I recently read the story of Smar Abuagla a 13 year old Middle Schooler in Reston who made a bold step to start wearing the hijab. I was moved and felt proud of her. I wished that at her age I had her kind of courage and mental acuity to make such a life altering decision. It reminded me of my own decision just a few years ago when I was much older than her.

I’ve always worn a head scarf and covered my hair. But as we all know there are different degrees of covering. There are the types of sisters who simply cover their hair, but wear the tightest most revealing clothes that you almost want to tell them to take off the hijab. Then there are those who simply wrap a cloth around their head, almost like Rastafarians. I guess I belonged to the latter group. People would comment on my lovely scarves, but unless they saw me everyday didn’t necessarily realize I was Muslim. Don’t get me wrong, I dressed modestly, in my trousers, or skirts, but like I said, my scarf simply covered my hair, it didn’t come down around my neck or even down my chest. So it barely counted as hijab.

I remember a few years ago, I decided that I wanted to wear hijab proper like some of my friends, and people I admired. And it was then that I realized the magnitude of wearing a hijab. How impossibly terrifying it is, to wonder how people would react to it. How would my friends, co-workers, bosses even, react to it? Would they suddenly shun me? Would I suddenly find myself unemployed? A Pariah? Would it limit me? Would it change my personality? I remember standing in front of the mirror in my room trying out different styles of wrapping a scarf. I tried the Turkish Tesettur, but it felt a little too much like cheating. Like I was just channeling Grace Kelly or Elizabeth Taylor. Like I was some trendy hipster wearing the latest Hermes. So I tried different styles, until I found one that I was comfortable with, a Shayla. I felt that it was striking enough to leave no doubt as to my intentions or my religion. And I also thought it was cute enough to be non-threatening, though in hindsight, I was probably too prejudiced to see it as threatening.

I still don’t remember exactly how those first few days went. I remember being scared, and slightly defiant. I also remember people’s eyes doing a slight and subtle double take. And a few comments about my scarf being nice. It wasn’t long before life went back to normal. There were a few people that I avoided because I couldn’t stand to face their censure (as I imagined it). I also “cheated” a few times, going with the Tesettur type scarf when attending certain functions.

Thanks to my new scarf, and new perspective I made a new fabulous circle of friends with Sisters from all over the world. We created weekly Halaqa’s or dinners where we would take over one side of the restaurant of our choice, usually in the back and we would just eat, and chat and get to know each other better.

I realized that in wearing the hijab properly, I forced myself to acknowledge not just to the world, but to myself that I was indeed a Muslim, and very very proud of that fact. I also found myself acting differently, avoiding certain places, because I felt that it would be disrespectful to the hijab if I went there. I also became more involved in the Islamic community and found so much joy in being with my fellow Muslim Sisters.

While my undertaking felt scary to me, it must have been a lot more terrifying for Smar. Nonetheless I’m glad she made the decision and that her friends and school supported that decision. Living in a post 9-11 world, declaring our faith in any public way is a rather scary proposition. A scary one, but one you quickly forget about when you’re walking down the street and a sister or brother who shows no outward signs of being Muslim suddenly smiles a huge smile at you and says “Salamu Alaykum Sister.”

Read Smar’s inspiring story in the Washington Post