The Period of Deconstruction: Becoming Who You’re Truly Meant to Be.

In the name of God, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful.

During my youth, I believed that my most substantial growth was to be attained before I became an adult. But I quickly realized I was wrong during my early to mid-twenties. I grew up carrying personal, social, religious, and societal beliefs I acquired through direct experiences or early lessons. Much of my beliefs about God, life, society, and the world were shaped by my closest people and events I was sent to, such as Sunday School and regular school. I also based my ideas about self-worth, love, and human connection on what was mirrored to me by family, friends, and other social settings.

Marriage couldn’t be a happy, loving endeavor. It had to be embroiled in turmoil, involving shouting, disagreeing, and perpetually sacrificing. Resenting another person so badly that your heart shriveled and your smile became a fleeting memory. Disney movies and everything else were fairytales, fictional and cartoonish for a reason: love was a purgatory that only the foolish would place themselves in. I grew up witnessing many divorces—my ears stinging from the shouting; my eyes weeping at the broken hearts and families around me. I was buried beneath such things and built my perception of love with the rubble of everyone else’s shattered dreams and smiles.

Religion became a tool for fear and control. I didn’t acknowledge and understand God’s mercy as much as I did His wrath. I didn’t grasp and hold tight to His forgiveness as I was stuck in shame for making mistakes and feeling eternally fallen and condemned, the way my church and early associates preached Christianity. I didn’t see the path of God as calm, light, and warming, a peaceful sanctuary I could gain repose from and deposit my troubles into. Instead, it was a prison with rules and judges awaiting my condemnation and spiritual execution. My love for God quickly degenerated into fear and resentment. I frowned where I once smiled; criticized where I once preached; and temporarily abandoned faith at a later time in my life (more below). I realized I was only Christian by birth. Not by choice. Not by research and extensive studying. Merely because I followed what my parents and family told me.

For years, it felt great. I was at peace as I sat in church, the aromatic incense wafting through my nose, the rhythmic chants calming my heart and entrancing me. I would stare up at Christ on the cross and almost become teary-eyed, gratitude overtaking my veins as I wondered what I did to justify another bearing the burden of my sins. I grew a deep affection for God. A tenderness that inspired me to learn more. So, I set out to preach Christianity. I wanted to increase my knowledge so that I could give others the slice of paradise and bliss I was indulging in. I began poring over books and ingesting as much knowledge as I could. I watched videos—debates, documentaries, and lectures. I wanted to learn and I was convinced that I’d properly equip myself.

But I discovered the opposite. Much of what I learned and was told was false. I felt so cheated and betrayed. My heart grew cold; my hands clenched when I thought of the injustice. How could something I had been raised in and held so affectionately turn out to be completely different from what I thought? I am sharing this to illustrate how I started to work on myself and build my character—not to defame Christianity or any other worldview. This isn’t the time nor the forum to hold such a discussion. But it does detail much of my experience and it also ties into other aspects of my life. I questioned aspects of my identity to ascertain truth and to uncover what I believed. I realized that I held many beliefs because of my societal upbringing and traumas.

I deeply resonated with Christ’s alleged sacrifice because I was often sacrificial. I grew up believing that my needs were inconsequential. I derived much of my worth from sacrificing my feelings and offering them for other people’s smiles and prosperity. The Christian idea of atonement and sacrifice neatly aligned with my childhood trauma of often feeling unsafe and being compelled to sacrifice for survival and stability. I often needed comfort, kindness, and care. A hand to wipe my tears; a warm embrace to melt my sorrows away; kind words to uplift my broken spirit. But I often went without such things and learned that I needed to be “strong” and have a way to remedy problems so that I could keep my environment safe and stable. This became my idea of love and closeness. I grew a deep affinity for fairytales and romance novels because I yearned for safe, loving, and gentle atmospheres where life seemed to work out. Where it was more than the constant struggle, strain, and chaos I was witnessing.

I didn’t know where to begin. Nor did I realize that I had an inferiority complex because of my traumas. I thought it was normal to overly prioritize others. I thought it was understandable to be grossly self-critical because it meant I sought improvement—and, of course, we all do. But it was a self-criticism that involved berating myself and degradation. I had been carrying all these beliefs without realizing. I was a puppet attached to multiple strings I never contemplated or tried to detach from.

Until I started questioning these beliefs. My mental pillars shook and became dislodged the more my questions and curiosities bashed against them. I had all these limiting beliefs directing me—but inside, I yearned for more. A silent voice kept whispering that I’m greater than the limitations others have placed on me. It was faint, but I eventually answered its call and had many realizations. I didn’t need to follow the cycles of others. I didn’t need to keep the beliefs I was given nor tread the common walkways. The paved paths of broken dreams and monotony. I continued questioning. Raking books, forums, and the minds of great scholars and professors until I found my answers. I went inward and learned to continually challenge and reconfigure hurtful, unnecessary thoughts and patterns.

This journey was meant to address that and solidify my character. I call this aforementioned journey the Period of Deconstruction; a rebirth we all must experience when we step into early adulthood and realize that we aren’t sure what we believe and why. It was a terrifying place to be. I often found myself alone on life’s uncertain paths, enshrouded by darkness and doubt. No one could accompany me as I ventured into the unknown to learn more about myself and become who I desired to be. I had all these thoughts, beliefs, and patterns I inherited but never verified and chose. I also feared going against the grain because of its potential costs. I have never been the man who can be told what to think or believe. I wasn’t a horse you could hitch to a wagon and force to follow a set trail. I needed to dig deep. And I knew this would involve mammoth, and potentially catastrophic, changes.

But I was willing to go wherever the truth led me. Even if it meant departing from ideas, beliefs, and systems that aligned with my closest people and drawing their ire and abandonment. I was willing to face scrutiny and be the only person defending a position, no matter how many shouting voices and condemning fingers rushed at me. I wasn’t going to compromise on the truth for temporary comfort and societal and familial gratification. I needed to be who I was. Not who my environment shaped me to be. I wanted to be a defined man; not a carving other bad artists made and could display for their own vanity. This journey broke my heart, shattered my spirit, and filled me with doubt innumerable times.

But I refused to give up. I knew that this was a normal part of peeling the layers, learning more about myself, and continuing to build new parts of my identity. I started with positivity. I was often taught to foresee the worst and expect failure. This was a defense mechanism passed onto me because of others’ early life challenges. It came from a good place. But it was causing bad outcomes. It often prevented me from seeking better opportunities and really believing in myself. Rather than seeing the potential sunshine and greener scenery, I was busy preparing for the storms and desolation. And this path shoved me away from many bright places. I often felt the need to shrink myself so I could avoid that seemingly ominous eye of bad luck that I was always warned about. Too much success or grand opportunities was sure to summon it. I didn’t believe in my value. If someone highlighted my skills or better chances came along, I restricted myself because I thought everything was too good to be true.

Yet I was convinced that I needed to press on. I felt my inner calling. A growing voice beckoning me towards more. It compelled me to challenge everything I had been taught and to build myself from scratch. I was tired of being who I thought I needed to be and who I was programmed to be. I wanted to stretch my arms and reach for the horizons of glory and abundance. I wanted to remove the hurtful lenses through which I viewed the world so that darkness could fade and light would replace it. I wanted to seek the path of truth and uncover what it held. Not what I was force-fed in childhood and early adulthood. While it was terrifying, I began to feel excited. All these possibilities were exhilarating and led me to believe that there was more. Life wasn’t this box I had to roam around; God wasn’t this unmerciful, tyrannical being I was duped into resenting; love wasn’t the pain, heartache, and turmoil I’d witnessed.

Life was more. And I tapped into it by trusting more in myself and building a firmer character. I decided that it was time to completely choose my beliefs, character, and lifestyle. My relationship with God was foremost. I continued investigating Christianity and realized that much of what I was taught in Sunday school and childhood was inaccurate (although, again, this is not the proper place to expound on such a topic). I abandoned it altogether and continued my religious quest, thirsting for closeness to God and seeking His guidance in all steps. I wanted to reconnect with Him with the way I did during my younger years, with a childlike innocence still unblemished by this world’s impurities and deceit. It was a long road—and still can be. I searched for God in many churches and mosques; in the flowing of waterfalls and the light of burning stars amid a dark sky. I searched for him in various lectures by varying faiths including Rabbis, priests, and sheikhs. I searched for Him through the vessels He placed in my life manifesting as religious scholars who’d field my questions. Many left me empty-handed and longing, nearly on the verge of tears. But some were able to answer my questions and aid my journey a little more. Eventually, I settled on Islam. I reverted after years of studying and being intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally convinced.

I began healing the most wounded parts of me. Reframing my ideas of love and learning to let go of my previous pains. I spent hours doing healing work, praying, and working on myself. I parted ways with the older parts of me that had unhealthy beliefs about love and connection. I learned that marriage could be a place of warmth. A place of endless growth and mutual harmony. Not the conflict, separation, and bitterness I’d often witnessed. It took a lot of time and strength to rid myself of such notions. I still struggle with them. But I’ve come a long way. I am now engaged because of God’s guidance and the work I did on myself.

I quit school and the pursuit of the degrees I was always told I’d fail without. Education is wonderful and indispensable. But it’s best utilized when someone knows what they want to do and needs the degree to pursue that field. By God’s grace and mercy, I realized I wanted to write, speak, and run my own brand. I am now doing that after years of practice, personal studying, and work. I poured hours into my writing, page, and brand. Although I am not completely where I’d like to be, I am successful and making it work.

I’m not sharing my experiences to tell anyone how to live their lives. I’m doing this because I want to encourage others live for themselves and find their own way. You don’t need to remain shackled to beliefs, ideas, and viewpoints you never chose. You should question, investigate, and pave your own way. This is how you will determine who you truly are and where you want your life to go. It’s how I did it.

And while it wasn’t always fun, it did reward me with a new connection to God, my soon-to-be-wife who I love more than anyone and anything, and a character that I’m proud of. I wouldn’t change anything. I am happy with who I am and who I continue to become. The Period of Deconstruction was worth it. It’s given me life-long tools to continue to pave my own way toward God, growth, and change. This is what it’s all about, and I hope that my story inspires you to do the same.