The author is a reflective writer passionate about exploring faith, identity, and emotional healing through an Islamic lens.

Here I stand, a princess of an unseen world.

 A world carved quietly within me — a sanctuary where sorrow once found no home, stitched together with dreams and fragile hopes.

As a child, my universe was small, and it revolved around her. She was no longer just a woman. The day I was born, she was reborn too — as a mother.

That moment was the beginning of everything: wonder, warmth, and infinite possibility. I was only a baby, wrapped in her embrace, finding safety in the rhythm of her heartbeat. Her scent was my comfort. Her arms were my fortress. In her presence, the world felt gentle.

Allah reminds us of this sacred bond:

“And We have enjoined upon man [care] for his parents. His mother carried him, increasing her in weakness upon weakness, and his weaning is in two years. Be grateful to Me and to your parents; to Me is the final destination.”

 (Surah Luqman 31:14)

And Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said:

“Paradise lies under the feet of mothers.”

(Sunan al-Nasa’i)

She saw hope in me even when I did not see it in myself. She tucked me into bed with tenderness, turned tears into laughter, and unknowingly taught me what love looked like.

But time has a way of stretching us away from what once felt close.

I grew older. Stronger. More independent. The tears stopped when she left the room. My hands learned to fight their own battles. My voice grew firm enough to challenge the world. Somewhere along the way, I mistook distance for growth.

I chased achievements and called them success. I climbed heights only to find myself standing alone at the top — with the world below my loved ones and me slowly fading behind me.

Even her.

Then came a day wrapped in heaviness. The sun was present, but it did not shine for me. My victories felt hollow. My strength felt borrowed. And in the silence of my own thoughts, I realized something painful:

I had drifted from the very hands that once carried me.

Yet Allah, in His mercy, reminds us:

“For indeed, with hardship comes ease. Indeed, with hardship comes ease.”

 (Surah Ash-Sharh 94:5–6)

And Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said:

“Know that victory comes with patience, relief comes with affliction, and ease comes with hardship.”

 (Musnad Ahmad)

It was in my breaking that I remembered her.

I found myself once again in the place where my story began — her embrace. I inhaled deeply, and nothing had changed. Her hug still felt like home.

I wept, not just from pain, but from regret.

She did not ask for explanations. She did not recount my distance. She simply held me.

In that embrace, I remembered who I was.

Perhaps life is not about becoming someone new, but about returning to who we were meant to be. I had nearly lost the moon of my sky while chasing the stars of the world.

Her love did not shrink when I stumbled. It did not weaken when I wandered. It waited — steady and patient.

That is the miracle of a mother’s heart.

And above even that love is the love of Allah — the One to whom we ultimately belong.

“Indeed, my prayer, my sacrifice, my living and my dying are for Allah, Lord of the worlds.”

(Surah Al-An’am 6:162)

At the end of all pursuits and ambitions, one truth remains:

We belong to Allah.

And He placed mothers in our lives as a glimpse of mercy.

May Allah protect our mothers.

May He reward their silent sacrifices.

May He forgive us for the times we failed to see their worth.

And may He keep us close to Him — and close to the hearts that first loved us.

From Protest to
Global Day

Did you know International Women’s Day began with women workers? Rooted in early labour protests for fair pay and dignity, the movement reminds us that progress often starts with collective courage

~By Nida Ifteqar Hashmi