Finding Myself Between Beliefs and Battles

Some nights I find myself unraveling. Not because I’m lost, but because there’s so much inside me pulling in every direction. Tonight is one of those nights. And maybe, just maybe, writing this down will help me find the thread again.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to belong. What it means to believe. And how damn hard it is to hold space for all the contradictions that make up my truth.

I’m a trans woman. I’m an immigrant. I’m someone who’s lived through more than most. And I’m exhausted.

Exhausted from fighting for the right to exist in a world that constantly questions whether I should. Exhausted from watching governments, courts, and “moral crusaders” rip apart the rights of people like me — under the guise of tradition, or faith, or biological nonsense.

And still… I dream. I wonder. I question.

I find beauty in things that don’t always go together on paper. I’m drawn to the modesty and structure of Islamic belief, the intimacy of showing your hair only to the one you love, the sacred ritual of prayer, the sense of rooted belonging. And at the same time, I feel a fierce, untamed pull toward paganism. Brigid calls to me, not just as a goddess, but as a living fire. A healer. A spark that’s followed me across lifetimes.

And maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m not meant to walk one narrow road. Maybe my path is woven from many truths.

I’ve always believed that the Divine is a diamond. Brilliant, multi-faceted, impossible to see all at once. Each of us glimpses one facet, filtered through our culture, our wounds, our longing. And maybe my role is to walk the edge, to light the space between those facets. Maybe that’s not confusion. Maybe that’s sacred.

Still, it’s hard. It’s hard being different in a world obsessed with sameness. It’s hard holding modesty and rebellion in the same breath, wanting to be covered one day, bare the next. It’s not about anyone else’s expectations. It never was. It’s about what I feel. What I know in my bones.

And tonight? I feel tired. Tired of hate. Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending that “just smile and keep going” is a real solution when the world is actively trying to erase people like me.

But I also feel this: a thread of defiance, braided with truth. A glimmer of fire, even in the dark.

Because here’s the thing: I am not a contradiction. I am complex. And complexity is beautiful.

Some days, I want to wear a hijab. Not out of obligation, but because it centers me. Because modesty, when chosen, is sacred. It feels like a quiet strength, a ritual of grounding, an offering of intention.

Other days, I want to strip it all away and say, “This is my body. My truth. No one rules me but me.”

And that, right there. The tension between reverence and rebellion, is my balance.

Balance doesn’t mean choosing one or the other. It means honouring both.

So maybe the question isn’t “How do I find balance?”

Maybe it’s “How do I honor where I am today?”

Wear the hijab when it soothes your soul.

Show skin when it sets you free.

Let modesty and fire walk hand in hand.

You are the space where they meet.

You are allowed to be all things. You are allowed to shift, to stretch, to live out loud one day and in sacred silence the next. You are allowed to rage and rest and rise again.

And if you feel pulled in every direction.

Just know this:

You are not lost.

You are expansive.

You are divine.