Between Two Worlds, I Built a Home | Diary Entry No. 21

Welcome back to Unfiltered Diaries — where we hold space for the stories that don’t fit neatly into boxes. Some stories aren’t told out loud — not because they aren’t true, but because they’re too tender to risk misunderstanding. This one comes from a woman who’s built a life in love, quietly, carefully, and away from the eyes of those who raised her.

Now, with new life growing inside her, the silence is starting to ache.

This entry is about faith, family, and the quiet war between protecting your peace and longing to be seen. Read gently.

Dear Diary,
I don’t even know if writing this here is the right thing, but I need to let it out somewhere and doing it anonymously feels safest right now.
I eloped. A year ago. No one knows. Not my parents. Not my siblings. Not a soul from my side of the family.
And it’s not because I’m ashamed. It’s because I’m scared. My husband is Muslim. I’m Christian—Pentecostal. My parents are devout. Deep in their faith. And they’ve always made it clear: “equally yoked” is non-negotiable. Growing up, my mom didn’t care much about who I dated… until things got serious. Then came the lectures. “This man is not on your level.” “You need someone who shares your faith.” “You’re playing with fire.”
So when I met my now-husband, I kept him to myself. I didn’t want the noise. I didn’t want the judgment. I just wanted peace.
His family? They welcomed me with open arms. I’m around them often. I feel seen. Respected. Safe. But my family? They don’t even know he exists.
And I know what people might say “What if they accept him?” But the things I’ve heard them say about Muslims… about Islam… It makes my skin crawl. It makes me question if I even want to expose my husband to that kind of ignorance. Because he’s nothing like the image they’ve painted. He respects my faith. We honor both traditions in our home. We pray differently, but we love the same. We’ve built something sacred.
Still…
Full disclosure I’m Jamaican. And that deep-rooted Caribbean culture? It doesn’t bend easily. It’s rooted in some folks and hard to change their beliefs and ideas. I don’t know if my parents will ever change.
So I’ve pulled away. From them. From my siblings. From everything I used to know. All in the name of protecting my marriage and my union. I mean am i doing the right thing, clinging to the new family i have built?
But now… I’m four months pregnant. And my spirit won’t rest. This keeps circling in my mind. Every night i close my eyes something whispers to me that this is not okay.
I love my family. I don’t want my child to grow up only knowing one half of themselves. One half of their culture. One half of their story.
My husband is very understanding, and he makes comments like “I wonder if your mom would love to try this, or we should buy this for your mom” I know it’s his way of getting me to talk or think about them.
But I feel torn. I feel lost. I feel like I’m choosing between love and family. And I don’t know how to make peace with that.
— Torn

Hey Torn,

I read your entry and honestly my heart felt so heavy for you. Ugh. I’m so sorry you’re carrying this. It’s a lot. And I’ll be real with you — I don’t think there’s a clean, easy answer here. If you asked ten different people, you’d probably get ten completely different takes. And my own mind jumps in a bunch of directions too.

Part of me wonders… you’ve been distanced from your family this whole time. Are they trying to reach you? Have they made attempts, or has it just been silence? Because if you’ve been surrounded mostly by his circle, that might explain why you feel so torn — it’s like you’ve been standing in one world while shutting out the other.

And I also wonder, if you did open the door and let them into this part of your life, would it change anything for you? Would it make you feel more whole? Sometimes we build the wall ourselves because we’re scared of what might come if it’s knocked down.

Another thing — how much of this is you judging yourself? Because the way you wrote it, I don’t hear shame in how you talk about your husband. In fact, I hear love, peace, safety. So let me ask you this — and don’t answer out loud, just sit with it: are you ashamed of him, of the life you’ve built? If the answer is no, then the rest… honestly, it’s noise. You’re grown. You’ve built a marriage, a home, a child is on the way. That’s your family now.

Religion is supposed to be about love, acceptance, and grace. If your parents choose not to walk in that? That’s on them. Whether they accept your union or not, your life will keep moving forward. It already has.

There’s a verse many hold close when they feel torn, maybe it’ll speak to you too:

“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” — Romans 12:18

And from the Quran, there’s this:

“The believers are but brothers, so make settlement between your brothers.” — Surah Al-Hujurat (49:10)

You and your husband have already built something sacred. You’ve merged traditions, honored each other’s faiths, and created a home rooted in respect. That’s not just love. That’s legacy. And legacy deserves to be seen — not hidden out of fear, but held with pride.

Now — playing the other side for a minute. Isolation can eat at you. Marriage has highs and lows for everyone. Who do you lean on when it’s low? Who’s your support system outside of him? Even siblings, even friends, even chosen family — sometimes we need that safety net. It’s not about whether your parents are “right” or “wrong.” It’s about whether you have enough love and community around you when things get hard. Because pregnancy is hard. Motherhood is hard. And carrying it all alone is even harder.

Here’s the thing though — the fact that this is gnawing at you every night? That’s your intuition. That’s your spirit telling you something isn’t sitting right. And maybe, just maybe, it’s pushing you toward action.

My personal two cents? Visit your parents. In person. With your husband. Rip the Band-Aid off. Present him as your spouse. See what happens. They might surprise you. They might not. But either way, you’ll know. And sometimes knowing — even if it hurts — brings more peace than staying in limbo.

And if you do decide to open that door — whether it’s a visit, a phone call, or even a letter — remember: you’re not asking for permission. You’re offering a window. You’re saying, “This is my life. This is my love. I’d like you to be part of it, but I won’t shrink it to make you comfortable.”

Either way, it’s out of your hands and in theirs. You’ll sleep better from then on out. It’s like forgiveness — we don’t do it for them, we do it for us. Holding onto the pain is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. If that makes sense.

You get to set the tone. You get to decide what’s shared, what’s sacred, and what’s off-limits. Reconnection doesn’t mean surrender. It means choosing peace over silence — for you, for your child, and for the legacy you’re building.

Whatever you do, protect your mind, body and peace right now. Protect your baby. Protect your marriage. That comes first. And I pray for a healthy baby and a clear path forward — one where you can stand fully in both parts of yourself without carrying the weight of shame or fear.

You’re stronger than you feel right now. Truly. 💛

To anyone else reading this who’s carrying a secret love, a hidden truth, or a quiet ache — you’re not alone. Your story matters, even if it hasn’t been told yet.

You’re not too much. You’re not alone. And healing is your birthright. 💛
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