The God I Knew Was Kinder Than the People Who Spoke for Him

• The article explores how a Khwaja Sira woman experiences faith differently from how religious authorities interpret it, finding in personal prayer an acceptance that institutions deny her. Khwaja Sira refers to transgender and diverse people.
• It shows how personal faith can lead into public purpose, as she turns private spiritual struggle into community care through the organisation she founded, Trans Support Group Pakistan.
• It argues that faith belongs to ordinary people, not gatekeepers, and that identity and belief do not have to compete with each other.

The first place that accepted every version of me was not a courtroom, an NGO office, or a human rights conference.

It was a prayer mat. 

As a transgender woman in Pakistan, I have never had a simple relationship with religion. It has been shaped by love and rejection, hope and disappointment, silence and courage. Yet I refuse to choose between my faith and my identity. They are both part of who I am.

I grew up in Peshawar, Pakistan where faith was woven into everyday life. The call to prayer echoed through our streets before sunrise. My family taught me that God is Merciful, that prayer brings peace, and that every human being is created with dignity. Yet as I grew older and began to understand myself as a Khwaja Sira (transgender), I discovered that people often spoke about God very differently from how I had experienced God.

When People Used Faith to Close Doors

Some told me there was no place for someone like me in religion. I still remember gathering the courage to ask a local Imam (religious scholar) whether Allah accepted someone like me. Before I could finish speaking, he told me that people like me should first change who I was before expecting God’s mercy. I walked home. That conversation stayed with me for years and made me realise that people could use religion to close doors that I believed God had never closed.

That was one voice. It was not the only one. Others insisted that my identity was a punishment rather than a part of my humanity. Those words hurt because they came from people I looked up to.

My Prayer Mat Never Questioned Me

But even when I questioned myself, I never stopped praying. My prayer mat never asked me whether I was worthy before accepting my forehead. There were years when I prayed every day while questioning why I had been created this way? Why am I rejected by people? But every time I found myself returning to prayer because faith reminded me that I was more than the names people called me.

Over time I realised that my struggle was never with Allah but with human interpretations that left little room for people like me.

When Faith Leads to Activism

It was my faith that led me towards activism.. When I founded Trans Support Group Pakistan, I believed that serving people who had been rejected by society was itself an act of worship. 

Over the years, I have worked with other Khwaja Sira people across Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. In conversations over tea, in community gatherings, and during moments of grief, I have heard stories that rarely appear in public discussions about religion. I have met transgender women who wake before dawn to pray, who fast during Ramadan, who recite the Qur’an from memory, who seek blessings before beginning a journey, and who continue to believe in God’s mercy even when they have been turned away by people speaking in God’s name. 

This journey has not always been easy. Some religious voices questioned whether someone like me could speak about faith, while some people within the Khwaja Sira community wondered why I continued to hold onto religion after so much rejection.

These experiences taught me that faith is not owned by institutions or gatekeepers. Faith also lives in ordinary people who continue to believe despite rejection. Today, when I unfold my prayer mat, I carry every version of myself with me—the frightened child, the young person searching for belonging, the activist speaking out for others, and the woman who has learned that faith and authenticity do not have to be enemies.

That is what I mean when I say I am a feminist and a woman of faith, in the same breath. For me, feminism has never meant abandoning faith. It has meant asking difficult questions with honesty and compassion. It has meant believing that women and gender-diverse people are not only followers of religion but also interpreters, caretakers, and creators of spiritual communities. It has meant recognising that justice, dignity, and mercy are values worth defending, both in society and within our religious traditions.

People may continue to debate whether someone like me belongs. But I know, Allah has always known my name.