To my dearest daughter,

As a mother, there is so much that I wish I could teach you from my experiences. And I constantly worry that I will not be able to do so; that I will fail to teach you the most important of life lessons, getting caught up in the grind of everyday happenings. I also fear I will not be able to protect you from all the harms and hurts that will come your way. At times I wish I could build a shield, hug you tightly in my arms and never let you go. And yet I know that one day, this bundle of joy in my arms will grow up. She will leave the nest and go face the world. And I also know, deep in my heart, that every good, bad, ease, hardship, pain and joy that comes your way is not in my control and never will be.  All I can do is help prepare you for this journey we call life. So if there is one lesson I wish I could teach you about life, it is this:

Don’t let your source of happiness be the externals in your life. Rather, let your sense of happiness derive from the internal, that is, within yourself.

It is true; there are many external things that will give you happiness. Toys, new clothes and shoes, yummy food, mouthwatering desserts, vacations, hanging out with friends, love from your parents, a new room, a fabulous job, admission to a prestigious university, your life partner and your children. All these things will undoubtedly bring much joy to your life, insha’Allah (God willing). However, what one needs to realize is that all these things are temporary, and hence the pleasure they cause is also temporary. Those very same friends who brought so much laughter into your life may one day move away from you and get busy with their own lives. That cake on which you were happily munching will finish. That new room/house you were excitedly decorating will get old. That spouse whose words made your heart melt with joy will say words that will make your heart ache with pain. Those same people who were admiring and praising you yesterday will be criticizing you tomorrow. Those parents who showered you with love and care will also scold you, discipline you and one day, they will die, leaving you feeling broken and empty.

Such is the nature of this world. It is a roller coaster ride. The more your happiness depends upon places, things and people, the more disappointed you will be. Why? Because the very things upon which you are depending are temporary and imperfect by nature. So what should one do? Lose all hope and thrive on hopelessness? No, the answer is for us to have hopes in the being that is perfect, free from flaw, the ever-living, the best of helpers. And that, my dear daughter, is Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He). He alone will help you when all else fails. He alone knows your fears and will remove those fears from your heart. He alone knows the number of teardrops you have shed and why.  He alone will respond to your calls whenever you call upon Him. He alone will love you unconditionally even when you have messed up. He alone will forgive you, even when you do not deserve to be forgiven. He alone will continue to care for you even when you have forgotten Him. He alone will heal your heart, when the world has broken it.

Whoever holds on tightly to Allah (swt) has held on to the best of handholds. Such a person will never feel lost, alone or scared.

Your strongest weapon in this world, my beloved daughter, is the light of iman (faith) in your heart. It is this light which should be your source of happiness. Trust me. You will be able to face all kinds of situations and circumstances, even the most difficult of them, with happiness and ease, if you make Allah (swt) your source of happiness. This is the path to ultimate peace and joy.

By Marwa Abdalla

I remember the joy I felt when my first-born daughter was born. The joy I felt when I saw her first smile, heard her first laugh, and watched her learn to crawl and then walk. Indescribable joy. However, I also remember sitting up in bed after putting her to sleep with a knot in my throat and tears streaming down my cheeks. My husband looked puzzled. “I just hate feeling like I’m not doing anything,” I said.  Not doing anything? He looked at me, even more puzzled, and said, “But you do so much, masha’Allah!” However, I wasn’t referring to the number of stories I had read or the spoonfuls of baby food I had offered. I was referring to the void I had inside because as a full-time mother, I felt unaccomplished, like I was selling myself short, because my contributions were not in the areas of life that society had taught me truly mattered.

I had chosen to stay home from work with my daughter because I sincerely felt that was what was best for her and for me. It was not an easy decision. Actually, it may have been the most difficult decision I had made in my life up until that point. And though I won’t go into the various factors my husband and I looked at in making the decision, I will say that many options were considered. After praying much istikhara (a specific prayer asking for guidance), I decided that not only did I prefer to be with my daughter, but that this was, in my situation, the way I could best serve Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He) at that time. Days, weeks, and months passed, and I valued greatly the moments I had with my baby girl. As she grew, I felt very thankful to be able to witness her amazing progress masha’Allah. In my mind, I knew I had made the right decision.

But in my heart, I still often had these overwhelming feelings of sadness, shame, and guilt. Not “post-baby blues,” as some call it. No, this was something else. Until I had my daughter, I was a young woman who had, by the Grace of Allah, excelled both academically and in various leadership activities. In high school I had been voted “Most Likely to Change the World.”  Why did I feel now as a mother that I wasn’t doing anything as compared to when I was earning a professional degree or a paycheck?

I initially thought this was my own neurotic problem. However, I was surprised to find other mothers, those who stayed home and even those who went back to work or school, sharing the same feelings with the regards to the time they spent taking care of their children. “Oh, I’m just a mom,” one young mother said, almost embarrassed, when someone asked her if she was working. Just a mom? That’s when I knew something really was wrong—and it wasn’t just with me. Why did it seem so many mothers were struggling with their own self-worth and the need to feel “accomplished” in other areas of life as they raised their young children?

Allah Almighty tells us in the Qur’an,

“For indeed, it is not eyes that are blinded, but blinded are the hearts which are within the breasts.” (Qur’an, 22:46)

It seemed my heart had become blinded from celebrating motherhood, understanding its value and being proud of my role as a mother. I had become convinced (though I wasn’t sure what that conviction was based on) that my self-worth and value came primarily from my abilities to work outside the sphere of domesticity.  But how? I considered myself a well-educated woman, well-versed in American popular culture who, as a young adult, became a student of Islam. I certainly had not expected to have this battle waging inside of me. Moreover, I was surprised to find this was a battle fought in the hearts of many other mothers.

And so I pressed on, obsessed with understanding feelings I couldn’t always explain but determined not to see myself as just a mom. I wanted to celebrate being a mom and thank Allah (swt) for that blessing, not feel burdened, resentful and unappreciative. And so I read as much as I could on the topic, talked with other mothers, and I prayed to Allah for guidance, for I knew that only He could give my heart the comfort it needed. Then, only slowly, was the proverbial wool lifted—from both my eyes and my heart.

As human beings, we have many basic needs and one of those is the need for validation—the feeling that we are appreciated and are contributing somehow to those around us. Allah (swt) has given us countless ways of filling this need—through contributions to family, community and work, just to name a few. However, in the last hundred and fifty years, somewhere along the way between industrialization and the women’s rights movement, the contributions made by a mother to her family took the back seat to those made in other areas of life—the job of creating a home for a child and developing his or her capabilities became equated with “doing nothing” (Crittenden 2001). I realized I had been trained by society—even by many Muslims in society—to see the act of mothering, this noble act that has benefited humanity for centuries, as something trivial that I should be doing on the side, along the way, as an extra, and that my real importance was in how successful I was at other things—work, professional life, and community involvement.

British author, George Orwell, once said, “We have now sunk to a depth at which the restatement of the obvious is the first duty of intelligent men.”  As true as this may have been during Orwell’s lifetime—he died in 1950—it seems even more so in our contemporary discussions about motherhood. We need to re-train ourselves to see the obvious. Because it seems that hidden in all the political correctness that dictates our conversations about motherhood (after all, who in their right mind would dare say that women should be proud of taking care of their children!), a simple truth has been observed: A baby or young child needs a to be loved, cared for and nurtured by a person who is as invested in him or her as a mother would be. They need it as much as they need food, exercise and sunshine. It’s not just good for them, but vital. Whether or not people other than the child’s mother can fulfill this role is up to each family to decide, but I would argue that few true “replacements” are readily available for mothers. This relationship, more than any other, teaches humans the very care, empathy, and love that make us, well, human. Without it, we all suffer. That doesn’t mean that mothers cannot work. It doesn’t mean that fathers cannot be involved in a very real way in their babies’ and children’s care. Those are decisions each family must make for itself after evaluating its own unique circumstances. What it does mean, however, is that a mother who chooses to stay home shouldn’t feel guilty, as if she has given up her ability to make positive contributions to society. She shouldn’t feel like she is just a mother.

And so the end of this story is really the beginning: I now have three daughters, alhamdulilLah (praise be to God), and I am still re-training myself, despite what society may tell me, to see that I am a good woman, a successful woman when being a mother to my children. I am re-training myself to see that motherhood is not some oppressive job that I should necessarily leave to someone else. It is, in fact, a very commendable job for any woman who chooses it, and should be celebrated as much as any other role I take on in life. I am re-training myself to see the trials and tribulations I face as a mother not as effort wasted, but as opportunities through which to gain reward and draw closer to Allah (swt). And though I try my best to continue to grow at a personal level, and do hope to continue my career once my children are grown, I am re-training myself to live in the moment, to appreciate that the sometimes selfless things I do now to take care of my children are not going unnoticed or unacknowledged, for Allah (swt) sees and records all things. And lest I forget, I have simply to turn to the Qur’an and Sunnah, my compass and guide, which contain countless ayat (verses) and ahadith (sayings of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, peace be upon him) about the importance of mothers, and then simply pray that my heart continue to see the beautiful truth that exists there.

Bibliography:

Cook, Peter. Mothering Denied: How Our Culture Harms Women, Infants, and Society. Cook, 2009. 

Crittenden, Ann. The Price of Motherhood.  Henry Holt and Co. New York, 2001.

Muehlenberg, Bill. The Importance of Mothers, Accessed Online at http://www.billmuehlenberg.com/2009/05/05/the-importance-of-motherhood/, Jan. 2012

Question:

I am a 30 year old Muslim woman who lives with my family. Alhamdulilah (praise be to God) I have a loving and wonderful home, but I am ready to move out and live independently. I am looking for an apartment to rent on my own. The problem is, my father would never let me, and if I go against his wishes, he threatens to never talk to me again. He says women should live at home until marriage. I am a practicing Muslim who has always obeyed my parents and I have tried my best to make them proud of me. I don’t have any marriage prospects and I can’t keep waiting for the unknown. I need to live my life independently and start a new phase in my life. I would greatly appreciate some advice.

Answer:

It sounds like you are struggling to establish some independence from your parents. You are trying to balance your needs with your parents’ preferences..  Seeking independence from parents is a normal developmental process that everyone goes through.  For some people,  cultural norms dictate that women only move out of their family home once they get married. However, many women, such as yourself, may not be getting married as quickly as parents had hoped, and in the meantime are focusing on their career goals and living happily as a single adult.

Your parents’ concern stems from a place of love and protection. They are having difficulty with letting go and allowing you to make your own choices.  You will need to share with your parents your personal goals and assure them that you can financially support yourself.  You will also need to reassure them that you care for them and appreciate their love and support and now you are able to take care of yourself and live on your own.  Choosing to live in a safe place will be a priority, and setting up boundaries with your parents of when and how often you will visit them will help them accept the reality of you living on your own.  It will be a difficult transition for your parents, but with open communication and reassurance that you are ready to take responsibility for your life, insha’Allah (God-willing) they will respect your choices, even if they disagree with them.

VMCounselors was a collaborative advice column produced by two previous website authors, Amal Killawi, a Clinical Social Worker with a specialization in mental health and marriage education, and Munira Lekovic Ezzeldine, a Marriage and Family Therapist, specializing in premarital counseling. Please note that our counselors are not religious scholars and will not issue religious rulings. 

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