In the silent chambers of many homes, there lies a hidden pain—one not born of poverty or disease, but of emotional emptiness. A void. A gap that cannot be filled with wealth, beauty, or even religiosity. That void is the absence—or mismanagement—of emotions.
We often think of marriage as a contract, a union, or a duty—and indeed, it is all of these. But beneath the legalities, the physicality, and the logistics, lies a truth that we often overlook: emotions are the lifeblood of any meaningful relationship.
Yet sadly, many of us were never taught to feel. We were taught to perform, to endure, to survive.
Raised to Suppress, Trained to Disconnect
In many cultures, especially within traditional African societies, boys grow up hearing phrases like:
“Real men don’t cry.”“Man up.”“Don’t be weak.”
These seemingly harmless statements are not just words—they are instructions to disconnect. They tell a boy that to be strong, he must bury his emotions, ignore his pain, and silence his needs. But what happens when that boy becomes a husband and a father?
He shows up for his family—but only physically. He provides, protects, and prays, but his heart remains locked away. His wife yearns for connection but meets a wall of silence. His children ache for presence but encounter emotional distance. And before long, what was supposed to be a garden of rahmah (mercy) becomes a desert of misunderstanding.
This isn’t just unhealthy—it is spiritually and psychologically dangerous.
The Qur’anic Framework for Emotional Bonding
Allah, in His infinite wisdom, describes the essence of marriage in the most emotionally intimate terms:
“And among His signs is that He created for you from yourselves spouses that you may find tranquility in them, and He placed between you love (mawaddah) and mercy (rahmah).”(Surah Ar-Rūm 30:21)
This verse is not merely poetic. It is a divine framework.
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Sakīnah (tranquility) – a state of emotional peace.
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Mawaddah (affectionate love) – a deliberate, expressive emotion.
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Rahmah (mercy) – compassionate empathy in action.
Marriage, in Islam, was never meant to be a dry transaction. It was intended to be an emotional sanctuary. The Prophet ﷺ himself modeled this with such tenderness that his companions were astonished at how he would kneel to let his wife climb a camel, race with her, or rest his head on her lap.
But where does this leave us today?
The Emotional Illiteracy of Men — And Its Impact
It is a sad truth that many men today suffer from emotional illiteracy—not because they are heartless, but because they were never allowed to access their hearts.
And so, wives cry alone. Children act out. Fathers grow cold. Mothers burn out. And what was meant to be a home becomes a battlefield—or worse, a vacuum of silence.
This is why we must talk about reparenting.
Reparenting: Healing the Inner Child for the Sake of the Family
Reparenting is the process of meeting your unmet emotional needs from childhood, not by blaming your parents, but by becoming the adult your inner child always needed.
You see, many of us are walking wounds. We enter marriage hoping our spouses will fill our voids. But without emotional healing, we bleed on the very people trying to love us.
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The husband who withdraws during conflict was once a child punished for crying.
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The wife who fears rejection was once a girl told she was too emotional.
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The father who shouts may never have been spoken to with gentleness.
Healing begins when we admit we need it.
And when we heal, we no longer pass on our wounds to our children. Instead, we give them what we never had: emotional safety, connection, and love without fear.
Emotion as the Framework of Sustainable Love
Many marriages start with excitement—fueled by attraction, idealism, and perhaps even religious obligation. But time tests all of these. What remains when the honeymoon fades, when stress increases, when children arrive?
It is not money.
It is not status.
It is emotional connection—the ability to say:
“I see you. I hear you. I understand you. I am here for you.”
Without this, even the wealthiest homes become battlegrounds. With this, even a modest home becomes a garden of peace.
“Verily, the believers are merciful to one another…”(Surah Al-Fath 48:29)
Culture vs. Compassion: Redefining Strength
In many societies, especially where masculinity is defined by stoicism, strength is misunderstood. When a man is told to “act like a man,” what they often mean is: “deny your humanity.”
But true manhood—by the Prophet’s standard—is the ability to balance strength with softness.
The Prophet ﷺ wept at loss, kissed his children, joked with his wives, listened without interrupting, and stood up for the weak. This is our model.
“The strong man is not the one who overpowers others, but the one who controls himself in anger.”(Bukhari & Muslim)
Let us teach our boys that it is manly to feel, to be tender, to apologize, to empathize, to cry with your wife, and to speak kindly to your child.
Let us create a culture where emotional intelligence is seen as strength—not weakness.
Building Emotionally Healthy Marriages and Children
To raise emotionally healthy children, we must become emotionally responsible adults. A child learns love by observing it. A child learns how to argue, forgive, or shut down, by watching how their parents resolve conflict—or don’t.
Your marriage is their first school of emotional literacy.
What Can You Do Today?
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Seek help: A marriage counsellor or family therapist rooted in Islamic and psychological understanding.
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Start journaling: Reflect on your childhood wounds and unmet emotional needs.
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Talk with your spouse: Not just about logistics, but about feelings.
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Apologize and forgive: Without ego, and with sincerity.
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Read the Seerah with an emotional lens: How did the Prophet ﷺ manage love, grief, joy, and conflict?
Emotion is not a weakness. It is a gift.
It is the glue that holds families together through storms. It is the language of the heart. It is the sacred thread Allah placed in marriage to foster mercy and tranquility.
So let us not raise a generation of emotionally starved children because we were too proud or too wounded to feel. Let us not allow our culture to silence the soul that Allah placed in us.
Let us begin to heal, to connect, and to love—not just deeply, but consciously.
Because no matter how beautiful a house may be on the outside, it is only livable when it feels like home on the inside.
