Spiritual Struggle... by Said Shaiye

Spiritual Struggle (You Won't Understand)

M.P.L.S. ‘22

KODAK BLACK & JACKBOY rang through your earbuds.

You don’t know about the struggle, so you won’t understand.

I keep talking bout the struggle cuz it made me a man.

You’re sitting on the couch, football Sunday. It’s 30 degrees outside, which is a blessing. It was in the low tens just the other day.

Your balcony window is open. The snow melting sounds like rainfall. You know this to be false rain. You think about pain. Thinking bout the struggle days.

You don’t want to explore this memory, but you also feel called to write it.

You were triggered by a Facebook post today, as you are on most days.

Someone asked if spiritual abuse is taking place in your community.

Are kids being beaten in Dugsi?

Photo by Said Shaiye

You, a survivor of such abuse in your community, who was beaten in Dugsi,
wanted to scream OBVIOUSLY DUH YEAH BRUH WHAT?

You, a survivor of such abuse in your community, want to cry.

Someone who looks like people who’ve abused you in your community
replied to this comment:

“Yes, this is a form of discipline. It is culturally acceptable. The parents know it’s happening and are okay with it. The kids who grew up here just happen to think of it as abuse.”

IS SPIRITUAL ABUSE HAPPENING IN OUR COMMUNITY?

You sit on your couch, on this Football Sunday, false rain snow melt prattling a symphony orchestra on your balcony, and you raise your hand to your head in the classic Somali fashion: palms outward.

You can’t believe what you’re reading.

You don’t know about the struggle, so you won’t understand.

You remember your therapist telling you that trauma can affect all of your relationships, especially your relationship with God.

You ask her if getting beaten, verbally, emotionally abused in the name of religion would cause you trauma?

She says yes, of course.

She is Muslim and raises her children in a way that you wish you were raised.

You cry as you type this. You’re always crying as you’re typing.
​
Then you wonder why it’s so hard to read those same words in public.

I keep talking bout the struggle cuz it made me a man.

Photo by Said Shaiye

You wonder what it means to be a man. You block people on Facebook in ways not associated with being a man. You never learned what it means to be a man. You still don’t know what it means, to be a man.

But Kodak keeps you company. You take pictures now. You run past your emotions. You eat the pain away. You stop writing. You walk away.

You come back. You always come back. You are a prisoner to your emotions, to your past. To the circumstances of your circumcision. Age 10. Damn. That shit hurt. Damn.

Around the same time, you had your appendix taken out. Emergency. You were at Dugsi. You complained of stomach pain. They said you were making up excuses.

You said no, I threw up on the way here, on the side of the freeway.

They said you shouldn’t have eaten all that junk food.

You search the room for cameras. Surely this is a joke, you ask, as you clutch, your stomach in pain.

You are rushed to the emergency room shortly after. They take pictures, make scans. Appendix about to rupture. Emergency surgery. You take another ambulance ride to another hospital. You are immediately put under. You wake up in a Children’s hospital. They have N64 here. You play wave runner. The Sea Pirates come to visit. You are happy you get to miss Dugsi. You feel ashamed for this.

I keep talking about the struggle, so you don’t understand. But you won’t understand…

You cry with your therapist. You realize the reason why you once left your faith: because you were routinely beaten in the name of your faith. And thus, you associated Islam with Pain, associated God with Hate. You felt cursed.

You sometimes still do, though logically, you know Allah loves you.

Allah loves you, but people have done terrible things to you in His name.

This makes you cry. You are always crying. Always blocking people on Facebook. You don’t see the connection, but it’s there.

Childhood trauma makes relationships difficult. Especially your relationship with Allah. You haven’t prayed in weeks. You feel nearly hopeless. You say Istaghfarullah when you can. You cling onto whatever you can. You know that trauma is the villain in your life.

Photo by Said Shaiye

You have an appointment with your therapist tomorrow. You have a job interview before that. You will cry in between those two appointments. You will cry until no tears remain. You will cry until it resembles snow melted false rain prattling on your balcony, a symphony orchestra.

You feel ashamed to even write that. You ask Allah’s forgiveness. You do not ask His forgiveness on behalf of the people who hurt you in His name. You want to curse those people, but you are too soft hearted for that.

You settle for not asking for their forgiveness. And you know that on Judgement Day, everyone who wronged you will regret it. Just as you will regret everyone you wronged.

But you don’t care about that right now. You only care about your pain.

You’ve overcome addiction and disbelief, by His Mercy. Your family helped you, of course. And though it pains you to say, your family also hurt you, of course. And this is the nature of your pain. To come to terms with those who love you, who also caused you pain. And on top of all this… you’re Autistic. Meaning you feel everything.

You feel everything.

I keep talking bout the struggle, so you won't understand how I feel everything.

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Said Shaiye is an Autistic Somali writer & photographer from Seattle who now lives in Minneapolis. He is a 2023 Loft Windows & Mirrors Fellow. His debut book, Are You Borg Now? was named a 2022 Minnesota Book Award Finalist in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir. 

He has contributed essays to the anthologies Muslim American Writers at Home and We Are Meant to Rise: Voices for Justice from Minneapolis to the World. He has published poetry & prose in The Texas Review, Obsidian, Brittle Paper, Pithead Chapel, 580 Split, Entropy, Diagram, Rigorous, Night Heron Barks, and elsewhere. 

He holds an MFA from the University of Minnesota, where he was a Graduate Instructor of Creative Writing, as well as a Judd International Research Fellow. He teaches writing at various colleges in the Twin Cities. He can be reached at www.saidshaiye.com for all professional inquiries.