Living a Lie: How a Turkish Woman Escaped the
Prison of Pretending

Written by Jana

My mum and father (I used to call him “father,” but now he feels like a monster to me) met at the
beach. My mum was in a bikini when they first met, and later, they got married and moved to
Switzerland, where my mum’s entire family lived. I was born into what felt like a beautiful,
modern, and secular family.
However, things began to change when my father started attending the local mosque and
forming new friendships within the Muslim community. Over time, he became deeply religious.
When I was five, he went on the Hajj pilgrimage, and after that, everything changed for me.
He became extremely strict, violent, and controlling, especially towards me. He started beating
me for everything I did. He forced my mum to wear a hijab, and from then on, our lives were
never the same.

I wasn’t always allowed to go to kindergarten anymore. I wasn’t allowed to go to my friends’
houses, and they weren’t allowed to come to mine. I wasn’t allowed to play with them or watch
cartoons at home. My father started forcing me to wear a hijab and made me pray with him. I
was only six years old.

When I turned seven, he refused to send me to school, even though education was mandatory
in Switzerland. Instead, when I was eight, he sent me to Turkey to live with my grandparents
because he didn’t want to raise his daughter in a Christian country. Living with my grandparents
felt like freedom, and I was happy with them. They were a modern family. But then my brother
was born in Switzerland, and my father declared that he wouldn’t raise his son in a Christian
country either.

That’s when my family moved to Turkey, and they took me away from my grandparents. My life
became unbearable. My father forced me to pray, fast, and avoid anything fun, even something
as basic as watching TV or listening to music. Things that were normal for other kids or for my
classmates at school were forbidden for me. He sent me to an Islamic school and made me
wear a full hijab when I was only 13 years old.
Thankfully, my grandfather helped and protected me as much as he could, even stopping me
from fully attending the Islamic school. But I had to pretend to be the “good Muslim girl” my
father demanded. I had to fake it: pretending to pray five times a day, pretending to fast,
pretending to believe.
The truth is, I was never a Muslim. All I ever got from Islam was persecution. The verses from
the Quran never made sense to me; they felt empty and meaningless. I lived my life as a
prisoner of my father’s beliefs, unable to be my authentic self. I wasn’t free.I was lucky to have my grandad’s support until the end of university. Thanks to him, I was able
to pursue higher education.

After university, my life took a positive turn when I met my amazing partner. He was an atheist, but he cleverly pretended to be a devout Muslim to appease my
father. My father approved of him. Since my father was a pilgrim, he arranged our marriage through an Islamic ceremony called imam nikahı. We were both not Muslims, so we had to pretend there
too. After that, my partner and I moved overseas to study English. My father, a devout and strict
Muslim, lives entirely for his Allah and his afterlife. Believing my partner was a religious Muslim
(as we let him think), my father allowed us to make our own decisions after we got married.
Together, we continued the facade of being practicing Muslims to keep my father satisfied. He
believed we were praying five times a day, fasting during Ramadan, and attending the mosque.
In reality, it was all an act.
For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely happy with my partner. We shared the same values,
and I finally had someone who understood and supported me.
Even while we were overseas, my father remained deeply involved in our lives. When we talked
on the phone, he constantly brought up religion, insisted we prayed together, and asked about
our lifestyle. I was studying for my master’s degree, and we reassured him by saying my
husband was always with me at university. My husband pretended to go to the mosque on
Fridays, we claimed to have Muslim friends, and we acted like we were fasting during Ramadan.
Despite the distance, my father maintained control over us through his expectations and beliefs.
For a long time, I never thought of building an independent life without him. Perhaps I was too
narrow-minded, unable to imagine life outside of the box I had grown up in. I believed I had to
keep pretending to be a good Muslim woman until both he and my equally religious brother
passed away.

At the time, I wasn’t a Muslim but a deist, mostly because I hadn’t yet been exposed to scientific
reasoning. My atheist partner began explaining why there was no need for a creator. Learning
about natural explanations for the origins of the universe and the diversity of life opened my
eyes, and I eventually became an atheist.
Still, I continued pretending to be a good Muslim because I was afraid of his violence and the
harm it could bring.

One day, I accidentally shared a photo of a Christmas tree on social media with the caption,
“Christmas vibes in town.” I don’t follow any religion; they are all man-made, but I love
Christmas vibes in December. My father, who was one of my friends on the platform, saw it and
became furious. He sent me angry messages and called me many times. Later on, when I tried
to speak to my mother, he grabbed the phone and started shouting, demanding to know where
my husband was. He raged, “What kind of Muslim man allows his wife to celebrate a kafir
tradition? How can you, a Muslim woman, share something like that?”

That was my breaking point. Enough was enough! I yelled back, telling him the truth I had been
hiding for years: that I was never a Muslim and neither was my partner. I told him, “We don’t
believe in your Allah, and we don’t believe in an afterlife. When we die, we just die!”
His reaction was terrifying. He became furious, and I could sense his rage even through the
phone. I knew that if I had been standing in front of him, he would have killed me. He started
threatening me, saying he would find me, kidnap me, force me to become a Muslim, or else kill
me. He was a very violent father and beat me many times, even just for laughing in the kitchen
of our own home.
It’s been a year now. I’ve attended 13 face-to-face therapy sessions, including seven with a
trauma specialist, and I’ve been taking anxiety and depression medication daily. Despite
everything, my and my partner’s future remains uncertain. I don’t know where or how we’ll end
up. For now, though, we are safe.
After completing my sessions with the trauma specialist, I’ve come to realize something
fundamental: choosing our own beliefs and creating our own lifestyle is a basic human right.
Everyone deserves the freedom to define their own values and beliefs.
I was never allowed to live authentically as myself, but living authentically shouldn’t be a
privilege. It should be a universal human right.