“I DON'T care about yours or anyone’s judgment of me,” the woman shot back at me in an e-mail.  I sat before the computer screen for some time, troubled by the words of someone I once knew as an intelligent, funny, and energetic person I enjoyed being around.   I didn’t know what to say in reply, or if there was anything I could say in reply.

I signed out of my e-mail and turned off my laptop, her words still on my mind…

Days before, I had been sitting in the library at work thumbing through a book when a line stuck out to me:  In the end, the kind of person you are is the result of what you’ve been thinking over the past twenty or thirty years.[i]

I reflected on my own life thus far.  Who am I? I thought.  What have I been thinking for the past twenty or thirty years? I really didn’t know.

I was reminded of a moment several years before, when I was invited to be part of a forum of five writers at a major Islamic conference in America.  Each of us had been asked to give advice to aspiring writers in the audience.  I remember sitting at a long table in front of the conference room in the company of an accomplished poet and songwriter, a nationally renowned journalist, and two other prominent authors.  Because I had known in advance that I would speak and had to travel some distance to accept the invitation, I had carefully planned what I would say.

However, my carefully scripted speech was quickly discarded as I listened to the advice of some of my fellow panelists.  One of the authors, the first to speak, drew on the advice of his spiritual mentor when he advised the audience to not be deterred by the “misguided” who believed in emulating the spiritual examples found in the Companions of the Prophet, sallallaahu’alayhi wa sallam. The other author spoke of steering clear of stereotypical Muslim characters in his writing and described his ideal character as a Muslim woman punk rocker whose personal desires dabbed into those like the people to whom Allah sent the Prophet Loot, ‘alayhi salaam.  The journalist, a woman proud of her status as a non-practicing, non-hijabi Muslim, stood to share sentiments not too far from those of her predecessors, and it was her advice that troubled me most.

Today her precise words escape me, but the gist of them remain.

“I’ve been banned from speaking at masjids,” she vented.  “But I don’t let that deter me.  Never let others’ judgment of you discourage you.  Ignore what the people say about you, and keep doing what you believe in.”

Subhan Allah, I remember thinking.  Wonderful advice.  Except there was one thing missing…

Years ago I remember reading for the first time the famous hadith of the Prophet, sallallaahu’alayhi wa sallam, in which he taught that the believer is the mirror of the believer.  Since then I’d reflected often on these words, and, honestly, I couldn’t quite grasp what they meant.

Until I was looking in the mirror one day, as we often do when passing the glass reflection at home, and that’s when it hit me.

In life, you never see your face.  Ever.   You learn how you look only through a physical reflection, a video camera or photograph—or through someone describing your face to you.

But never through your own eyes alone.

…My name was called to the microphone and I walked to the podium, having only a vague idea of what I would say to the audience.  I knew only that, whatever it was, it wasn’t what I’d prepared beforehand.  I took a deep breath, prayed silently to Allah and opened my speech with His Name.  Bismillaah…

If I were to choose one word to describe what it means to write, I began, I’d say “dangerous.” I paused, letting the word resonate in minds of the audience—and of my fellow panelists.  Dangerous, because once you’ve written something, it stays with you.  In fact, it stays beyond you.  It follows you to your grave. It lives on even as you don’t. I paused, hoping they were listening closely. And every single word you’ve written, you’ll answer for on the Day of Judgment.

So my advice to aspiring writers is this:  Be careful.  Be very, very careful.  And turn to Allah before you write anything.   Ask Allah to guide your words so that they’re pleasing to Him.  And pray Istikhaarah before publishing anything.

Yes, others will judge you.  It is true.  And, no, we can’t let others’ judgment stop us from doing what we believe in.  But this is only after you’re sure, absolutely sure—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that what you’re doing is correct—not according to what you think is right, but according to what Allah, our Creator, tells us is right.

For all those who wish to be successful writers, I advise you to pay attention to what others say about you. Pay very close attention.  And yes, let it deter you.  Let it stop you.  Let it make you pause and think. And, yes, consider very carefully others’ judgment of you before you move on.

Because it may be that in their judgment is the answer to your Istikhaarah.

After all, it is sometimes the case that people are opposing us because we need to be opposed.

…I returned to my computer and signed into my e-mail account again, my mind now clear on why the woman’s words had troubled me so.

I don’t care about yours or anyone’s judgment of me...

Her furious reply had been in response to a heart-felt e-mail I’d written to her because she had created a public persona that openly opposed Islamic etiquette and decency, and had several Websites soliciting support and sympathy from the world.  I had ended my initial e-mail with a verse from the Qur’an about Allah’s mercy and forgiveness:

“Say, O My slaves who have wronged their souls,

Despair not of the mercy of Allah.

Verily, Allah forgives all sins.

Truly, He is Oft-forgiving, Most Merciful” (39:53).

I don’t care about yours or anyone’s judgment of me, she had said to me in response.  I thought of my impromptu speech at the Islamic conference, and I thought to myself, But you should.

I typed my final reply, carefully choosing the words I felt would be most effective in advising my struggling sister in Islam.

The believer is the mirror of the believer…

At that moment, I had a deeper understanding of the hadith.  As believers, we need each other. Our believing brothers and sisters are the mirrors reflecting the countenance of our characters, and faith.  Muslims, like all humans, are riddled with faults, contradictions, and faltering sense, so we need a mirror to be held in front of our faces—even when we wish to deny what’s there—and even when we have crafted in our minds a completely different image than that which accurately describes us.

Without that mirror, we are prisoners—to our own faulty judgment, to our misguided determination, and to our errant thoughts and convictions.

In the end, the kind of person you are is the result of what you’ve been thinking over the past twenty or thirty years…

Yes, it is true, I thought—but only when it is only your own mind used as the mirror of your heart.

Umm Zakiyyah is the internationally acclaimed author of the novels of the If I Should Speak trilogy and Realities of Submission.

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