Think For Yourself

Posted on September 19, 2020 by Mahdis Rezaei, One of Thousands of Executive Coaches on Noomii.

“Don’t laugh out loud in the street.”
“Don’t play games with boys.”
“A good girl will always cover her body.”
“A good girl will obey her father and brother until she gets married — and then she will obey and please her husband.”

Born in a small town in northeast Iran, these are the words I have grown up with. They have sunk deep into my mind and been imprinted on my heart. It has taken almost a lifetime to forget them, to grow apart from them, and to reach the point where they no longer define me. It has been a journey of self-discovery and painful change. I have lost many pieces of my former identity — and yet in losing them, I have had the chance to create myself anew.

My name is Mahdis Rezaei, and I have never been what others expect. This started on the very day I was born. For the third time, my parents were trying for a boy. Instead, they received me, my gender an unwelcome surprise. My brother came along two years later, but by then I had learned my place as an unwanted daughter.

My father, you see, was the first-born son of a traditional Middle Eastern family. It was a necessary custom for the first son to have at least one boy who could pass along the family name. In Iran, by default, a woman’s maiden name always changes to her husband’s name; only sons can carry on their family name. Therefore, having sons bears an unspoken importance I felt the implications of even as a young child. I can’t really remember how it felt to be two years old and the third born female instead of a boy, but I remember my brother, and I still feel the scars from the scratches of his baby hands on my face.

Growing up in Iran, I had no choice but to attend a same-sex school. I remember those days clearly, but without joy. Each day began by lining up in the yard and singing the anthem out loud. The principle then walked by each line to check everyone’s nails and face to make sure no one was wearing forbidden polish or makeup. They also checked that our eyebrows weren’t plucked and made sure we were abiding by the Islamic dress code. Modesty was everything, and conformity was key.

About the time we started reading and writing with confidence, and began doing simple math, we started preparing for our coming of age ceremony. Schoolmasters are required to perform the ceremony for girls at nine years old and boys when they turn fifteen. This ceremony is a celebration of puberty, officially marking the cross from childhood to adulthood. From that day forward, a nine-year-old girl is seen as a woman and is held accountable to perform religious obligations.

I reached this point with little idea of what it truly meant to be a woman. My lack of knowledge was caused in part by our culture of modesty — it was taboo to talk about the body and its changes. I didn’t know what menstruation was. I didn’t know anything about hormonal changes. When I got my first period around eleven or twelve, I thought I was sick. I was terrified, but much too shy to discuss it with my mother or sisters. For three days, I kept my embarrassing condition to myself. After suffering in this way, I had no choice but to share it with my mother, who explained my “sickness” and told me only the most basic instructions of how to handle my new womanly curse. There was no significance to it; that was all I learned.

Individuality vs. religion
As far as religion, my parents were not terribly involved, but I became more and more interested in practicing religion through my studies at the school. When I was fourteen, I was fully practicing Islam. Having rather a strong spirit, I wanted to be the best of the best in my religion. To show my zeal, I prayed five times a day, fasted more than thirty days a year, and covered every part of my body but my face, hands and feet. I attended all holy ceremonies, volunteered at the mosque and recited the Quran. And yet, even with my best efforts, I could never truly conform.

Even though my outward appearance was pious and submissive, I was no ordinary Muslim girl. I was not born to be normal. I was born to be different, to be wild. I dreamed of travel, of elegant cities, of living far beyond the borders of Iran. Scandalously, I dreamt of marrying the twelfth Shia holy leader, who is said to return with Christ to reestablish the rightful governance of Islam. This ambition was something that I occasionally expressed out loud, much to the surprise and indignation of my elders. In a culture of submission, it shocked people to think I considered myself worthy of marrying this holy figure, but I didn’t mean to be impertinent — I simply wanted more.

I didn’t feel particularly excited about living forever and repeating the same thing over and over again in heaven — what’s more, I often feared I’d never get there. I practiced my religion wholeheartedly but was always motivated by fear. I still remember the day my teacher played a recording of a man who supposedly died and returned back to life — it frightened me terribly. Death is seen as the separation of the soul from body in Islam. After the burial, two angels come to test your faith. One angel is there to protect you while the other is sent to question you.
The thought of this looming encounter was terrifying to me. Would the angels want me to speak Arabic or Farsi? I didn’t know. What I did know is that if I couldn’t remember all the answers and failed to pass the test, there was a terrible fate — an eternity of burning in hell.

1st Turning Point (change of location)

Mecca
In an attempt to alleviate these fears and grow closer to God, I decided to visit the spiritual center of Islam. When I was eighteen, my parents granted me my wish and I went to Mecca in Saudi Arabia to offer my prayers. My first travels out of the country were disappointing, to say the least. Although I was amazed to be in the bustling center of Islam, I didn’t feel as connected as I hoped. There was an emptiness instead, a searching in my soul that left me unsatisfied and confused. This feeling unsettled me and little by little, I began questioning my religion.

New Delhi
However, my time of travel was only beginning. I had a wandering spirit that nudged me outside the borders of home, and for once, I listened to it. Six months after my trip to Mecca, I decided to follow my sister to India to study. Of course, I recognized that young women like myself — traveling to foreign countries, studying outside the borders of Iran — were uncommon, to say the least. And yet it suited me perfectly. I was very excited to move out of my small town and live in a totally different environment. My adventure had finally begun.

I was thrilled to walk out of my home with my arms and hair uncovered. In many ways, I felt free for the first time in my life. But there was a nagging doubt, a fear that God would not love me with my new, wild ways. This fear materialized when I first fell in love, four months after I got to New Delhi. I kissed a man for the first time without any intention of marriage. It was absolutely wonderful, and it absolutely traumatized me. Though everything in me — emotionally, physically — wanted him, residual guilt from my upbringing denied me the pleasure. It felt both right and wrong, and standing in the middle, I was torn apart.

After breaking down emotionally, I knew that something must change. Having a strong sense of individuality, I found a way to straddle both sides: I developed my own version of my faith, an in-between Islam. I maintained the relationship with my boyfriend and still prayed five times a day. Balancing between the two extremes allowed me to continue for a while with reasonable peace. However, this was an unsteady truce, and it wouldn’t last forever.

Rome
My six years in India had served me well. During this time, I completed my Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees in Computer Science, but it wasn’t long before my wild spirit craved a change of location. In search of more adventures, I decided to pursue my second Master’s in a new place entirely: Rome, Italy. This was both a change of scenery and a step towards true independence. For the very first time, I was finally on my own. I was making my own decisions, choosing my own food, buying my own clothes, and paying my own bills. Each lesson, though learned late in life, taught me something new about myself: the importance of my own opinions.

I discovered wine. Pizza. Ice cream. Coffee. Joy and laughter. Friendship, especially with one classmate in particular, a pretty girl with a clever smile. And most of all, the freedom of living on my own — as well as a new kind of freedom, a spiritual release. After years of struggle, I stopped my religious practices and felt at peace with my decision. Thriving on my own, I wanted to explore other aspects of life that I was shut off from for so long — though one aspect was still missing. Though my life was filled with new sensations and thrills, I knew it wasn’t complete without romance. Unlike my guilt-tainted affections in India, I wanted to experience love in a new, freeing way. And yet, in all my wanderings, I was still looking for love in the wrong places. I never thought to explore the unknown — it would be years before I made that discovery.

London
At the time, all I knew was that I was in Rome. I needed love. Being practical, I decided to fall in love, and so I did. Not with a Roman, but with a charming British gentleman. It was a delightful love affair. It wasn’t long before he had to return home, but being as impatient as I am, I knew a long-distance relationship was not a solution. On an impulse, I decided to move to London with him and managed to win a scholarship, working there for six months.

As most whirlwind romances do, things did not end as I intended. After a heartbreaking goodbye and an unsatisfying end to my scholarship, it seemed my luck had just about run out. Discouraged and running out of options, I decided to visit my sister in the United States, beginning a new chapter of life.

New York
I clearly remember my first week in America. I was standing in the Upper West Side’s River Cafe with my sister, staring at New York’s glorious skyline. My sister’s friend remarked offhandedly that this area was for “rich people.” I looked enviously at every runner who passed by us in designer sweats and asked myself what the difference was between them and me. Would there be a day when I would join their ranks, living in an upscale area and working in one of those tall buildings? It sounded like a dream — and such a dream seemed impossible, given my current status.

2nd Turning Point (impossible decision)

After chasing two Master’s degrees and living in multiple countries, here I was back to square one. Jobless, houseless and hopeless in New York — and entirely out of my element. Queens wasn’t anything like Rome or London; I had to start utterly anew. I started questioning my entire life, the futility of my accomplishments. It felt like I had been sleeping for the last twenty-seven years of my life and now suddenly I was awake, disillusioned, and determined to make a living.

Return to Iran
I needed to make a decision as to what to do next — though my options were somewhat limited. Essentially, I was down to three: finding some way to stay in America, going back to Europe and scavenging for work, or — and I dreaded this — returning to Iran, pretending to be Muslim again and living life as a lie.

I knew returning to my home country was never truly an option. With my transparent personality and transformed ways, I wouldn’t survive a month in Iran. And as a final blow to my former identity, I was now officially an atheist — let it suffice to say, a woman who has turned her back on her faith is not someone Iran will welcome with open arms.

Return to Europe
Europe, though tempting, was also out of the equation. Before coming to America, I had knocked on many doors. I applied for all internships and entry-level jobs available in Europe, but without work experience, no companies were willing to sponsor an Iranian graduate work visa.

Stay in the U.S.

Work Visa
That left America, and a new dilemma altogether. The process of obtaining an American work visa could be even more difficult than in Europe. Even if I found some merciful company to sponsor me, the application itself is little more than a lottery — only one of three applicants is accepted. After applying for all the jobs available in the area, I still had no responses, no interviews — and six months left to stay.

Marriage
Marriage was another option, though I found the concept vaguely unappetizing. Even so, I was desperate enough to try. Online dating, true to form, was a discouraging, exhausting process that only served to remind me that I was twenty-seven years old with no prospects, no work experience, no savings, and absolutely no sense of direction. After three months of this confusion, my sister’s coworker, a close friend of mine, seemed to pose a solution — he offered marriage, and the chance to stay. Despite the fact that I wasn’t attracted to him, he was kind and expressed genuine feelings for me, and a part of me wanted to give in — say, “yes, yes!” to anything — and simply collapse.
If I refused him, that left only one option — to apply for asylum. Once done, the interview could take place from anywhere from two to four years from that day, with additional years of waiting to receive my green card. Such a process is exhausting and lengthy. And it meant paying a high price: if I took it, I could never return to my homeland. I could never visit my family in Iran — I would essentially be banished.

Asylum
My choices seemed impossible, but time was running out and I had to make a decision. I wasn’t willing to sell my soul and agree to marry someone without love. I also wasn’t willing to live a lie and pretend I was a Muslim in Iran. That left the last, dreaded choice: asylum. Solemn and determined, I found an immigration lawyer in LA and flew there to sign my application.
Upon my signature, it was official. I sold my country. I sold my nationality. I said goodbye to my home. Weaker than ever and feeling entirely hopeless, I decided to run. Running became my sacred cave — running kept me alive. I thought then that I was running away from the past. However, it would soon become clear that I was running towards something: an unexpected revelation.
While I was waiting anxiously for the work permit to arrive, I started working at a high-end Jewish catering company. While I didn’t need the income, as I was supported by my parents, what I did need was something to do. I applied, and for the very first time in my life I learned what it meant to work. The Persian princess was no longer a princess. She had no home — no status — no nationality. She was now working long hours daily and toiling to serve new princesses, high-ranking American women who ignored her with polite disdain. It was humbling and empowering.

3rd Turning Point (Self-discovery)

Zen Monastery
Another source of empowerment came from an unexpected place: meditation. I was in emotional turmoil and as an atheist, I had no place of refuge until I first visited the Zen temple. Although the idea of Buddhism as a religious practice was not compelling to me, sitting silent and idle went a long way to calm my spirit. I decided to take a one-month residency at the Zen Monastery in upstate New York, and that was the beginning of the new me — a new Mahdis.
During that month, I learned how to clean a toilet, tie bed sheets, cut onions, work in garden, turn compost, and many other things that I was supposed to have learned much earlier. I also learned — unexpectedly — how to love myself. It was truly a transformative process. When I came back from the monastery, the first thing I did was pack all my old flashy dresses and high heels into a box. I deleted all the online dating apps and cleared my head, focusing on one emergent truth: an old crush, a classmate in Rome, hidden away but never forgotten.

4th Turning Point (change of sexual orientation)

Straight
As far back as my childhood, something about women always intrigued me. I partly acknowledged it for first time when I got a simple body massage from a female in Iran. But back then, I had no idea what sexuality was. I was born and raised to be straight and had little concept of womanhood in any form. I didn’t even know homosexuality existed until I met my sister’s gay friend, two years before I left India. When I first met my classmate in Rome, right away I felt differently about her than my other classmates. I didn’t know what to call these feelings, and at the time I still identified as straight. Though openly bisexual, she had a girlfriend and would flirt with me here and there. On Valentine’s night in my second year, we kissed. It felt good. It felt better than any other kiss.
When I moved to the USA, I had taken her friendship along with me. She and I reconnected, started talking more often, and became close despite the distance. But she was still in a relationship and I was going on different dates, seeking settlement in the States. I has assumed it would come to nothing, but now, discovering myself in a new light, I saw things differently. It was time to embrace my wild nature, whatever the cost.

Bisexual
After I left the Monastery, I decided to remove the straight tag from my brain once and for all and identify as bisexual. Though daring, it still served as a safe place of transition — much like my in-between Islam. Ready to take the next step, I reached out to her and we started a long-distance relationship while still seeing other people. One day, she came to visit me in the United States and we had two full weeks of greatness together. It was then that I first fell in love with a woman.
I wanted her in my life forever. However, the distance threatened to keep us apart, along with other problems. I still had no status. I could not move to Italy; neither could she move to the USA. There was no way to reconcile what we had with reality and eventually, her feelings for me ran thin. She was gone — returned to Italy, probably to comfort herself with another old flame — and I, the newly-discovered Mahdis, was alone.

Lesbian
Heartbroken now more than ever, I decided to be with a man one last time. It felt utterly wrong — unsatisfying, empty. That’s when I knew I couldn’t straddle the halfway line anymore. Like my in-between Islam, it was time to make a choice. In my religious turmoil, I had chosen atheism. Now, I removed my bisexual label from my brain and officially identified myself as a lesbian. I made my choice and landed on the other side of everything I had been taught.

Achieving personal success

My self-discovery had cost me dearly in terms of heartache, but it only served to make me more persistent in seeking out my place in America. After a series of long conversations, I finally convinced my sister’s coworker, the would-be suitor, to help me get a job at his start-up company. I never forgot the first day of work. I didn’t know what to do. I had less than one year of experience and still had no idea what working meant, having been raised with the mentality that a girl’s education wasn’t important. Although I didn’t know what skills I had or how to make decisions well, I knew I wanted to be successful. That wild little girl was still inside me, and she wanted to be important, no matter what it took.

With a fire of determination in my gut, my work ethic began to improve. I started observing people doing their work and learned to mirror them, imitating success until it became my own. Along the way, I decided which path to take. I attended a couple of meet ups and learned some of the buzzwords, took some courses and officially became a technical project manager. At last, I had arrived.
Four years later, here I am, a Senior Technical Project Manager in one of the tallest buildings in the financial district and living in the same West Side neighborhood I once envied. While jogging by the water, I often reflect on my old life, marveling at how much has changed. One day not long ago, I found myself by that cafe in the Upper West Side, that same place where I stood a lifetime ago, dreaming of possibilities.

Steve Jobs once said, “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards.” These words now ring true for me in ways I never would have foreseen, cancelling out all of the hurtful words of my childhood and the lies that threatened to confine me. After a long and difficult journey, I have finally arrived at my unknown destination — but it isn’t the last.
Where I am now (closing thoughts)

From the first day I arrived in New York, I knew it wouldn’t be my final destination. Living in the same city and country as my parents and siblings and reuniting in some central place has been a dream of mine since the day I left Iran — somehow, something has been telling me that the next step in achieving this dream is to move to Los Angeles. On January 1st of this year, I finally decided that it is time for me to take the leap, pack my belongings, and follow once more the spirit of adventure that has brought me this far. I promised myself I’d be living in Los Angeles before May — it is now March, and I am already packing my clothes and ordering furniture for my new apartment in Santa Monica. I am officially starting my new job in April, and I cannot wait to see where the path takes me next.

That path has changed dramatically over the last thirty-one years. From being religious to becoming an atheist. From covering my body to dressing how I want. From living in a small town to living in the biggest city in the world. From having no job to becoming a senior project manager in a big company. I have lived in some of the most famous cities in the world. I have broken free from boundaries, chosen my sexuality, and written my own life story. I am Mahdis Rezaei, and I have never been what others expect.

This is just the beginning — the rest of the story is yet to be told. Though I am proud of my achievements, that doesn’t mean I will settle for them. I’ve come a long way and I intend to go much farther. I am not afraid, for I know who I am. I only have to seek deep inside myself, listening for the voice of a wild young girl who wanted the world. She is still there — she is me. I will listen for her call and I will follow where she leads me.