My Journey to the Truth

There are moments in life when you realize that you have been searching for something long before you knew what to call it.

For me, that search was for the truth.

I had always believed in Allah, even before I knew Him by name in the way I do today. From childhood, I believed there was one God, that He was All-Powerful, All-Knowing, and merciful, and that He had created us for a purpose. I believed that there was more to life than simply existing, and I believed there was an afterlife where our actions in this life would matter.

What I didn't have was certainty.

I didn't have a name for what I believed. I didn't have a clear understanding of who God was or exactly what He wanted from me. So I spent years searching.

Before Islam: Searching for Answers

I was raised Christian, with Protestant Christianity on my mother's side of the family and Jehovah's Witness beliefs through my stepfather. I occasionally went to church or the Kingdom Hall, particularly around holidays or when visiting family.

But even as a child, I had questions.

I never truly accepted the idea that Jesus was God. In my mind, Jesus was a prophet sent by God to teach people how to believe in God and live good lives. I couldn't explain exactly why I felt this way at the time. I simply believed it.

As I got older, my questions became more intentional.

Around the age of fourteen, I began exploring different religions. I was fascinated by spirituality, philosophy, and the different ways human beings understood God and the purpose of life. In college, I took philosophy classes and joined different religious groups on campus so that I could speak with people and understand their beliefs firsthand.

Later, while I was in the military, that curiosity became even more serious. I collected religious texts and books, including the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Qur'an, and Buddhist writings. I spoke with different religious leaders and asked them questions about their beliefs.

I even spent time around atheist and agnostic groups, not because I believed that God didn't exist, but because I wanted to understand why other people believed that He didn't.

I knew in my heart that God existed.

I just wanted to know who He was.

At the same time, I was searching for direction in my own life. I wanted to understand myself, my purpose, and what kind of life I was supposed to live.

I had very traditional hopes for my future. I wanted to become a wife and mother and eventually be a homemaker. I also wanted to help women grow spiritually, develop themselves, and become closer to God.

Even then, I wanted to help people find their way to something greater than themselves.

I just didn't know that one day that desire would become Guiding Gardens.

The Question I Couldn't Let Go

The question that followed me for years was simple:

Why are we here?

I couldn't accept the idea that human beings were simply placed on Earth to wander around until we eventually figured out our own purpose.

I believed that if God created us intentionally, then He must have created us for something.

I believed God was one. I couldn't understand how there could be multiple gods sharing power or authority. I believed God sent prophets. I believed there was an afterlife. I believed that human beings had some form of free will and that our choices mattered.

I believed that we were supposed to treat one another well, give back, help people, and do good.

But I didn't know what religion gave all of those beliefs a complete structure.

Whenever I explored religions that involved polytheism, I couldn't reconcile the idea of multiple gods with what I already believed about God.

Christianity also left me with questions. I wanted structure. I wanted clear guidance. I wanted to know how I was actually supposed to live.

I didn't want to simply believe in God.

I wanted to know Him and worship Him correctly.

And eventually, I narrowed my search down to the three Abrahamic religions.

I began comparing them carefully.

And again and again, I kept coming back to Islam.

My First Impressions of Islam

I had actually heard about Islam as a child.

My mother had always been interested in Islam, and she would tell me that Muslims believed Islam was the truth and the only true religion. That conviction always stood out to me.

I also grew up in Philadelphia, where I was surrounded by a large Muslim community. I would see Muslims interacting with one another, greeting people they didn't even know, and carrying themselves with a sense of conviction about their faith.

Islam seemed serious to me.

Not serious in a negative way, but serious in the sense that becoming Muslim meant taking God seriously.

Muslims seemed certain about what they believed.

And I was drawn to that certainty.

I was also fascinated by Muslim women.

I remember seeing women wearing hijab, abayas, and niqab and thinking they were beautiful. What stood out to me wasn't simply the clothing. It was that these women could dress differently from the society around them and still have such strong personalities.

They weren't disappearing.

They were choosing to live according to something they believed was greater than society's expectations.

I found that beautiful.

Of course, I didn't understand everything.

For example, I initially thought hijab simply meant covering your hair. I didn't realize there were detailed guidelines regarding modesty, including covering the chest and avoiding clothing that reveals the shape of the body.

The more I learned about Islam, the more I realized how comprehensive it was.

There wasn't just a general instruction to “be a good person.”

There was guidance.

There was structure.

There was accountability.

And that was exactly what I had been searching for.

When Islam Started Making Sense

When I began seriously researching Islam, I started with its fundamental beliefs.

Then I read about the six pillars of faith.

And something clicked.

I already believed in Allah.

I already believed that He was one and had no partners.

I already believed that He sent prophets.

I already believed in angels.

I already believed that God had sent revealed books, including the Torah and the Injil.

I already believed in the Last Day.

I already believed in divine decree.

As I read about these beliefs, I realized that the things I had been trying to articulate for years were already there.

It felt like I had finally found the language for what I had believed in my heart.

Then I began learning more about Islam, including the Qur'an, hijab, the life of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, and the teachings of the religion.

I came across discussions about signs and miracles in the Qur'an, including descriptions related to human development and the differences between men and women.

But ultimately, what convinced me was not that Islam happened to fit comfortably into my existing worldview.

It didn't.

I knew Islam would require me to change.

There were things I would have to give up. There were beliefs and behaviors I would have to reconsider. There were teachings that challenged things I had accepted as normal.

But I came to understand something that became fundamental to my faith:

The truth doesn't change simply because we don't like it.

If something is true, then it is true whether or not it agrees with what society says, what I personally prefer, or how I had previously lived.

Once I became convinced that Islam was the truth, I knew I needed to follow it.

December 2020

I spent only a few weeks, perhaps a month, deeply researching Islam before I reached that conclusion.

Once I knew, I didn't want to wait.

I told my mother that I believed Islam was the truth and that I needed to take my shahadah.

My mother had been interested in Islam for years as well. She asked me to wait a few weeks so that we could take our shahadah together.

But I was impatient.

I knew what I believed, and I didn't want to delay becoming Muslim.

One night in December 2020, I was lying on the couch in the middle of the night.

The room was dark.

I had contacted an Islamic website asking how someone becomes Muslim, and they had sent me an email explaining the shahadah and the fundamentals of faith. They had also offered to connect me with a mentor.

I remember reading through the information.

Before taking my shahadah, I read through the six pillars of faith again. I wanted to affirm to myself that I truly believed them.

And I did.

I remember thinking that I already believed these things in my heart.

I just needed to testify to Allah that I believed.

I had imagined becoming Muslim differently.

I thought maybe I would take my shahadah in a mosque, surrounded by people. Maybe there would be witnesses. Maybe there would be some kind of celebration with my family.

Instead, I was alone on a couch in the middle of the night.

And somehow, that didn't matter anymore.

I couldn't wait.

So I recited the shahadah in Arabic and then in English.

And I became Muslim.

Immediately, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy.

I cried.

It felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest.

For the first time, I felt like I had direction.

There was no longer the same uncertainty about what I was supposed to believe or where I was supposed to go. I knew that I had found the truth.

I remember thanking Allah for guiding me.

I was also nervous because I knew my mother had wanted us to do it together.

The next morning, I told her.

She was shocked.

But I encouraged her not to wait if she already knew what she wanted.

Eventually, I contacted a mosque, and an imam spoke with her about what she believed.

When he asked whether she wanted to become Muslim, she said yes.

He started a video call with her and guided her through her shahadah right then.

My mother became Muslim about a week after I did.

Becoming Muslim During COVID

My shahadah happened during one of the most difficult periods of my life.

The pandemic had forced so much of the world to slow down, and I was already dealing with depression, anxiety, loneliness, and a lot of internal struggles.

I had also gotten COVID myself.

The experience made me think deeply about how little control we actually have.

People were dying. Families were losing loved ones. I was sick myself. The world felt uncertain.

And I remember realizing that I didn't want to waste my life.

I needed God.

Not another person.

Not another distraction.

God.

The isolation gave me more time to reflect, research, and ask questions. I would spend long periods of time learning about religion and looking for answers to whatever questions were in my mind.

COVID gave me space to realize that many of the spiritual paths I had explored weren't giving me what I was looking for.

Islam did.

But becoming Muslim during the pandemic also meant that I missed something I desperately needed: community.

Because I took my shahadah alone, I didn't experience the welcoming environment that many new Muslims experience when they take their shahadah at a mosque.

I didn't immediately have a group of sisters surrounding me.

I didn't have people teaching me everything I needed to know.

I did eventually connect with a woman at a local mosque who helped introduce me to the mosque and gave me my first hijab and prayer rug.

But I still didn't feel like I had found sisterhood.

The mosque often felt difficult to enter as a new Muslim. I didn't always feel seen or approached, and I didn't know where to turn when I had questions.

It wasn't until later, when an Islamic clothing store opened in my area, that I began developing more of a sense of community. The woman who owned the store was also a revert, and having someone I could talk to and relate to made a difference.

It took time.

And that experience shaped the kind of space I eventually wanted to create for other women.

The Reality After Shahadah

One of the first things I learned after becoming Muslim was just how much there was to learn.

Islam is not something you master in a few weeks, months, or even years.

You can spend your entire life learning and still never know everything.

At first, that overwhelmed me.

I didn't know where to start.

I struggled with understanding different opinions and seeing people practice certain things differently. I didn't understand the distinction between Islam itself and cultural practices.

I also had to learn that good intentions don't give us permission to invent our own forms of worship.

Allah tells us how He wants to be worshipped.

We don't get to redesign the religion according to our preferences.

I also had to learn that society's definition of tolerance and acceptance isn't always the same as what Allah has commanded.

That was difficult.

I had to learn to put Allah's guidance above my own feelings and above whatever society told me was acceptable.

Even hijab was something I had to learn more deeply.

Covering my hair was never difficult for me. In fact, I began covering my hair before I even took my shahadah, and I have continued wearing hijab ever since.

But I didn't initially understand all of the guidelines surrounding proper hijab.

I also didn't understand madhabs, the Salaf, or the importance of seeking knowledge from reliable scholars and trustworthy sources.

Eventually, I began learning more about following the Qur'an and Sunnah according to the understanding of the righteous predecessors.

I listened to lectures, read books, joined communities of Muslim women who were also seeking knowledge, and began taking Islamic classes.

Over time, I learned how to break Islamic knowledge into smaller pieces rather than feeling like I needed to know everything immediately.

That lesson has stayed with me.

Losing Things While Gaining So Much

One of the hardest parts of being a revert has been realizing that becoming Muslim can change your relationships.

My immediate family was supportive.

My mother became Muslim.

My siblings were happy for me, and eventually my older sister told me that my journey had inspired her to become Muslim. She took her shahadah, and my oldest brother eventually did as well.

But my extended family experience has been more complicated.

Some relatives didn't understand my decision.

I've been asked whether I became Muslim for a man. I've been questioned about why I would make this decision. I've had religious questions followed by comments that what I believe is “stupid” or doesn't make sense.

Sometimes, I didn't feel like people were genuinely trying to understand me.

They were trying to challenge my decision.

And because Islam changed the way I live, I no longer participate in certain family traditions and holidays.

I still love my family.

But I can't pretend that our beliefs are the same when they aren't.

There is a certain kind of grief that comes with realizing that becoming Muslim can mean losing parts of the life you once knew.

You gain so much.

But sometimes, you lose things too.

You can lose friendships.

You can lose closeness with family.

You can lose the identity you thought you had.

And for a revert, there can be a strange period where you're trying to figure out:

Who am I now?

Who I Became

Before Islam, I felt lost in my identity and beliefs.

I knew what I believed, but I didn't have certainty.

Islam gave me that certainty.

I became much more confident in what I believe about Allah, the purpose of life, and the afterlife.

I used to be afraid of death.

Islam gave me peace with the reality that death is a part of the life Allah has written for us.

My worldview changed in many ways as well. I had to unlearn the idea that every worldview must be equally accepted simply because someone believes it.

I learned that Islam doesn't require me to stop being myself.

I'm still silly.

I still love femininity.

I still love skincare.

I still love learning about religion.

I still enjoy the things that have always made me who I am.

But Islam taught me how to direct those parts of myself.

It gave me boundaries.

It gave me purpose.

It gave me a framework for understanding what it means to live well.

Most importantly, it taught me that our purpose is to worship Allah alone.

And when I move away from that purpose, I become unhappy.

So I keep coming back.

Again and again.

That is what Islam means to me now.

Certainty. Submission. Mercy. And constantly returning to Allah.

My faith goes up and down.

I'm not perfect.

I never will be.

But perfection was never the requirement.

The requirement is that I keep turning back.

Why I Created Guiding Gardens

The idea for Guiding Gardens actually began shortly after I became Muslim.

I remember realizing that Islam had guidance for almost every part of my day.

How I wake up.

How I pray.

How I eat.

How I use the bathroom.

How I sleep.

How I interact with people.

How I care for myself.

There was guidance everywhere.

And I remember thinking:

How am I supposed to put all of this into my life?

I didn't just want information.

I wanted someone to show me how to live it.

I wanted a guidebook that could walk me through an ordinary day as a Muslim woman.

I wanted to know what to do when I woke up, how to remember Allah throughout my day, how to pray properly, how to practice hijab properly, how to build Islamic habits, and how to turn ordinary parts of life into acts of worship.

I wanted to learn from someone who understood both sides of the experience: someone with authentic Islamic knowledge who also understood what it was like to start over as a revert.

I realized that other women probably needed that too.

Especially women who were brand new to Islam.

Women who didn't know where to begin.

Women who felt isolated.

Women who wanted to become better Muslims but didn't know how to incorporate everything they were learning into their everyday lives.

And eventually, that idea became Guiding Gardens.

What I Hope Guiding Gardens Becomes

Guiding Gardens is for the woman who wants to grow.

For the new revert who just took her shahadah and is wondering, “What do I do now?”

For the Muslim woman who feels isolated because her family doesn't practice the way she does.

For the woman who wants to learn more about Islam but feels overwhelmed by how much there is to know.

For the woman who loves self-development but wants that development to be rooted in becoming a better Muslim.

And for women who need Islamic learning to be accessible to the way their minds work.

I want neurodivergent Muslim women to feel seen here.

I want women who struggle with executive functioning to find practical ways to incorporate Islamic practices into their lives.

I want women from different backgrounds to feel welcomed.

Most importantly, I want women to know:

You don't have to know everything to begin learning.

Holistic wellness, to me, means caring for the whole person within the boundaries Allah has given us.

It means caring for our spiritual health through worship and learning.

It means caring for our bodies because they are a trust from Allah.

It means nourishing ourselves with what Allah has made permissible.

It means moving our bodies and taking care of our physical health.

It means working against our nafs and learning to rely upon Allah.

And it means recognizing that with the right intention, even ordinary things can become acts of worship.

That is what I want Guiding Gardens to help women discover.

What I Would Tell the Woman I Used to Be

If I could sit across from myself the day before I became Muslim, I would tell her to slow down.

You are not going to learn everything in one day.

You are not going to become perfect overnight.

And you don't have to.

Islam is something you will continue learning for the rest of your life.

Only Allah knows everything.

You just have to keep trying.

I would tell myself that Allah chose to guide me.

He gave me the opportunity to know the truth.

He gave me the opportunity to follow the straight path.

That is not something to take lightly.

And I would tell myself to be grateful.

If I could sit with a woman who took her shahadah yesterday, I would tell her to learn how to pray.

Really learn how to pray.

Learn how to make wudu.

Learn what invalidates your prayer and your wudu.

Learn proper hijab.

Learn tawheed.

Learn about shirk.

Find trustworthy scholars and reliable sources of knowledge.

Find good sisters.

Find community.

But most importantly, don't try to learn everything at once.

Choose something.

Study it.

Let your curiosity guide you.

Break knowledge into small pieces.

You don't have to consume everything the moment you become Muslim.

And when you feel like you're not Muslim enough, don't let that feeling pull you away.

Turn back to Allah.

Repent.

Learn something.

Pray.

Keep going.

Your faith will rise and fall.

That doesn't mean you have failed.

It means you are human.

To the Woman Who Is Searching

If you're reading this because you're thinking about becoming Muslim, I want you to know something I learned through my own journey:

Don't wait for perfection before you follow the truth.

I spent years searching.

I questioned religions.

I studied beliefs.

I read religious texts.

I spoke to people.

I looked at arguments from people who believed and people who didn't.

And when I finally became convinced that Islam was the truth, I realized that I couldn't keep searching simply because I was afraid of what following the truth might require from me.

The truth doesn't always ask us to stay comfortable.

Sometimes it asks us to change.

Sometimes it asks us to leave things behind.

Sometimes it asks us to trust Allah when we don't know what our lives will look like afterward.

But it also gives something incredibly valuable:

certainty.

I went from knowing that I believed in God but not knowing exactly where I belonged, to knowing who Allah is, why I am here, and what I am working toward.

My life didn't suddenly become perfect.

I didn't suddenly know everything.

I still struggle.

I still learn.

I still have to fight against my own desires.

But now I know where I'm going.

And when I get lost, I know where to return.

Back to Allah.

That is my journey to the truth.

And in many ways, it is still continuing.