I often find myself scrolling through Quran.com, a digital version of the Quran, moving from one surah to the next. I read the English translations and stumble through the phonetic pronunciations of Arabic words I have never learned to read fluently. I look up unfamiliar words and try to make sense of what I’m reading. Sometimes, I close the page with more questions than answers. I never imagined that learning something I had grown up around could feel so unfamiliar.

My mom is Hindu, and my dad is Muslim, so growing up, both Eid and Diwali were part of my life. I was familiar with both traditions, but I never learned much about either faith. When I came to college, I wanted to change that, especially when it came to Islam. I wanted to learn how to pray, understand the Quran, and figure out what having a relationship with Allah meant to me.

I quickly realized how much I had to learn. I was still figuring out the basics of prayer while many of my Muslim friends had studied the Quran since childhood and could recite surahs with ease. I felt as though everyone else had been given a head start, and I was trying to catch up on years of learning.

The hardest part, however, was not what I did not know. It was the feeling that other people were keeping track.

I felt judgement by people both inside and outside the Muslim community. Sometimes, it was comments people made, and other times, it was the dirty looks I got. I started wondering if, no matter how much I learned, I would ever be enough. What began as me wanting to get closer to my faith turned into worrying about whether I was doing it right.

I became more concerned with proving that I was Muslim than with learning what being Muslim meant to me. I worried about what others thought I knew, how I practiced, and whether my lack of knowledge made my faith less legitimate. Instead of allowing myself to be a beginner, I felt a constant pressure to demonstrate that I belonged. I was so busy defending my place in a community that I had lost sight of why I had wanted to be there in the first place.

It took time for me to realize that my relationship with Allah is not a performance for other people. I often find comfort in a verse from Surah An-Najm in the Quran: “So do not claim yourselves to be pure. He knows best who is truly righteous”. To me, this was a reminder that faith is deeply personal, and there is so much about another person’s relationship with God or faith that we cannot see from the outside. Allah knows what is in our hearts, even when others cannot understand our journeys. I began to focus less on meeting other people’s expectations and more on approaching my faith with sincerity and willingness to learn.

Growing up in an interfaith household has shaped how I see other people’s relationships with faith. You can grow up around a religion without fully understanding it, just as you can discover a faith later in life and feel drawn to learn more. Some people grow up deeply connected to their beliefs; others spend years questioning, searching, or finding their way. We rarely know the whole story behind someone else’s journey, and I think we could all benefit from giving each other more room to learn without feeling judged.

I may never be Muslim enough for some people. I may mispronounce Arabic words, ask questions others think I should already know the answers to, or practice my faith differently than they expect. But I am learning that their expectations do not define my faith, and their judgments do not determine my relationship with Allah. I still return to Quran.com, one surah and one unfamiliar word at a time. I am still learning, and I hope to help create spaces where others feel safe enough to do the same.