Whenever I watch romantic comedies like “When Harry Met Sally…,” “Sleepless in Seattle” or “Pretty Woman” (all of which I love), I want to scream. Two attractive, fit white people, who are so clearly meant to be together, making problems for themselves. If love could be so simple.

The struggles Muslim women face in this arena are hardly ever represented on film, and we can’t discuss them just anywhere we want. Talking about them in non-Muslim circles puts us at risk of being on the receiving end of endless, useless pity. Discussing them within traditional Muslim circles risks encountering an endless, useless taboo and vehement astaghfirullahs. Or, as in the case with my parents, confusion. This is uncharted terrain.

So what does the modern Muslim woman do? How does she escape from the taboos pressuring her from all sides? How does she find humor in her situation?

Cue the hoejabis, the fellow Muslim women you can swap stories with. Taken literally, the term “hoejabi” (not my coinage) refers to women who see themselves at the crossroads of being “hoes” and “hijabis.” But deeper than that, it mocks all of the negative implications that come with “hoe,” all of the negative implications that come with “hijabi,” and all of the ways that people who are not us try to define our sexualities for us. For me, “hoejabi” symbolizes the way that Muslim women are never granted that middle ground — the word itself is a bridge. It’s empowering, and more important, it’s hilarious. (If you’re not a Muslim woman, don’t even think about using it.)

Nadia Ali is perhaps an extreme example of a hoejabi. The choices that Ms. Ali made in her career stoked the flames of Orientalism, but she shouldn’t be blamed for much else. Obviously, the violent threats she faces for her popularity are unacceptable. The way that she has been made to wear the shame of an industry out of her control is unacceptable. The way that the choice any Muslim makes anywhere rains back down on all of us the next day is unacceptable. The way that the men (Muslims and non-Muslims alike) who are so quick to judge our lives and try to control them could not really care enough about us to understand them is unacceptable.

To be honest, the Venn diagram of the men who are attracted to me and the men I am attracted to resembles two circles separated by the Atlantic Ocean. It’s not a Muslim girl thing; it’s a Romaissaa thing. This makes my love life a different kind of tragic. But even in recounting these tragedies, I know who to turn to: my fellow hoejabis, forever carving out spaces for themselves and laughing at everyone else.