Introducing Bazaar Arabia’s New Columnist Ruwaida Abela Northen
Honest and bold, our newest columnist shares how she had to shed aspects of herself to finally become whole
I eloped at the age of 19. My parents, proud Libyans, were dismayed by my choice of partner – a charming Maltese man was not who they envisaged for me – and it took protracted negotiations to finally reach a pseudo-peace treaty and eventually gain their (reluctant) blessings. Then for 15 seemingly sweet years, I thought I had it all, until one morning it dawned on me that over the last decade and a half I had gained much more than just life experience. I had also gained 75 kilos. With that came the recognition that my marriage, much like my body, was burdened by weight that wasn’t just physical.
Growing up as a diplomat’s daughter, my childhood was filled with adventure. I lived a life that many would envy, hopping from country to country until my father’s foreign post ended in 2003. After that, we returned to Libya – still under international embargo – where I watched my once-vibrant world shrink to a narrow path of societal expectations. The ultimate goal? To catch the eye of a suitor’s mother.
A coffee date with my cousin at the newly opened Corinthia Hotel in Tripoli changed everything. It was to become the start of my 20-year career in luxury hospitality, which culminated in a role as VP of PR and Communications at a world-renowned hotel group. Walking into the hotel was like stepping into a different world – intoxicating in its energy, elegance, and possibility. I instantly enquired about vacancies and secured a position as a marketing coordinator. Convincing my parents to let me take the job was painfully slow, but persistence paid off.
At the Corinthia, I met the Maltese – who I didn’t realise at the time would become my first husband after a whirlwind romance and eventual marriage. This union saw us travelling the world, but sadly, our paths eventually took us in opposite directions. Over a decade later, the weight of my life took its toll – both physically and emotionally. In 2017, (barely) standing at almost 140 kilos, I decided to have a gastric sleeve surgery, a decision I kept secret from my husband until the night before, because I didn’t want him to talk me out of it. The surgery was a success, and as I shed kilos, I simultaneously also shed illusions about my marriage.
I had grown in ways that our marriage could no longer accommodate. While I was evolving and discovering new aspects of myself, my husband remained consistent in who he was. Our roads, which once aligned, had started to diverge.
For a long time, I struggled with the idea of ending my marriage because that to me meant failure. But as I approached my 34th birthday, I realised that a marriage, like any relationship, has its own lifespan. It doesn’t have to last forever to be successful. My marriage had given me two beautiful children, countless memories, and personal growth. It was time to let go, not out of resentment, but out of respect for what it once was. I told my husband, I didn’t want to stay for the children, I wanted to leave for the children.
The surgeon had warned me that many who undergo this procedure either end up getting divorced or having children. I never expected to experience both – first a divorce, and then going on to have two more children with my new husband.
Our divorce was amicable, and just as I prepared myself for life as a single mother, fate intervened. I met my current husband, the love of my life, soon after. We married almost immediately and had two children in quick succession. With him, I found a love that wasn’t just passionate but also empowering. He believed in me more than I believed in myself, giving me the courage to leave the corporate world and start my own business.
Last year, I decided to undergo a tummy tuck. The tummy tuck wasn’t just cosmetic – it was symbolic. It marked the final step in my transformation. My husband, ever-wise, said, “It’s almost like this was the last reminder of your past unhappiness, and by losing this part of yourself, you’ve become more whole.” Sometimes, I can’t believe I had the guts to do half the things I did. But I also realise that all my happiness today has come from a series of huge risks I took.
As I stand on the brink of 40, I look back at my journey with amusement and gratitude. From a spoiled diplomat’s daughter to a mother of four and a confident business owner, my path has been anything but ordinary. But life doesn’t have to follow a conventional path to be extraordinary. Sometimes, the most beautiful destinations are reached by the winding, rebellious roads less travelled.
From Harper’s Bazaar Arabia’s September 2024 issue.