“Hoda…and the man who told me: If my daughter dresses like this, I will remove my hand from her life.”

It was 1:00 PM.
The sun was blazing, and the traffic was at its worst…
But I was walking down the street normally, returning from college, wearing the navy blue abaya I prefer when I’m fed up with everything.
Loose, light, comfortable… and inconspicuous.

Two girls were walking behind me, talking loudly:
– “Look at this one? She thinks she’s wearing a niqab!”
– “Why would a woman wear a black abaya like that? Isn’t that what you wear at funerals?!”

I sighed…
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that sentence, but each time it hurts just as much as the first.

I passed the man sitting on the sidewalk selling newspapers, biscuits, and cigarettes.
As soon as he saw me, he looked at the woman next to him and said, in a voice that was hardly a whisper:
– “If my daughter dresses like that… I’ll wash my hands of her.”

I stood still.
Unable to move.
Or even speak.
I can’t even walk.

I’m Hoda… I’m not a stranger.
I’m an Egyptian girl.
I’m not doing anything wrong…
I just chose to wear Islamic, loose, respectable clothing for myself and for God.

But why do people see this as a disaster?
Why has the abaya become a symbol of extremism?
Why has the long veil become a question mark in everyone’s eyes?

I walk on my own two feet, I don’t bother anyone, I don’t raise my voice, I don’t attract attention.
But people’s stares flay me every day.

I put the receiver back in my ear and decided to play something reassuring.
I turned on an episode of the “Strong Girls” podcast,
and the host was saying:
“Every girl who chooses to wear Islamic clothing these days… is a heroine. Because the war isn’t just against your body, it’s against your heart and your faith.”

I felt my body tremble.

Am I a heroine?
And I come back every day broken?
But maybe… maybe what I’m doing is actually heroic.

It’s heroic because I choose to be “me,” not as they want me to be.

I got home and found my little sister saying:
– “I saw you from afar… you looked like a queen!”

I smiled… but with tears.

Not for praise,
but because someone finally saw me as I am… not as they want me to be seen.

I am Hoda.
And tomorrow I’ll wear the abaya again…

But this time, not just for God.

This time too… for the girls watching me from afar,
trying to take a step.

——————————–
📌 Tell me honestly…

Have you ever heard someone hurt you because of your clothing?

Have you been told you’re “complicated” or “scary” because you chose to dress modestly?
Send us your story, even if it’s just two lines… we’re here to listen and respond.