What happened?
I’m Aliyah. I’m 17, I’m a Muslim, and I’m also a lesbian. I figured that out about myself a few months ago. That was a long process, but that’s not even the main point. The main point is that I decided to talk on Twitter about it, since one of my classmates encouraged me to. You know, maybe I could meet some more LGBTQ+ people at my school, because I didn’t know that many. There were a lot of classmates of mine on Twitter, so I could reach them there. That was the idea. It just didn’t turn out that way, not really.
One of my classmates, Jessica — I mean, she’s not really a close friend, but I honestly thought she was cute either way — replied to my Tweet. How can you be a lesbian when you’re Muslim? she asked.
I didn’t really think much of it at first, aside from my crush on her going away pretty fast. Some people are just stupid. But then it took only a couple minutes for others to start responding. Even friends from my mosque, people I saw at least once a week, often more. They agreed with Jessica. How can you be a lesbian when you’re Muslim? These were other Muslims saying this. People who prayed right next to me.
And it got worse. I couldn’t stop opening Twitter and refreshing it, I was obsessed. Yeah, there were some nicer comments, people saying congrats and stuff. I just scrolled right past them. I felt like my heart was in my throat.
Someone even tagged our mosque’s account in a reply. You should know this, he said to them. Oh, no. I had laid on my bed and couldn’t find it in myself to stand back up. I stared at that Tweet and froze.
What did she do?
Eventually, it got to 3 in the morning. I knew my parents weren’t awake, but I sure was. I sent a text to another one of my friends, Lauren. She had a gay brother, so I thought maybe she’d know what to say. She typed on and off for… I want to say at least five minutes, and then just sent this: I mean, they kinda have a point.
And she went on and on about how homophobic she thinks Islam is. Like how there are Muslim countries that execute gay people. I wanted to scream. I felt disgusting, and my blood was boiling. At that point I just couldn’t anymore. I set my phone down, crawled into bed, and cried.
In the morning, I texted my best friend Zara. She’s Muslim, too, but doesn’t have Twitter. I just asked how she was doing, if she had any plans for this Saturday. She didn’t have anything going on, so I told her I wanted to FaceTime. I needed a distraction from the things on Twitter, and from what Lauren said. Well, we did FaceTime. I must have looked like a disaster, because the first thing she said to me when she picked up the FaceTime call was, “What’s wrong?”
I almost said nothing. I was too tired to think about it. But I had to say something. “Um, just people being stupid on Twitter.” I thought if I said anything more, she’d turn against me and be weirdly homophobic. Just like Jessica.
Zara was someone who listened to me talk through all my internalized homophobia and doubt before I came out. (In hindsight, she definitely would have been ok with it, had I told her more. But I was just scared.) She listened to my ranting and my crying and said she was proud. So maybe telling her the basics wouldn’t be too bad?
“Do you really mean ‘just’ people being stupid?” She could always read me like an open book.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I wasn’t ready to. Not so soon. “I just need to cool down.”
And she said ok to that. “Want me to come over?”
She did. We sat and watched our favorite shows together — things like Chopped and Jeopardy reruns, background noise shows on my TV. When I felt like those shows weren’t enough, I went for a jog outside. I tried to focus on sweet things. There was a bird sitting on a telephone wire, fluffing its wings. There was a light breeze that felt good on my cheek, and some leaves crunched under my feet. Things like that helped me return to the world, because I’d been so lost in my thoughts.
Then I got back from my walk, and I opened my phone. Lots of notifications. I’d almost forgotten about the mess on Twitter by then, but seeing my phone screen reminded me of it, like being hit by a brick. I collapsed onto the couch and took a deep breath.
“I need to talk,” I said to Zara.
Now that I’d cooled down, I felt comfortable enough to tell her. Hesitantly. I told her about all the things going on with Twitter, and then what Lauren texted me. By the end, I was crying again.
“Oh.” Zara pulled me into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Aliyah, I’m so sorry.” And after I cried a while longer, Zara kept talking. “Those people are wrong. You can be a Muslim and a lesbian, you know. There are lots of hateful people in Islam, of course. But the same is true for everyone, every religion. There are loving people in Islam too. All these people on Twitter are so stupid and so bigoted. There are so many Muslim lesbians out there. I support all of them. I support you. I hope you know that.”
“Thank you.” She was right. I just still couldn’t get the hate out of my head.
“Maybe block those Twitter accounts that are saying that stuff? You don’t have to look at all that. I’ll be here for you, ok?”
And she was. She was there for me. It took me too many tries to find someone to talk to, someone who would understand, but when I did, all the waiting was worth it. That whole situation sucked, and it still sucks, but I know I can be myself, my religion and my sexuality both. Other people can’t tell me otherwise.
Written by Adrian Wood
Narrated by Aicie Fernando
Want to try the coping skills Aliyah used?
Guide for how to block others on multiple social media platforms
Trevor Project’s resource for navigating LGBTQ identities and religion
Call Blackline – Peer-support resource for Black, Brown, Native, Muslim, and LGBTQ communities
Want help now? There are free and confidential hotlines available 24/7. Call/text the National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988 or contact the Trevor Project, a crisis hotline specifically for LGBTQ youth, by calling 1-866-488-7386 or texting START to 678-678.