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Where to begin. I guess from the beginning

Two years and some change ago, I started dating my boyfriend. We had decided to make it official, in part because I was leaving the Washington D.C. area (where we met) and moving to Philadelphia (after two unhappy years--excluding of course meeting him). In January of 2012 I moved, we started dating, and by March he had accepted a promotion in his company that brought him to Philadelphia, too, and we moved in together.

One thing he had told me, from the very beginning, was that his religion was very important to him. He is a Sunni Muslim, the dominant sect of Islam that makes up 75% of the Muslim world population. He practiced the main tenants and observations of the religion: he abstained from pork, fasted during the Holy Month of Ramadan, paid zakat (the equivalent to the Catholic tithe or other Christian offerings), had studied the Quran as a child, and knew how to properly pray. So it was important to him that his children be raised Muslim.

I myself had a complicated relationship with organized religion. I was raised in the Christian faith but had some serious questions that had led me to an agnostic state by the time we met. While I truly, in my soul, could not ever deny the existence of God, I could not reconcile the things I was taught in church and in school. There were holes, which no one from lay to clergy, could fill for me.

And this is important: my boyfriend did not tell me to convert to Islam. Our relationship did not hinge on me converting to Islam. "As long as you believe in God," he said, "And you would be willing to allow me to raise our children Muslim, I don't care if you convert."

Because to force, coerce, or even persuade someone to convert to Islam is a sin for a Muslim. Not just a slap on the wrist, on paper you shouldn't kind of thing. A sin. This is something my boyfriend stresses to me constantly, as does his family. They are not trying to convert me, it would be a terrible, terrible sin for them to take me away from my "deen," another word for my "faith."

This said, I still decided that it would be prudent for me to explore this religion that was so important to the man I loved and his family. I began to slowly, and then more intensely, read the Quran. I fasted for Ramadan. I listened to lectures by people who had converted, and read books by those who were raised in the faith. And most of all, I saw how my boyfriend and his family lived their lives. Good, upstanding people who loved their families deeply, conducted themselves as purely and modestly as possible, and had respect for everyone, regardless of religion.

And somewhere, along the line, I accepted Islam. I couldn't tell you when. It was a slow burn, a warmth that started in my heart and spread to my fingertips.

My boyfriend was worried at first, and would constantly ask, "You are not doing this for me, are you?" To which I would sometimes exasperatedly reply, "NO!" Islam answers those questions I had been asking my childhood, filled the gaps that no other religion I had exposure to had been able to do so. And it is beautiful.

I have not said my "shahada" yet. This is when you go to a Mosque and declare before an Imam (a Muslim clergy member) your belief in one God, and in Mohammed his Messenger (Peace be upon him). I know the "Kalima," which is what you say during this process. And I can't wait to do it. But I made myself a promise I would finish the Quran entirely before doing so. So I wait, for now, for about 100 more pages.

But I am a Muslim. While I haven't said the Kalima before an Imam, I say it to myself every day. I believe it, unquestionably, in my heart. That's what I will often say to my boyfriend. If he could see how purely, how strongly, I felt Islam in my heart, he would never ask again if I was "doing it for him."

For the most part, my mostly Catholic family has been accepting. My mother was relieved, I think, that I wasn't an atheist. Especially after I explained that Islam is not a deviation from how I was raised, it's the completion of the story that has been told since Abraham. It is the "last religion."

A Muslim cannot be a Muslim if they do not believe in the Torah and the Gospel of Jesus.

A Muslim cannot be a Muslim if they do not believe Jesus (PBUH) will return to Earth.

Jesus (PBUH) is the most quoted prophet in the Quran. Mary, Mother of Jesus, has an entire chapter, or "surah," devoted to her life and giving birth as a virgin to Jesus (PBUH). I am not a Quranic scholar, and I won't pretend to be by trying to analyze too deeply the text, but where Islam differs from Christianity is largely with the divinity of Jesus (PBUH), as Muslims see him as a prophet sent by Allah, and not the Son of God. There is no trinity in Islam, there is but one God Allah, who sent to Earth many prophets. There are also differences in the depiction of the crucifixion. Christians see this as the death of Jesus (PBUH), whereas Muslims believe before he was upon the cross God took him up with him. But these differences are not seen as contradictions. The Quran is the completed story, gaps filled.

All this said, there were members of my family vehemently against my conversion. It breaks my heart every day, because I know, and have known for some time, that this is my deen and I will not be strayed from it. I pray every day that I will not lose these people because of it. I put that in Allah's hands.

Besides my conversion, which was life changing enough, I recently made another decision related to how I am going to live my life as a Muslim. I have decided to wear a "hijab," a head covering for Muslim women to wear when they are in public.

I haven't told my family. I haven't fully explained it to my friends. Today was the first day I wore it to work, and none of my coworkers asked and I didn't bring it up.

Even though I haven't spoken of it in depth with anyone other than my boyfriend and his sister just yet, I am so, so excited to do this. I've been thinking of it for a while, and this past week I couldn't not do it anymore.

I had to run some errands in the city by myself. For some reason, as I was leaving, I thought, I'll wear a scarf. I didn't call it a hijab in my head yet. I loved it. I felt beautiful in a way I hadn't before. And I couldn't wait to wear it again.

My boyfriend had no idea I was thinking of this, and when he got back from business and I told him, he was supportive but not persuasive one way or the other. Neither his mother, sister, aunts, or female cousins wear a hijab, and it is not specifically mandated in the Quran. Modesty in dress, speech, and behavior is called for, but the specific garment is not required. Muslim women who do not wear a hijab, or the more covering garments such as niqabs or burkas, are no less Muslim than those who do. I do not pretend the hijab makes up for the other sins I commit, or puts me above anyone, Muslim or not. That kind of thinking would fly right in the face of the whole reason I wear it.

Some people associate the hijab as a symbol of oppression. I know this. I've heard it. But that is far from the truth. Yes, there are some people in the world who obligate women to wear these coverings and will punish them if they do not. This is not Islam. It is a choice on how you want to cover yourself, how you choose to live modestly. The key words are "choice" and "choose." Nothing is Islam is to be forced upon anyone, believer or non-believer.

For me, the hijab in these early stages, is a reminder. A reminder of the better, more modest life I want to live. I don't believe I'm going to be damned if I show my hair to a man not in my family. But I do believe God wants all of us to live modestly and humbly, and when it is on my head, cupping my cheeks, the hijab is a reminder that I should speak well, be kind, and that most of all, that I am a servant to God. Humility. That's what the hijab is for me.

I would dare anyone to say I am oppressed, any way. I have a well-paying job in the financial industry, I own my own car, pay all of my own bills, and live my life according to the choices I make myself.

But I worry. I worry people will not understand that. That they won't want to understand it. That wearing a hijab will hinder me professionally, in a mostly non-Muslim company. That my family will be angry, confused, scared. That my friends will distance themselves. That strangers will be rude or untoward. I will of course do my best to explain whenever possible, but that only goes so far. And even though no one at this point could tell me anything that would turn me from Islam, and that I do believe the hijab is the right choice for me now, I still worry. Because I am not perfect. And I pray for the strength to endure any or all of these things, should they happen.

My biggest worry is my mother. As supportive as she has always been for me, in every way, I still worry that she won't understand. This is why I have put off telling her so far. I want to find the right words so she will understand that I am still her daughter, her baby doll, and not some foreign person she doesn't know anymore. I know I am probably imagining the worst, and my boyfriend tells me this, but still. I worry. She is the last person on this Earth I would ever want to cause unhappiness for.

So that is my story. My genesis.

As-Salaam-Alaikum. Peace be with you.