Sisterhood and the Challenges of Growth

As-salamu alaykum everyone, I grew up overweight-really overweight. I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn’t the kind of girl who stood out either. I didn’t wear makeup, didn’t even know how. My hijab was always messy, and I lived in jeans and big sweaters. I was loud, funny, always snacking, the ‘character’ in the group. The chubby one, the annoying girl in class. I had two close sisters who were both beautiful. They were Muslim too, but I was the only one who wore the hijab visibly. Amira was closest to me. She was slim, quiet, soft-spoken, always effortlessly pretty. And I was right there beside her, big and loud, the one who made her seem softer. She had a husband (we’re talking about youth here, so imagine a fiancé in a halal context) and she'd always pull me into their drama. She made me meet him, said it made her feel safer. She’d have me message him when they argued, defend her when other girls confronted us. I was always in front, protecting her, taking the heat while she stayed quiet. Back then, I thought it was because we were close. I thought it was loyalty. But now I see it was because I wasn’t a threat. She never let her other pretty friends meet him-only me. I was the safe one, the protector. The one who made her look better. We went through so much together. Real stuff. I thought we were bonded through hardship. I thought she was my sister for life. I didn’t realize how one-sided it was until later. I remember being fifteen and her telling me her ex said I was ugly. She said it like it was no big deal. I remember how much that hurt. She didn’t defend me. Later, it made sense why she said it so casually. She never saw me as her equal. Then, in sixth form, everything changed. I lost a lot of weight. Started dressing better. Fixed my hijab styles, learned how to wear makeup properly, started taking care of myself. I began to do well at school, got a job, started buying modest but stylish handbags, sharing moments on social media. I started to shine. People noticed. I got attention, especially from the kind of brothers who used to like her. And she didn’t like that. She started acting strange, saying things like, “You’re not better than me,” or “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” She started spending more time with our other friend and barely spoke to me. Ignored my posts, stopped liking my pictures, acted cold when we met. You could feel the change. She liked me better when I was overweight and loud because I made her look good. I wasn’t competition then. Now I was. She’s still friends with that other sister. They post each other, go out together, support each other. And I think about how loyal I was to her. How I defended, protected, comforted her. But I was never protected back. Never treated the same. Now I’m twenty. I look good, smell nice, dress well. My makeup is always done, my hijab neat, my outfits coordinated. I’m confident. I mind my own business. I worked hard for this version of me. But sisters treat me differently now. They say things like, “You’re doing too much,” or “You’re a bit snobby,” or call me “too prestigious.” Funny, because when I was overweight and loud, everyone loved me. Everyone felt comfortable. Because I wasn’t a threat. It’s strange how the moment you lose weight, get your life together, and look good, people act like you’ve changed. I didn’t change-I just became the person I always wanted to be. But once you stop being the safe, funny, insecure friend, you become competition. It’s odd how sisters will love you when you’re beneath them but resent you when you stand beside them. When you level up and look good. It’s so much easier for women when you’re not shining!