The Silent Crises in Our Homes (Part Two)

 

Healing Ummul Awlad: A Story of Love, Loss, and the Courage to Break the Cycle

Meet Ummul Awlad — a 37-year-old, prayerful, outwardly composed Muslim woman. She’s the mother of four beautiful children, blessed with a husband who tries in his own way to be loving, supportive, and faithful. But beneath her seemingly calm exterior is a woman struggling with emotional weight she never chose, but unknowingly inherited.

She was raised in a typical Nigerian polygynous home, but filled with the unspoken tensions and scars of a dysfunctional marriage. While she prays, fasts, and even teaches her daughters to wear the hijab and lower their gaze, deep down she is still that little girl who watched love decay in her home — and never learned how to build it from scratch.

Her Father: Present Yet Absent

Her father was a devout Muslim man — stern, principled, and feared. But to Ummul Awlad, he was also emotionally unavailable, harsh with discipline, and distant with affection. His role as a father was reduced to financial provision and spiritual commands — but not emotional connection.

He didn’t raise his voice to say “I love you,” but he raised it often enough in anger. He never beat her mother, but his silence, coldness, and favoritism among his wives did just as much damage.

He was home, but never really there.

Her Mother: Rebellious in Silence, Poisoned by Bitterness

Her mother, tired of playing second fiddle in a marriage of rivalry, learned to survive with gossip, passive aggression, and backbiting. She often spoke ill of her husband behind his back, mocked the other wife, and frequently said things like:

“Men can never be satisfied. Just collect your own and mind your children.”

She taught her daughter that love was a transaction — you give him food, clothes, and children, and he gives you money and protection. No place for softness. No room for vulnerability. Just endurance.

Ummul Awlad never saw healthy conflict resolution, only emotional withdrawal, suppressed rage, and pretend submission laced with hidden rebellion.

The Woman She Became

Now married, Ummul Awlad carried this legacy of emotional dysfunction into her own home.

She loved her husband — or at least tried to — but she measured love in the same ways her mother did:

• Did he provide money?

• Did he buy her what she needed?

• Did he come home at night?

But when he tried to touch her heart, to connect emotionally, she would recoil or freeze. Affection was awkward. Intimacy felt invasive. She couldn’t open up — because being vulnerable meant being weak, and weak women get hurt.

She thought she was protecting herself. But she was actually repelling the very love she craved.

When her husband once lovingly suggested, “We need to talk to someone to help us connect better,” she flared up:

“So now I’m the problem? Why don’t you go and marry a therapist too!”

That conversation ended in weeks of cold silence.

Her Deepest Trigger: The Threat of a Second Wife

When her husband hinted at a second marriage — even respectfully and within Islamic bounds — her world shattered. Not because of the idea itself, but because it reminded her of the chaos and rivalry she grew up in.

She saw her mother break slowly over the years.

She saw herself being treated like one of “those” women.

She saw her children reliving her nightmares.

She exploded with irrational anger. Not because she was evil. But because her unhealed wounds took control.

She couldn't understand why her own children started to fear her yelling, why her daughters grew anxious, and why her sons looked confused when she criticized their father in front of them.

But trauma speaks — even when the mouth is silent.

What Ummul Awlad Didn’t Know

She didn’t know that her reaction was inherited.

She didn’t know that the man she married wasn’t her father — and that she didn’t have to become her mother.

She didn’t know that healing was possible — and necessary.

The Prophet ﷺ said: “The best of you is the best to his family, and I am the best to my family.” (Tirmidhi)

But how can one be the best to their family when they are still bleeding from wounds they refuse to acknowledge?

The Pattern Must Be Broken

Dear Ummul Awlad is not a bad wife or mother. She is simply the product of unexamined patterns — of a society that doesn’t allow women to process their pain, of a culture that teaches silence over seeking help, and of a religion misunderstood in practice.

• She was never taught how to receive love.

• She was never shown how to communicate hurt without destroying.

• She never saw a mother who knew how to build emotional safety at home.

• And now, she fears turning into the very woman she once judged.

The Way Forward: A Call to Healing

Ummul Awlad’s story is the story of many women in our communities — quiet, modest, and religious… yet silently suffering, parenting from pain, and struggling to give what they never received.

The solution is not in shame. It is in healing.

Allah says: “And do not be like those who forgot Allah, so He made them forget themselves.” (Qur’an 59:19)

Healing starts when you remember yourself — your inner wounds, your uncried tears, your repressed fears.

Healing Begins With:

• Seeking therapy or family counseling — not because you are weak, but because you are ready to be whole.

• Communicating without contempt, and learning to be emotionally vulnerable in a safe space.

• Apologizing to your children and spouse, not for having emotions, but for not knowing how to express them better.

• Unlearning old habits, and replacing survival tactics with connection, love, and tawakkul (trust in Allah).

Let’s Raise a Generation That Doesn’t Need to Heal From Us

Ummul Awlad’s children deserve more. Her husband deserves a healed version of her. And most importantly, she deserves to be free — not from responsibilities, but from inherited wounds.

If we do not break the pattern, it will pass down like inheritance — quietly, painfully, and invisibly.

Let’s raise families rooted in rahmah (mercy), not rage. In mawaddah (affection), not manipulation. In sakeenah (tranquility), not trauma.

You don’t have to suffer in silence. You can choose a different legacy. And it starts with healing.

📍 © Pure Sprouts Nurture Hub

"Where wounded hearts find new beginnings."

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The Silent Crisis in Our Homes

Breaking the Cycle: Mr. Walad’s Story and the Silent Crisis in Our Homes

Meet Mr. Walad — a man in his forties, blessed with two boys and two girls. On the surface, he seems like the typical middle-aged father navigating work, family, and daily life. Raised by parents who were, to all outward appearances, “happily married,” he was told all his life that what he experienced growing up was normal. But beneath the surface lies a marriage on a keg of gunpowder, silently ticking… one emotional disconnect at a time.

A Childhood That Never Taught Him Love

Mr. Walad was raised in a home that many would call “disciplined.” His parents were strict authoritarians — swift to punish, quick to shout, and always emotionally unavailable. Love was not spoken, affection not shown, and emotions were seen as weakness.

He never heard “I love you.”

He never saw his parents embrace each other.

He never learned to cry, because “real men don’t cry.”

Instead, his feelings were ignored — unless he was physically ill. His achievements were never celebrated. When he placed second in a class of seventy students, instead of applause, he was asked:

“Did the one who took first have two heads?”

What he learned wasn’t how to love — but how to perform. And worse still, how to suppress and punish any sign of vulnerability.

A Husband Struggling with Patterns He Never Questioned

Fast forward into adulthood — Mr. Walad is now a husband, but one who has carried the same emotional emptiness into his marriage.

He expects perfection from his wife — in silence, in submission, in everything. He hits her when she talks back, because that’s what he saw growing up. He criticizes more than he praises, because that's what he knows. He believes buying her occasional gifts equals love, but has never once said “I love you” — because in his world, masculinity means emotional numbness.

Yet, his wife is emotionally starved. She is exhausted, overburdened, and resentful. She works hard at her job, takes care of the home, and endures emotional and physical detachment. Intimacy is mechanical and painful — he is too rough, too disconnected, too selfish. Sadly, she too was never taught how to love. She came into marriage broken — with a different but equally harmful pattern.

A Father Who Thinks Money Replaces Presence

Mr. Walad believes he's a good father because he spends lavishly on his children — toys, gadgets, clothes, school fees. But he does not know his children. He doesn't talk with them, laugh with them, or hold them in his arms. He has never asked how they feel, what they dream of, or what they fear.

He doesn’t understand that to a child, thirty minutes of focused, loving time daily is worth more than a mountain of gifts.

The Prophet ﷺ once delayed his prayer just to carry a child crying at the back of the masjid (Bukhari). He played with children, kissed them, joked with them. That’s the gold standard of fatherhood in Islam.

The Tragic Refusal to Heal

When his wife, after twelve long years of emotional survival, finally suggested marriage therapy, Mr. Walad scoffed:

“Therapy? That’s for weaklings. I’m not sick. I’m a man.”

To him, seeking help is a slap to his masculinity — another dangerous lie society has fed men for generations.

But the real sickness is refusing to heal.

Allah says: “Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.” (Qur’an 13:11)

Change begins from within — not from clinging to inherited wounds masquerading as strength.

The Vicious Cycle Most Men Don’t See

Mr. Walad’s story isn’t unique. In fact, it is the silent story of millions of men — raised in emotionally deprived environments, repeating cycles they never examined.

They were never taught that:

• Affection isn’t weakness.

• Correction doesn’t require cruelty.

• Leadership means emotional presence, not tyranny.

• Love isn’t shown through money alone.

They were raised by fathers who tried their best — but within a system that valued silence over expression, control over connection, and authority over empathy.

As Imam Ibn Qayyim (rahimahullah) said, “He who nurtures his children with kindness will find their hearts softened for him.”

The Way Forward: Break the Pattern

It’s not your fault how you were raised — but it is your responsibility to grow, to heal, and to break the chain.

• Seek therapy or counselling — not because you're broken, but because you care enough to become better.

• Talk about your past — what hurt you, and what you don’t want to pass on.

• Apologize to your spouse — not for being human, but for not yet learning how to be a safe space.

• Connect with your children — on the floor, in their play, in their world.

There is no shame in healing, and no honor in repeating pain.

It’s Time to Break the Cycle — For Our Ummah’s Future

What Mr. Walad didn’t realize is this: you can’t parent or love well from an empty emotional cup. If we do not heal our inner wounds, we will bleed them into our marriages and into our children.

Let’s be the generation that changes the narrative.

Let’s raise children who won’t need to recover from their parents.

Let’s be men and women who walk in the footsteps of the Prophet ﷺ — the most emotionally intelligent, loving, and balanced man to ever live.

Need help? It’s not weakness. It’s wisdom.

Let’s seek support. Let’s grow. Let’s heal.

For ourselves. For our marriages. For our children.

📍 © Pure Sprouts Nurture Hub

"Where healing homes begin."

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Broken but Not Damaged: Rethinking the Myth About Children from Divorced Homes

There’s a widely held but flawed belief that children from divorced homes are destined to carry emotional damage into their own marriages—especially young women. “She’s a product of a broken home,” some whisper dismissively, as though that one sentence writes her entire future in stone. But is it really so? Is every divorce a disaster, and every child from such a home a red flag?

The truth is more nuanced, more compassionate—and more hopeful.

Toxicity, Not Divorce, Causes Damage

Let’s begin by clearing the air: Divorce, in itself, is not what breaks a child. Toxicity is. Abuse is. Silent wars, shouting matches, emotional coldness, and chronic disrespect—these are what shatter the hearts of children who grow up watching their parents coexist miserably in the name of keeping the home “unbroken.”

There are families that stay together physically, but emotionally, they are battlegrounds. And when the air in a home becomes polluted with bitterness, criticism, or emotional neglect, it seeps into the lungs of everyone inside—especially the children.

But on the other hand, a peaceful separation—done with dignity, mercy, and maturity—can offer a cleaner slate for healing. It tells the child: “We couldn’t make this work, but we will still love and care for you without making our pain your burden.”

The Children Who Grow in Calm After the Storm

Children of divorced parents who handled their separation respectfully and responsibly often turn out to be more emotionally aware, more resilient, and more intentional in their relationships than those who were raised amid constant conflict.

Why? Because what shapes a child is not the mere structure of the home—it is the quality of relationships within it.

“And We created for you spouses from among yourselves, so that you may find tranquility in them; and He placed between you affection and mercy...”

— Surah Ar-Rūm, 30:21

Tranquility. Mercy. Affection. Not silent grudges, violent outbursts, or years of psychological warfare.

Know When to Take a Bow

At some point, we must be brave enough to ask: Is this marriage saving my family—or sinking it?

There are situations where staying together becomes more harmful than parting ways. When a marriage becomes a source of trauma instead of sakinah (peace), then it is not weakness to walk away—it is wisdom. The Prophet ﷺ never stayed in unhealthy situations to maintain appearances. He divorced when it was necessary, and he also instructed men and women to uphold dignity and kindness in separation.

“...either retain them in kindness or part with them in kindness.”

— Surah al-Baqarah, 2:229

Divorce is not failure. Refusing to seek help when a marriage is falling apart—that is failure. Clinging to a toxic union for the sake of what people will say—that is failure. Causing emotional wounds in your children that will take years to heal—that is failure.

Fix Yourself First, Then the Family

When a marriage starts to crack, don’t wait for it to collapse. Seek help early. At Pure Sprouts Nurture Hub, we encourage couples to begin with personal accountability. Fix yourself first—your mindset, your emotional responses, your spiritual compass. Then, help your spouse. Then together, help your children.

Healing is not a linear process, but it must start somewhere. And in many cases, a trained Muslim marriage and family therapist can be that starting point.

Don’t just attend random lectures and call it “marriage counselling.” Real healing takes:

• Therapy sessions, not just advice.

• Structured tasks, not vague promises.

• Accountability, not just duas.

• Effort, not just endurance.

Healing is Possible. And Necessary.

If all efforts to rebuild the marriage fail, and if the well-being of the family is at stake—then ending the marriage may be the most merciful option. Not all separation is destructive. In some cases, it’s the very thing that saves everyone involved.

Let us stop demonizing divorced individuals or their children. Let us start asking: “Was the environment healthy? Was healing made possible?”

Because in truth, children from peaceful divorces are often far more whole than children from hostile marriages that never ended.

At Pure Sprouts, we don’t believe in quick fixes. We believe in honest work, guided by Islamic principles and psychological wisdom. We believe in saving marriages where possible—and healing individuals where it’s not.

If your marriage is hurting, don’t hide the wound. Seek help. Heal. Rebuild. Or part ways with mercy.

Because it’s not the divorce that breaks the child... it’s the brokenness we refuse to heal.

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Between Ambition and Affection: Muslim Women, Careers, and the Homefront

One of the quiet struggles many families face today—especially in our part of the Muslim world—is navigating the complex terrain between a woman's career or business pursuit and the sacred institution of marriage and family.

It’s a conversation we don’t have enough. And when we do, it’s often when the cracks have widened beyond repair.

The Overlooked Premarital Dialogue

Before nikāh, couples are urged to discuss vital issues—finances, faith, children, even intimacy. But often left out of these conversations is a crucial question:

“Do you intend to build a career or run a business?”

It’s in the silence of this question that many future conflicts are planted.

Far too many marriages have collapsed—or quietly corroded—because this discussion was either avoided, rushed, or mismanaged. In some homes, the result is an unspoken war: silent resentment, unmet expectations, and emotional detachment.

The Full-Time Housewife Expectation: Ideal or Impractical?

Many men dream of a full-time housewife—someone to raise children, manage the home, and keep the flame of love alive. This is noble. In fact, if a man can financially and emotionally support his family fully, this is a blessed arrangement.

But what happens when reality bites?

Too often, the man cannot meet the household needs alone—yet still insists his wife must not work. He forbids her from engaging in any trade, business, or remote career, even as the family slips into hunger, hardship, and frustration. He expects her to live on love alone, or on the small gifts she receives from friends and relatives—only to ask her to surrender even that.

This isn’t love.

It isn’t leadership.

It’s oppression cloaked in authority.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

"Your women have a right over you..."

(Sahih Muslim)

A right that includes financial responsibility, security, and compassion.

Islam Doesn’t Forbid Women from Working

Islam never forbade women from seeking education or engaging in permissible business, provided they maintain the guidelines of the Sharee’ah—modesty, integrity, and prioritizing the rights of others, especially their husbands and children.

The wives of the Prophet ﷺ themselves were women of strength, intellect, and initiative. Khadijah (may Allah be pleased with her) was a successful businesswoman. The Prophet ﷺ didn’t just support her—he honored her role.

However, with rights come responsibilities. A Muslim woman’s career must never come at the cost of her children’s emotional and spiritual wellbeing. Unfortunately, many homes today are raising children who are emotionally starved—not for food, but for love, presence, and connection.

The Cost of Neglect: A Generation Seeking Healing

In the desperate race to make ends meet, many families have lost the simple treasure of presence.

Children are left with screens, house helps, or their own wandering thoughts. And years later, these same children grow up wounded, disconnected, and emotionally fragile—seeking therapy for trauma that could have been prevented by a parent’s embrace.

Some of them enter their own marriages with unresolved wounds. And we wonder why divorce rates are climbing. A generation unloved is a generation unready for love.

A Middle Path: Prioritizing Early Years

We aren’t here to judge working mothers—or stay-at-home ones. What we’re advocating is intentionality.

If a woman chooses to work or run a business, let it be with planning, prayer, and purpose.

We strongly recommend that Muslim women—especially in the early years of marriage and motherhood—consider being fully present with their children. These formative years are golden. A child’s emotional wiring, security, and self-worth are all built in those early moments of cuddles, correction, and connection.

When the youngest child outgrows that fragile stage—when they begin to soar on their own—the mother may take up her career path more actively, with the blessing of her husband and (ideally) the support of her children.

What the Ummah Needs: Balance and Mercy

We've had enough children aching from emotional neglect. Enough mothers silently regretting lost years. Enough fathers demanding sacrifice but offering no support.

Let’s raise homes built not just on bricks and food—but on affection, structure, and shari'ah-guided dreams.

“Each of you is a shepherd, and each of you is responsible for his flock...”

(Sahih al-Bukhari)

Let’s be responsible shepherds.

May Allah bless our homes with barakah, balance, and deep bonds.

May our children grow under our shade—not our shadows.

Let’s be guided. Let’s be present. Let’s be intentional.

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Beyond Advice: The Healing Power of Marriage Counselling in Muslim Homes

Too often, what we call marriage counselling in our communities is nothing more than marriage advice—well-meaning, sometimes useful, but ultimately insufficient when the cracks run deep.

Advice might polish the surface, but counselling is what gets into the rusted crevices of the heart. It rewires the emotional circuitry. It cleanses the pain that’s been quietly breeding behind smiles and shallow affirmations of “we're okay.” But are we really?

Marriage Advice Is Not Marriage Counselling

Listening to a beautiful lecture is inspiring, yes. Attending a seminar on love languages is helpful. Reading an Instagram carousel post about “5 Ways to Keep Your Marriage Alive” may give hope. But none of these—on their own—can fix the emotional injuries, miscommunication patterns, psychological wounds, or unresolved trauma that often lie at the root of our marital breakdowns.

Marriage counselling is not just talking. It is teaching, training, therapy, and healing. It involves assignments, difficult questions, honest reflection, and tools you must apply. It might feel uncomfortable—but that's what healing sometimes feels like.

Who Should See a Marriage Counsellor?

You don’t have to be on the brink of divorce to seek help. In fact, the best time to seek marriage counselling is before things fall apart.

• Intending couples, to set a strong, emotionally intelligent foundation.

• Couples who feel “something is off”, even if they can't put a name to it.

• Couples masking unhappiness, convincing themselves they’re fine just because they’re not shouting at each other.

• Parents of children with special needs, including neurodivergent children, who need coping strategies and emotional tools.

• Families battling parenting struggles, trauma, addiction, or child behavioral issues.

If any of the above sounds like your story, know that you are not broken—you’re human. And healing is possible.

The Muslim Misconceptions: Time to Break the Silence

Sadly, within our Ummah, seeking therapy or counselling is often stigmatized:

“Only weak people go for counselling.”

“Are you saying your spouse is bad?”

“You’re inviting a third party into your home.”

“Therapy is a Western idea.”

“Only people planning divorce go for that.”

These narratives are harmful. They are the very reason why so many Muslim homes are silently breaking apart, while the outward appearance remains deceivingly put together.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“Indeed, the body has a piece of flesh; if it is sound, the whole body is sound. If it is corrupt, the whole body is corrupt. That piece is the heart.”

— Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, 52; Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, 1599

If the heart is corrupted by bitterness, pride, pain, past trauma, or neglect, it affects everything: our words, our reactions, our parenting, and our spiritual connection.

Counselling is not weakness. It is the courage to heal. It is the desire to realign your marriage with the values of mercy (rahmah), love (mawaddah), and tranquility (sakinah) that Allah described:

“And among His Signs is that He created for you wives from among yourselves, that you may find tranquility in them, and He has put between you affection and mercy…”

— Sūrah Ar-Rūm, 30:21

What happens when that tranquility disappears? Do we fake it? Or do we seek the help that Islam encourages?

The great companion, ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (raḍiyallāhu ʿanhu), was reported to have once said:

“I dislike divorcing my wife, but if maintaining her means harming my Dīn, I will seek advice and resolution.”

This shows us that addressing marital problems early—and seeking solutions from knowledgeable, skilled counsellors—is part of preserving our dīn and our homes.

Why it Matters: Healing the Family, Healing the Ummah

A broken marriage is not just a personal problem. It is a communal crisis. When children grow up in emotionally tense, toxic, or neglected homes, we lose a generation to trauma, rebellion, or apathy. The family is the first institution. If it crumbles, society rots.

The Prophet ﷺ warned us against harming others, especially our own families:

“The best of you is the one who is best to his family, and I am the best among you to my family.”

— Tirmidhī, 3895

So what does it mean to be the best? It means we invest—not only financially, but emotionally and spiritually—in our families. It means we don't wait until things get “really bad.” We act early. We act wisely.

What We Hope to Offer the Ummah, Bi’idhnillah

In shaa Allah, we at Pure Sprouts Nurture Hub, hope to contribute to the Ummah in the area of marriage and family therapy—offering practical, faith-rooted, and evidence-based counselling at an affordable fee.

Because I believe with all my heart: if we can heal the home, we can heal the Ummah.

Let us stop hiding behind shame and silence. Let us normalize seeking help. Let us raise our children in emotionally safe homes. Let us support our spouses in growing into the best versions of themselves.

Let us fix the inside—not just coat the rust.

If this message resonates with you or you know someone it could help, don’t keep it to yourself. Share it. Let’s build a community that supports healing, growth, and marital excellence—for the sake of Allah and the betterment of our Ummah.

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When Childhood Hurts Don’t Heal: The Invisible Scars That Haunt Our Marriages and Parenting

A Reflection for Every Parent

Many of us were raised in homes where pain was packaged as discipline, silence was mistaken for respect, and toughness was the only proof of survival. We’ve carried these silent bruises into adulthood—into our marriages, and now, into the way we raise our own children.

We tell ourselves: “I turned out fine.”

But did we, really?

Behind many failing marriages, distant spouses, and emotionally confused children are adults still bleeding from the wounds of a childhood that never got the chance to heal. Especially in cultures like ours—deeply rooted in tradition, strong in resilience, but often silent about emotional pain—many suffer in silence, and pass it on.

This is a call to pause, reflect, and begin the journey of healing—for the sake of our souls, our spouses, and our children.

1. The Curse of Comparison

“Why can’t you be like your brother?”

“Look at your mate. She’s doing better than you!”

These words don’t push children forward—they crush their spirit. You grow up feeling you're never enough. And when you become a spouse, you either hide your feelings in shame or start comparing your partner and children too, unknowingly spreading the same disease.

The Prophet ﷺ taught us to look down, not up—

“Look at those who are below you and do not look at those above you, for it is more suitable that you do not belittle the favor of Allah upon you.”

(Muslim, 2963)

2. Words That Wound

Some of us still hear it in our heads:

“You’re useless.” “You’ll never do well.”

These weren’t just scoldings. They were character assassinations. The tongue, though small, can destroy an entire future.

So we grow up with a voice in our heads that sounds like our parents—except now, we say those same words to our spouses, or our own children. The cycle continues.

The Prophet ﷺ was never foul-mouthed. He said:

“A believer is not one who curses, nor one who insults, nor is he obscene or vulgar.”

(Tirmidhi, 1977)

3. When Beatings Replace Boundaries

Some were beaten until their skin burned or their bodies trembled—all for spilling water or forgetting a chore. What was taught wasn’t discipline, but fear, shame, and helplessness.

Such a child grows into an adult who either accepts abuse, or uses violence as a tool for control. Either way, the home is no longer safe.

Anas ibn Malik said:

“I served the Prophet ﷺ for ten years. Never did he say to me, ‘Uff.’ Never did he say, ‘Why did you do that?’ or ‘Why didn’t you do that?’”

(Muslim)

4. When Feelings Were a Crime

Tears were dismissed. Anger was forbidden. Sadness was mocked.

“Stop crying!”

“You’re just being dramatic.”

Children learn quickly: feelings are dangerous. So they grow up emotionally numb. As spouses, they can’t connect. As parents, they can’t empathize. Because they were taught to silence their hearts.

Yet our Prophet ﷺ cried openly. When his son Ibrahim passed away, he said:

“The eyes shed tears, the heart grieves, but we only say what pleases our Lord.”

(Bukhari)

This is the balance: feeling deeply, while surrendering fully.

5. The Loneliness of Being Ignored

Some of us were never asked: “How are you feeling today?”

Not when we failed. Not when we were bullied. Not even when we were hurting.

We learned to suffer in silence—and now, that silence is killing our marriages.

6. The Voice That Was Never Heard

When a child is told:

“Shut up, you don’t know anything.”

“Children should not speak when adults are talking.”

They grow up with voices trapped inside them. Ideas die. Confidence disappears. In marriage, they become withdrawn—or worse, they silence their spouse and children, just as they were silenced.

7. Forced to Grow Too Fast

A child made to carry adult burdens—cooking, cleaning, babysitting—without rest, without thanks.

They grow up exhausted. In marriage, they do everything and resent everyone. As parents, they expect perfection and push their children too hard.

Responsibility without love breeds burnout, not strength.

8. Gender Inequality in the Name of Culture

“You’re a girl, stay in the kitchen.”

“You’re a boy, don’t do housework.”

This is not Islam—it’s culture gone wrong. Boys grow up entitled. Girls grow up insecure. Both suffer in marriage, because respect and empathy were never taught.

9. Parenting Through Fear, Not Connection

“Just do what I said!”

“Don’t ask questions!”

This fear-based parenting creates compliance, not character. Children raised in fear will either rebel, or raise their own children in the same cold way.

10. No Words of Love or Affirmation

Some of us never heard, “I’m proud of you,” or “I love you.” Only criticism, silence, or anger.

So we grow up unable to give praise, even to the ones we love the most. And now, our spouses and children crave what we were never taught to give.

But the Prophet ﷺ said to Mu’adh:

“By Allah, I love you.”

(Abu Dawood, 1529)

Love is not weakness. It is the Sunnah.

11. Religion Taught as Punishment

Woken up harshly for Fajr, punished for forgetting Qur’an, forced to fast without explanation. It’s no wonder some walk away from Islam entirely.

Islam is beauty, but when introduced through fear and force, it becomes trauma.

12. The Weight of What People Will Say

“Behave! What will people say?”

A child grows up obsessed with appearances. In adulthood, they fake happiness, hide their pain, and run a marriage based on public image—not private reality.

Islam calls us to be sincere, not performative.

The Wound May Not Be Your Fault—But Healing Is Your Responsibility

We didn’t choose our childhood. But we must choose how it ends.

We are now the parents. We are now the husbands. We are now the wives. And the damage we ignore becomes the damage we inflict.

Allah reminds us:

“Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves.”

(Surah Ar-Ra’d 13:11)

The journey of healing begins with:

• Naming the pain

• Grieving the loss

• Learning a new way

• Trusting Allah to guide the process

You don’t have to be a perfect parent. But please, don’t be an unhealed one.

Let’s End the Cycle. For Their Sake.

Let’s raise children who don’t have to recover from their parents. Let’s build marriages that feel safe, soft, and spiritually nourishing.

Healing is not rebellion. Healing is worship.

Healing is not weakness. Healing is strength.

Let it begin with you.

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