to him about everything, and it was one of the most difficult things I ever had to do. I didn’t want to accept that all this bothered me. I didn’t want to accept that I am kind of fucking mentally and emotionally fucked up because of that. I had gone through half of my life telling myself I was fine. Portraying to the world that I was actually nothing like my parents when, in reality, I am. And, maybe I am a lot like my father in a sense. It’s really hard to explain because I’ve never really even gotten the perspective from my father. I don’t know what runs through his mind. I don’t know what his personality is like. I don’t know what he’s like. So, I’ll never really know. All I know is that in our conversations in my subconscious mind, at least I got to tell him things.

I told him about things that happened to me and things that I’ve done to myself that I shouldn’t have done and I was completely insecure and I let men walk all over me because I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know what I deserved — being physically abused, being emotionally abused.Being dragged to the floor, being pushed and grabbed, dragged from my hair side to side. Being cheated on over and over and accepting that. Accepting that verbal abuse was actually love. Like, if there was no cursing, if there was no toxicity, then it wasn’t worth my time in a really fucked up way.But also, I didn’t know how to respect myself. I didn’t know what I deserved because I never really got that from my father. So, what was I supposed to really ask for or demand from men? What kind of love was I supposed to give men when I never got any love from any male before. I had hated men for as long as I could remember. Every man that came into my mother’s life, I hated. I never let them tell me what to do.

But in my own personal relationships, I just allowed it. It’s a whirlwind of sorts. I thought that this is the only kind of love I deserved. Why should someone this broken like me, deserve the good kind of love that everyone else seems to know? The kind of love that people that come from a good home have – why should that happen to me? But then towards the end of that, I completely changed that narrative. It turned into, no, I do actually deserve a different kind of love because I have come this far, and it’s a fucking miracle that I even asked for fucking help because I don’t know where it would have led me.

Through therapy, I managed to forgive him without ever hearing that apology. I don’t think I need the apology anymore. What would me blaming a man who kind of had no choice, no help, no support do? How else would he have provided for his children when he comes from a country that already divides you (like sectarian wise) because he’s Shia and he’s Persian? He already kind of has a reputation with what he did and he got kicked out of the army at a young age for selling. That mistake had led to the inability to find normal jobs afterwards. So the system had already shut him out. He wasn’t born into a rich family. No one had ever finished university from his seven other siblings. So, what was a man like him supposed to do? I don’t justify it, they are still mistakes that have created a fucking rollercoaster of events, not just in his life but everyone else’s around him – my life, especially.

I now have to deal with the legal consequences. There’s a block on all my assets simply because I share his name. No one would believe, even if I say that I don’t have contact with my dad, and I literally would only hear from him once a year, once every two or three years with a “hi, how are you?” phone call or something. No one’s going to believe that. That’s literally the only form of contact we’ve had.

Hypnotherapy really made me realize that everything, all of this, the way that I was with men, my relationships and expecting so much more and always victimizing myself and thinking, “Why did I always feel like shit when they didn’t want to spend more time with me”? But they did, and I always just wanted more. The common thread that I would always hear from guys or even friends was, why was I defensive? Why was I never satisfied with the time being given to me? Even in the littlest of arguments, I would opt to walk out or walk away because, in my mind, I feared to watch them walk away from me first. I felt like that had been done to me in the worst way possible already. I didn’t want to face that again. So, I always would walk away first.

People always told me, “You know what? You might need help”. Even through seeing me smile and showing strength by achieving things, they were just like, “it’s just not normal the way you’re functioning, like without having to deal with this”. But I always said, no, no, no, it’s fine. I kept onto the notion that I’m fine, and it’s not something that I need to sit and think about or reflect on to a certain extent, on a deeper level. It’s not something I should sit down and fully focus on because I always had a feeling it would just make me go crazy, dealing with those feelings.

I feel like nothing’s perfect, and I’ve already taken the first step forward with healing that inner child. And it doesn’t take five sessions, realistically, but that was an excellent first start. I don’t think I’d ever really fully heal even after I talked to my dad. The things that I’ve seen and experienced have been way too much. But now at least they’re just done. It’s almost like I’ve started over after that final session and I’m like, okay, let’s not use those as reasons now to say this is what I’ve been through. It’s almost like I wanted to close it entirely and leave it behind. It’s the walls of the young me and I’ve talked to the younger version of me in all ages. I’ve calmed her down like; I’ve told her you’re safe now. You’re in a safe space. This is you. You’ve gotten to speak to this person who hurt you and who’s traumatized you, and you’ve forgiven them. I feel like that’s that. Where I want to be now is where I am now, which is just starting the healing process. It’s good. The first step is over. The tension is gone at least, and now I move on to at least adult Shereen’s woes. Because trust me, inner child Shereen’s woes were so much fucking worse. Do you know what I mean? So much worse.

I am born to two traditional Syrian parents where my mother took on the normal Arab woman model – she dedicated her life to raising her kids, and running all the family errands from A to Z at the opportunity cost of being financially dependent on her partner. Result?

She lacked her power, confidence and worthiness because she never took care of herself for years.

My father, on the other hand, was raised as an only child in a very masculine dominant culture. He worked 12 hours a day in a demanding industry, raised us in fear of his fear of the world with lots of restrictions along with tons of weight on his shoulders to provide for all us which added more to his anger issues. Result?

I grew up ingrained with a lot of resentment of being a girl, the weak link, the dependent gender. Proven again and again through movies and successful people that being a woman equals weakness and dependency. On average, a female’s confidence decreases by something like 50% from age 5 to 7.

I grew up with the belief that woman are less. Less in everything. Intelligence, freedom, financial ability, confidence, creativity, strength, and all the good things. To the point that, I wanted to be a boy so badly because I hated being me.

My mild dyslexia in school added to all of this entire equation when no one knew what it was back then. Result? I grew up thinking I’m all the good things.

As they say, what you think, you become. So I became. I took on this victim role, subconsciously.

The educational system didn’t really help at all. It barely nourished our creative side and they didn’t really have a guidance system to help you figure out who you are. So  I ended up studying and working in something completely not aligned with who I am. Eventually, I ended up in the corporate world, feeling lost as ever, lacked self-motivation to perform. Didn’t know why I am there, and why I am not good at what I am doing. Felt extremely disconnected to who I am even though I didn’t know who I am.

I DIDN’T KNOW WHO I AM! THE MOST PAINFUL FEELING to experience.  Zombie life is what it felt. I couldn’t even back track and see who I am. My fire died at a very early age so how could I even remember?

I went into a deep dark dip during and after the corporate world. I started dancing then. Something I used to hide since I was kid and then I forgot it. I wish I can say it was that moment I found my bliss. It was for a bit but with it, surfaced all my blockages. I couldn’t move. I was completely disconnected from my body. I, subconsciously, would judge my every single move. I tired different classes, only to leave each one feeling completely defeated because I couldn’t pick up any routine. It was so tiring being inside of myself.  It was all negative thoughts, judgement, regret, blame, and more resentment which I all stored in my body.

I kept seeking self-help modalities, woman’s circles, inspirational speakers who helped me immensely along with every step of my process. The latest add on was brought to me by a friend who gifted me a book called “Pussy, A Reclamation”. She said, “This changed my life” (she attended the actual retreat as well). Anyway, I started reading the first two pages and every word broke tears of river inside of me. I could feel all our feminine suppression through thousands of years of the patriarchal system. Feminine doesn’t only exist in girls. It exists in everyone. Even boys. It’s the qualities of the feminine that I’m referring to like creativity, imagination, compassion, harmony, nurturing are just a few.  “Don’t cry, you are man” is one of those beliefs that blocks men from the ability to feel their emotions leading them to have unhealthy relationships with themselves and their partners.

As I read it, everything made sense. I made sense. Though, I felt for the first time in my life that I am so grateful for being a woman. We create life. We are the source of intuition and creativity. Nurturers by nature. Tuned in with the earth and unconditional love. How powerful is that?

The book talks about how women lost touch with the actual power of the pussy, their feminine power. An inner feeling to need to pleasure others before themselves. Somewhere in history, women got to believe that we don’t deserve pleasure. Many turned off their magic, their fire. They focused externally instead of internally. The author mentions that even on a biological level woman’s body is made for pleasure where the cliterous holds 8,000 nerves that exist only for pleasure.

I’ve come across many who demean the feminine movement and think it’s over done.  And yes, many girls are becoming boys which isn’t tapping into their feminine. They are just reacting to their blockages.  But if I learnt anything this past year, is not to judge other people’s journey if you haven’t been in their shoes, in their pain.

I know there are so many “bigger problems” like global warming and world hunger but this feminine imbalance could be linked as a consequence. When we have no compassion, how can we feel other’s pain? Instead, world leaders are focused on building more buildings, malls and factories when billions are suffering. 1% of our population hold the world’s wealth. All men. In a nutshell, an economy that nourish and has equal rights to woman are the economies that flourish the most. It is the truth. Look at the world.

I started reading it in December 2019 which surfaced a lot of my shit and sharing this is definitely helping my process. To voice something so vulnerable to me. I am still pealing and unlearning. It is a journey but this time I have more faith than ever that the feminine power is the solution to this imbalance.  It will not overtake the masculine but it will surely bring balance to earth. To our economy. It will bring harmony, compassion, human connection. Things that makes us human.

So cheers to everyone who is courageous enough to heal, peal and bring out their truest expression of themselves in balance of their feminine and masculine inside of them.

Cheers to the Goddess. The Pussy.

I grew up with very sensitive skin that scars very easily. Since I was young the only illnesses I would get were skin related. One time I had to be isolated when I was in high school and got shingles. It’s kind of like chicken pox or something but damages your nerves. I had to have my own chair, spoon, plate, etc. I couldn’t even hug my parents during that time.  I actually have a scar on my back that was from the nerve damage; I can’t feel anything in that area now. It was really emotionally devastating of not being able to be normal, and I felt really disgusted with myself.

Recently it’s gotten worse since I’ve moved to Dubai and I’m not really sure why. I’ve reached a point where I have to be very careful with the sheets or fabrics I buy because sometimes I wake up with scratches on my skin; I unconsciously scratch myself while I’m sleeping and then it leaves scars. I also get allergies from dust or food sometimes. So I have to be aware of whatever I’m doing. And because of all the scars I just had to cover myself up. I don’t have the confidence to wear certain outfits or go to the beach at all. It makes me sad because I love fashion and modeling so much. But I’m slowly starting to be okay with it. I did start wearing shorts and maybe eventually I’ll be okay with showing more of my scars. I mean I’m working on it because I just want to be myself wherever I go and I don’t want to keep pretending that I’m okay with myself when I’m not.

My social media is all confident and everything but it’s the total opposite of what I feel. I feel like I’ve been lying to myself, and nobody knows that side of me. Somehow it affected my confidence in all aspects of my life including relationships. It also made me close my doors and not get to know people because I’m afraid that nobody will see past my flaws. But recently, I was blessed to meet someone who actually broke down that door. And that person looks at me as the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Every time he looks at me beyond all of the scars he sweeps me off my feet. One thing he said was, “You are amazing. You are beautiful inside and out. And the world deserves to see this beauty.” It helped me find comfort in all my insecurities and fear. Made me realize that I it’s time for me to just accept whatever I have and just be happy with it because I know I have a lot of passion burning inside me and I should start being confident with myself.

I always tell me family everything, they’re my bestfriends. But this is one thing I haven’t had a courage to tell them because I don’t want them to worry. This will be the very first time they’ll see me having these scars. And I hope they’ll be proud of me instead of being worried because I do feel proud of myself, and I never realized how much strength I have till now.