founder story - soraya

*the why behind dare u rebl.

before i had the language for business, i understood observation.

at five years old, i remember running into the front room with my little sister. my dad was sitting there with a magnifying glass, turning small shiny stones over in his hands. with our eyes wide and after an “oooh”, we asked what they were. he said they were rare gems, part of his trade.

i didn’t really understand what that meant, but i understood that because he worked for himself, he could be there. i was young, but i quietly assumed this was how life worked: you build something of your own, and in return, you gain more time.

i didn’t yet understand the trade-offs. only the pattern.
(and at five, that felt like enough information.)

Alhamdulil'Lah, my parents reverted to islam around the same time. a few years later, we moved to egypt. life looked different, and with two more young children, time was stretched thin.

eventually, my dad began commuting between egypt and the uk for work. my mum, feeling the strain of his absence, also became self-employed. on paper, this should have meant flexibility. in reality, it meant neither of my parents were fully present.

looking back, i understand now that autonomy can create time, but it can also cost presence. no one explains that part when you’re young.

i am the eldest daughter of six, so of course responsibility came early. often, i was a second mum. sometimes the only caretaker. that role taught me how culture and tradition are carried quietly, through behaviour. through who cooks, who listens, who adapts, who corrects. through who holds things together when systems don’t.

as a parentified child, i became excellent at adapting. at sensing needs before they were spoken. at moulding myself around others to keep things moving.

from the outside, it looked like strength. inside, it became overperformance. the kind that gets praised, then expected, then quietly relied on.

by ten, i was selling sweets, snacks, and fizzy drinks at school. not because i had a master plan, but because i noticed gaps. things people wanted. things i could provide. i didn’t call it business. i just knew i preferred finding my own solutions.

it was informal and wildly inefficient. but somehow, it worked.

that instinct stayed with me. it always showed up the same way: noticing what was missing, then trying to fill the gap.

when i started doing nails, it wasn’t about boredom or quick money. it came from frustration. i couldn’t find what i wanted in design, quality, or care, so i decided to create it.

at the time, it felt like initiative. i didn’t yet see how easily initiative can slide into overextension. if something didn’t exist the way i needed it to, i would build it myself. sometimes gracefully. other times, stubbornly.

university gave me space. fewer distractions. more time to sit with myself. that’s where i reconnected with art and islam. then covid and lockdown hit, and the absence of community became impossible to ignore.

i lived alone, hours away from my family and friends. isolation clarified something i couldn’t ignore anymore. i didn’t just want community, i needed it.

despite joining islamic and other societies, i didn’t feel comfortable participating. i was afraid of being judged. i felt torn, not being a “perfect” muslim and not knowing how to exist without falling into all or nothing.

underneath all of this, my values were already forming.

islam shaped my ethics early, not as image but as intention. treat others how you want to be treated. act with integrity. don’t cause harm.

culture and ethnic expectations taught me to carry more than was mine. to be capable, composed, useful. to earn belonging through effort and endurance. for a long time, i confused being flawless, needed, or liked with being worthy.

it’s taken years to realise those aren’t the same thing. and i’m still unlearning.

for a long time, i didn’t know where i fit. i moved between identities, cultures, and expectations without ever fully settling into one version of myself. too much for some spaces. not enough for others. faithful, but imperfect. creative, but unstructured. sensitive, but capable. i learned to edit myself depending on the room, until who i was became a performance.

loneliness made that absence of community impossible to ignore. so i built what i needed.

that’s how the dollhause was born. it wasn’t just a nail business. it was a response to disconnection, and a desire to create something intentional, personal, and shared. a place where people could sit, breathe, talk, and leave feeling a little more themselves.

it worked like a dream, until burnout exposed the limits of building inside systems that reward output over wellbeing.

growth came fast, and so did the cracks. i underpriced, overworked, and stretched myself thin. competition grew louder. expectations heavier. the kind of success that looks good on the outside and feels expensive on the inside.

imposter syndrome crept in quietly. in time, university mirrored it back to me. perfectionism kept me frozen, constantly in my head, dreading failure.

stepping back from university and my craft was necessary. not because i gave up, but because i needed to listen. pretending i was “fine” was getting tiring.

for the first time in a long while, i stopped trying to fix myself. i stopped forcing clarity and chasing certainty.

i slowed down. i wasn’t optimising or trying to prove the pause was productive. i was doing my best to show up for myself. and surprisingly, nothing collapsed.

there was relief in admitting i didn’t know who i was becoming or what came next, and realising i didn’t need to. letting go of the idea that effort and perseverance could guarantee safety, outcomes, or worth felt unfamiliar, but grounding.

this is where surrender began. not as passivity, but as trust. trusting Allah SWT while still doing what i was capable of, without attaching my value to the result. this was my introduction to Tawakkul.

the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) described it using the analogy of a bird. it leaves its nest in the morning hungry, trusting Allah SWT to provide, and returns in the evening with a full belly. the bird still flies. it still searches. it just doesn’t spiral about whether it deserves to eat.

that understanding, through reflection and Tafakkur, shaped what i wanted to build. not a space where you have to arrive perfect, certain, or productive. but one where you’re allowed to be in process. where faith isn’t measured by appearances or performance, creativity isn’t rushed into output, and identity isn’t something you have to justify or explain.

that distinction changed how i relate to everything, especially myself.

although i was born muslim, i rediscovered Islam for myself and fell in love with it. alongside therapy and boundaries, faith helped me untangle my worth from productivity and external validation.

what i wanted, even before i could name it, was safety and autonomy. the ability to create, connect, and appreciate culture and faith without losing parts of myself in the process.

my life shifted when i stopped trying to earn rest or love and started honouring them. this work is guided by progress over perfection.

that pause clarified what grounds me to this day:

faith as intention and guidance, not performance or restriction.
culture and tradition as responsibility, not aesthetics or agreeableness.
creation that balances self-expression, monetisation, and service.
community to tend to and pursue, not extract from.

dare u rebl wasn’t born from strategy.

it emerged through exhaustion, honesty, and clarity. not as something built on certainty, but as an ecosystem shaped through practice and learning as we go.

this archive exists as a record of becoming.

it exists because creativity shouldn’t come at the cost of wellbeing. connection shouldn’t be conditional. and because faith and culture, the values we move by, shape how safe people feel to exist, create, and belong as they are.

this space is for people who don’t fit neatly, and are tired of pretending they do. for those who’ve carried too much for too long. for the ones who are done performing. for those who want to build slower, with intention, authenticity, and on their own terms.

that’s why we focus on create, connect, culture.

not as concepts, but as lived practice.

dare u rebl is a container, not a pedestal.
it’s a refusal to be boxed in.
a permission slip to rebuild and find yourself out loud.

because rebellion doesn’t always look loud.
sometimes, it looks like choosing your values, building systems that honour them, and finally choosing yourself.

if any part of this felt familiar, you’re already in the right place.

— love soraya
founder, dare u rebl