Ob La Di-Ob La Da

Gratitude is something I have come to understand through stages, each one reflecting the extent of what I knew at the time. As a mother, I have always felt inclined to set the playing field for my children while simultaneously giving them the independence they need to explore, learn, and simply be. My natural tendency to observe, scope out my surroundings for safety, and remain aware has been a defining trait, one that I attribute to growing up with a strong sense of street smarts. As a mother, these instincts naturally came into play, shaping the way I parented. Over time, I came to realize that physical awareness was only part of a greater wisdom—the wisdom to understand the inherent message I carry within myself and for my children, guiding them with love and understanding.

In the grand scheme of life, Allah, in His infinite wisdom, grants us tests that align with our personal knowledge, awareness, gratitude, and desires. He does not set the playing field—we do. Free will grants us autonomy, but it is shaped by our morals and values. For me, my free will was always governed by the nature and needs of my family. Every decision I made was filtered through the lens of what was best for them, extending to everyone I encountered. Most importantly, my autonomy was interwoven with gratitude—but that did not mean I was free from being tested.

Within my mind and heart, I have battled difficulties alone. On the surface, my husband and I were a great team—strong parents, good providers, and supportive family members. We managed our household, raised our children, and even balanced the complexities of having his mother live with us. Life, however, is not like filing taxes; you do not simply claim people, pay, and move on. It is constant action—adjusting, responding, fixing, and doing. That is why autonomy is essential—it allows us to recognize our limits, to pause, to recalibrate. As a Muslim, I have learned to collaborate my knowledge with my ability to act in order to clear my path.

By 2018, Allah was preparing me for a significant test. I had not yet fully acknowledged the struggles within my marriage, but my awareness was growing. Since 2015, I had experienced a lingering feeling sparked by someone I encountered—an emotion I could not quite define. Out of respect for my boundaries, I kept my distance, allowing it to remain in the background. However, as more truths about my marriage surfaced in 2018, those feelings naturally reemerged as a reflection of my reality. Still, I chose not to indulge them, remaining steadfast in my principles and held true to the inner work I made forgiving my younger self for past vulnerabilities and mistakes.

As a mother, I believe the wisdom we carry is what guides our parenting. I also believe that natural laws govern life, and that our children, in some form, inherit the consequences of the things we fail to address. Not everyone agrees with this, but my experiences have led me to hold this belief. In 2019, I faced a challenge that put my personal struggles into perspective. At my daughter's basketball game, my son suddenly fainted. My husband and I immediately picked him up and rushed him outside to assess him. It was a terrifying moment. Though it turned out to be a false alarm, it shook me to my core. That day, the roles shifted—I was reminded that before anything else, I was a mother, and my children were still young. Marriage takes time to build, and even longer to unravel. That experience reinforced the need to put my feelings aside and focus on what was in front of me.

But the feelings lingered.

Then came 2020, a challenging year as my father’s health deteriorated. Amidst everything happening in my family, I was still wrestling with my emotions. One day, while my husband took the kids to the beach, I visited my parents and sister. On my way home, overwhelmed by frustration, I turned to my dua app and poured my heart into supplications, asking Allah to remove these feelings. Just as I finished my prayers, traffic picked up, and at a red light, I looked to my right—there he was, sitting in the car next to me. Our eyes briefly met before we both turned away. The light turned green, and we drove off, knowing full well there was an inclination to stop and talk. But I did not dare. I would have felt awful to act on those feelings and then return home to my family.

That moment was a turning point. It was clear that this was not going away on its own, so I resolved to place my feelings into my prayers. I asked Allah to remove them because I knew what I had at home—love, effort, and time invested. And so, Allah allowed for a pause.

Then, in 2021, my father passed away. Grieving while maintaining my role as an engaged and active mother was challenging, but I did it. Meanwhile, my husband’s demeanor toward me changed. He became distant, subtly ignoring me. Yet, we continued upholding the loving family standard we had built. I believe we got lost in translation over the years, and our struggle with connection and bonding had been present from the start.

By October 2021, I reached a crossroads. If I wanted the truth, I had to be true to myself. I answered Allah’s call and took my prayers to a deeper level. My mother-in-law had been a living example of devotion, and she inspired me to seek more than just the motions of prayer. My children had grown older, and I was no longer on autopilot. That was the start of my spiritual journey. The more time I spent in prayer, the more I felt Allah’s closeness. His timing is always purposeful, guiding us through our intentions. Life unfolds in tests, and each lesson prepares us for a harder one. The studying is not in books but in action. It is not about memorizing Islamic knowledge—it is about nurturing the core of the soul and the intentions behind it.

That is my experience, and I embrace it. My success in drawing closer to Allah was not merely in resisting feelings and maintaining boundaries, but in ensuring that my husband remained the one with whom I shared my life, support, and devotion—despite our struggles. It was in preserving my marriage to the best of my ability and, no matter how vulnerable we may be, holding firm to the principles that truly matter. Feelings are a natural part of life and will always exist, but we are accountable for how we act upon them—whether through words, glances, actions, or even the silence of our emotions. Allah will always reveal the truth we need and are willing to see, and that is how life goes on. 

"And each and everything they have done is noted in (their) Records (of deeds).

And everything, small and big is written (in Al-Lauh Al-Mahfuz already beforehand i.e. before it befalls, or is done by its doer) (See the Quran V.57:22).

Verily, The Muttaqun (pious), will be in the midst of Gardens and Rivers (Paradise).

In a seat of truth (i.e. Paradise), near the Omnipotent King (Allah, the All-Blessed, the Most High, the Owner of Majesty and Honour)."

Quran-Qamar: 52-55