Tag Archives: teenagers

The Rights of our Children

Allowing a platform to speak and to be heard

Any parent would know that there will come a time when their children move on from uttering a string of babbling nonsense as toddlers, to the awkward phase of the monosyllabic teenage years. This is a period of pensive moods and inner transition. Watching from the outside, we have to learn to accept grunts and groans as the metaphor of our kids’ eloquence. Like most parents, I had been bracing myself for this inevitability.  With four boys all in their teenage years, I had been forewarned of ample ‘lively’ domestic situations.

Alhamdulillah, with Allah’s help, I have been chaperoning my sons through the so-called ‘awkward phase’ and we haven’t had any high dramas….yet.  Insha’Allah it remains that way.  I do, however, have my own reasoning about why that is. It doesn’t involve any scientific research; rather, it is based on my own empirical evidence.

My belief is this: that since my boys and I have adjusted to our new lives, we have also had to redefine certain roles in our family unit.  I have taken on more responsibilities within and without the home, naturally, but so too have they had to enter adulthood at a less leisurely pace than their peers.  This shuffling around and new demarcations has sometimes happened by accident where we have all been fumbling our way along in life.  But it has also happened by design. In other words, I pre-empted some situations where I knew I would need to have frank and honest conversations about things that concern us as a family.  I would often seek their help or advice and consider a different perspective on things.  Perhaps they would see something from an angle that I had not thought about.  However, there were also many times I had secretly already made up my mind about something but wanted them to feel included in the process anyway.  In those latter situations, I always recall the example of the Prophet (peace be upon him).  Being the sublime character that he was, he excelled in the skill of discussing his plans with his closest companions, not to seek their approval or guidance, but for the sake of making them feel included and important.  In the meetings I have had with my boys about family matters, I wanted to emulate our noble Prophet (peace be upon him).  He epitomised the wonderful strategy of creating cohesion and unity amongst people and a feeling of being valued.

Coming together without fear to share ideas

Too often, I have seen parents of my generation, and those before, talk at their children rather than talk with them.  The abuse of power that comes with the advantage point of being a parent is lamentable.  Ostensibly, some parents believe their years make them wiser and more mature.  They have inalienable rights.  Their voices dominate everyone else’s.  It is a narrative that runs through many families.  Of course, there are times when parents must – and should – have absolute say in stark matters of wrong and right, of halal vs. haram.  However, there are many areas where open and frank conversations with their children would not go amiss.  Not allowing young people a voice to express their emotions or thoughts is not allowing ourselves to know how to help navigate them in life.  It is so wrong to expect our children to mirror our own expectations of them or to have them live out our fantasies of their lives.

Life is never smooth sailing and I have had many occasions where I have disagreed with my sons on certain matters.  However, in giving them a platform to speak, I have done myself a service.  How is that?  I have come to understand them, as individuals, a bit better as they allow me to ramble through their minds.  Had I shut down expressions of dissent or confusion, I would never have had the privilege of knowing what governs their thought processes.  If I don’t give them the opportunity to share their ideas, then I need to ask myself, “Where are they going to offload?  Who is providing their counsel?”  I know I would much rather have them share those ideas etc. with me than anyone else.  As their mother, I will always have their best interests at heart, inshaAllah. 

So, it is with this attitude that over the last few months and years, I have managed to discuss some more delicate or personal issues with my sons.  Typically, this would involve topics such as puberty and relationships.  I take comfort in knowing that, as a parent, it is my duty to expound upon these matters as they are so central to our existence. There can be no shying away from these subjects in Islam.  In fact, there is a truism that says, “there is no hayah (shame) when it comes to seeking knowledge.”  In other words, we need to have conversations which may sometimes be embarrassing.  However, the purpose is higher than the conversation itself.  Ideally, I would have wanted my boys to have had these discussions with their father.  However,Alhamdulillah, I also believe I have been blessed with this task because, over time, we already have established reasonable and respectable boundaries between us.  We have tried conscientiously to approach sensitive topics with maturity and openness. As for me, I remind myself I am equipping my sons with knowledge that will serve as their tools to guide them through life. 

As I often reiterate to myself and to them, our thoughts and actions must always be circumscribed by our Deen – Islam.  Like two concentric circles, we are trying our best to keep the emotional circle encompassed by the larger spiritual one.  If we strive to work within that framework, then differences of opinion are completely acceptable.  To be honest, I would be extremely naïve to expect my boys to agree with me on everything and vice versa.  Alhamdulillah, despite that fact, I reflect on how far we have traversed together these past few years.  We have leaned on one another for support and I cherish their input and company.  I am also mindful to give them the space to make minor mistakes as this is when real growth occurs.  But when we digress or even transgress, this needs to be recognised and rectified as soon as possible.  My sons have also been honest and bold enough to remind me at times when I need to be reminded.  For that, I am deeply grateful.  Although my gratitude lies solely with Allah, I acknowledge my sons for giving me the honour to call myself ‘mother’.  They have made the experience a treasured one, Alhamdulillah.   I cherish the home we have created for ourselves; not the physical space per se but, moreso, the abode where love and respect flow in all directions.  It is these principles which will always remain indelible motifs on the tapestry of life.

I am a work of Kintsugi

Healed scars as a source of beauty

For many young Muslims looking to get married, the knowledge that “marriage is half their deen* is a belief that expectantly propels them forward with their mission.  What that hadith (prophetic saying) means is that marriage helps a Muslim to be emotionally stable and satisfies a myriad of needs within a legitimate structure.  Therefore, a Muslim is removed from other potentially immoral distractions in life.  Indeed, marriage is a noble aspiration and a decision which should not be taken lightly.   No doubt, in normal situations it brings happiness and security in its many forms to both husband and wife. 

I have had the fortune of knowing the security and happiness that a marriage can bring, Alhamdulillah.  Although that experience was abruptly terminated for reasons I still can’t quite understand, I do know that half my deen ≠ half my faith.  Even on my own, I continue to strive to bring together complex and composite parts to make me a wonderfully complete whole.  As much as I lament my loss, I look in hope to the future. 

Over time, I have been putting my life back together in small but positive steps.  I have read a plethora of material (to rebuild myself) across broad subjects such as narcissism, healing, personal development, mental health and, most importantly to me, maintaining faith in crises.   

Amongst that reading, I have often stumbled across some more tangential material as often usually happens when one is digging deep for answers. This included an article on Kintsugi (golden joinery) – a sedulous and traditional Japanese art that uses a lacquer typically dusted with golden powder to mend broken pieces of pottery.  Once restored, the item not only assumes its glorious past but essentially becomes stronger.   It is perfection in the imperfection.  Kintsugi is the epitome of resilience and reclaimed beauty.  The idea that something should not be discarded simply because it is broken, resonated with me deeply.  My experiences, negative and positive, had been for a purpose after all.   I knew I was going to emerge as a better version of my ‘yester-self’.  I am a work of Kintsugi.

Once broken, now whole

Nobody has ever died of a divorce”. 

Interesting thought.   As with Kintsugi, I don’t recall where I read that sentence but serendipity had struck again. I pondered on the above line for a long while and thought, “How crazily true!”  For sure, divorce causes chaos and grief in many lives but accepting that no ex-husband was worth dying for, unequivocally jolted me out of my emotional coma.  

And so all these chance encounters, of quotes, of art forms, of random conversations, of subjects seemingly unrelated, may seem accidental but I believe they were anything but that.  I mean, why had I never heard of Kintsugi before?   But I already knew the answer – Allah was choosing His means of gradually guiding me back to a place of contentment.  Loose strands were slowly weaving together to become one solid rope of hope. I was beginning my climb.

From that base level of contentment, I have been on a mission to push myself out of my comfort zone and explore my own hidden strengths.  Those strengths may not seem extraordinary but given the lugubrious apathy I had been suffering lately, it was no easy feat to get going.

One such memorable example is a trip to the Peak District in August 2019.  Having hired a 9-seater van and planned an itinerary, I took a large group – my four boys and five of their cousins – on a self-catering holiday to one of England’s most beautifully scenic locations.  We set off in two vehicles onto new adventures.  Being in the company of mostly teenagers, I had slight hesitations about how things would play out especially with ten different personalities.  Would there be silly conflicts or immutable differences?  Would we return miserable rueing the day we ever thought of such an audacious idea?  As the sole mature adult, I also secretly wondered how I would cope in the absence of a confidante to share the task of shepherding that group.  However, I never needed it.  The holiday was a resounding success so much so that we have already planned to go away together again! 

Memories from a wonderful trip to the Peak District

The success of our trip wasn’t attributable to the wonderful sights and sounds per se.  It was also largely because the ten of us brought the best of ourselves to that time and space and effortlessly made it work.  In the time we shared together, I realised I was functioning just fine as the head of this motley crew.   They reciprocated wonderfully by allowing me inclusivity into their worlds so much so there were many times I forgot my parental status amongst them.  No boundaries were crossed and yet the fraternal fluidity amongst us was seamlessly present. 

Unbeknown to the others, the planning and execution of the Peak District holiday was an ambitious goal I had set myself.  In some ways, it was a microcosm of my life.   It is quite difficult to put into words.  Suffice to say, I needed to prove to myself that I could handle new situations and not simply get through them but excel.  As a Muslim, everything I do in life is circumscribed by my faith.  Yet that faith should not be viewed as a limiting factor.  On the contrary, understanding it helps me distinguish the impossible from the possible.  That is why I am now insha’Allah (God willing) on a path to create a bigger world of possibilities  

deen* – a way of life for Muslims which encompasses religious law, character and beliefs

On a beautiful path to new adventures

Why ‘MyMotherHalf’ ?

For years I’ve had a desire to write about that huge chunk of my life called Motherhood and yet all that time I told myself that others would have heard it all before; I’d be writing a soliloquy and speaking on a stage without an audience. Yet I always believed that the experience of writing had the potential to be cathartic for me. And so, the idea of writing a blog, I confess, is primarily a selfish one. Though I have been a terrible proscratinator, I knew one day I would take the plunge and simply get started.

Creating a blog is a daunting prospect for me.  Not because I’m a Luddite or that my thoughts and ideas are muddled but because I have no idea where it’ll lead.

What I do know is that I have lots to say.

I want to reflect on my experiences of being a Muslim mother at the helm of a family of four young teenage boys; steering the ship alone without an adult male presence and sharing the highs and lows of that unpredictable journey.  I also want to help others understand that being a mother is only a part of my life – that there are so many dimensions of existence that come within a single being. Whilst being a mother is arguably the noblest of all roles a woman may be blessed with, it isn’t the only label she wears. Simultaneously, mothers juggle so many other roles even though they are often sidelined without choice.

What might surprise readers is that this blog isn’t invariably going to be a sombre place to empty out my jar jammed with frustrations. (I’m sure I will have those moments).  But, insha’Allah (God willing), in this blog I hope others will – more than occasionally – find quite the opposite happens.  Through writing, there will be expressions of laughter, tears and just good old-fashioned inner reflection.

I write from the perspective of a Muslim and a woman and a warrior – someone whose battles are sometimes with herself and sometimes with those who have their misaligned perceptions of being a lone parent.  I don’t speak from a male-hating podium.  I stand from a platform simply to let other women, in a similar boat to me, know that they are not alone.  We serve as mirrors to one another.  No two people have identical life experiences but I hope those who stumble across my future posts will find relatable anecdotes.  What do I hope to achieve here?  I hope my musings will help women, especially Muslim women, reconcile their faith in Islam with their own daily struggles. 

I am not on a proselytising mission. Let’s get that clear from the start.  My posts will be honest and open insights into parenting alone.  By taking my readers as passengers on my own journey, I hope to give them the quiet confidence and courage to map out their own inner travels in life.


Sabia A.