Blog

Sketch of Red Crayon Heart on White Background

The realm of angels is not far removed from our reality; it is the unseen protection, the divine presence, and the silent advocacy that Allah assigns to every soul born into this world. Their purpose is not abstract—it is intimate, specific, and divinely aligned with the path each of us is meant to walk.From the moment of our creation, Allah, in His infinite mercy, grants us a form of insurance: the angels who record every deed, every thought, every movement of the heart. These are not just records—they are precise, purposeful reflections of our spiritual journey. Every word uttered, every action taken, is measured and balanced with justice. This divine accounting system is not to shame us, but to offer us redemption. Through these records, we retrieve reason, we reclaim clarity, and we find the means to rise from our mistakes with hope.But more than insurance, the angels are an assurance—a reassurance of Allah’s love and nearness. Their presence does more than observe; it shapes. They illuminate the intentions behind our actions, and it is through our intentions that they advocate for us. Their enthusiasm is a quiet force that surrounds those whose hearts are sincerely turned toward Allah. In gatherings of remembrance, in moments of dua, in the stillness of prayer—angels descend, bringing peace, calm, and a divine echo of belonging.They are made of light, reflections of what we lack, and yet yearn to attain. They carry the Qur’an not in memory, but in essence. They carry Allah’s will not in theory, but in being. We, made of clay, carry the blessing of free will—a gift that demands responsibility. And so, while they embody the Qur’an, we must build it within us. We must memorize it, live it, feel it, and engrave it upon our hearts.The angels exist as a reminder: that we are not alone in our striving. That in every sincere effort, there is unseen help. That Allah’s mercy surrounds us through them—documenting, guiding, and silently uplifting us as we attempt to align with His light.Their realm is not distant—it is beside us. In every moment of remembrance, every repentance, every step toward good, the angels draw near. They are Allah’s promise, His protection, and the bearers of peace, advocating for our souls in both this life and the next.And so I write this not just as a mother, but as a soul who has been entrusted with the amanah of raising children under the shadow of divine guidance, with the angels watching over each of our choices—mine, theirs, and even those of the ones who have tried to rewrite our story without justice.To my children, if you ever read this, I want you to know: all the times I spoke to you about what we were going through—those difficult days, the emotional heaviness, the things that felt too big for your hearts to carry—none of it was ever the way I imagined guiding you. I never wanted to pass the deen through pain, but now I understand why those conversations never progressed.&nbsp; As your mother, I chose to protect your hearts, not push them. I gave the deen a home in our space, but I kept a respectful distance between its full practice and your growing understanding—not out of weakness, but wisdom. I wanted you to see it, not just obey it. To admire it before being overwhelmed by its discipline. To recognize the light of Allah in it before associating it with hardship. I thought if I helped you build cognitive confidence first—emotional intelligence, self-awareness, independence—you’d be better equipped to balance your Islamic identity with the outside world. That you’d choose it, like I did, when the time came.It was my “getaway plan” from bad peer pressure. A way to keep you away from drugs, addictions, emotional dependencies, and the pitfalls I knew could come for you. And maybe in part, I failed. Maybe the timing was off. Maybe I gave too much freedom, or didn’t explain enough. But maybe, just maybe, Allah knew this path better than I ever could.What we’re facing now—this painful distance between us—is not because of a lack of love, or a lack of faith. It’s because of outside influences that made their way into our bond. I know you're being pressured by your father to be distant with me in order to make our relationship difficult. What makes it harder is that he's not alone in this with my own mother and my sister, the very people who should have stood by me during hardship, have also fueled the division.And what hurt most wasn’t their betrayal of me—but their betrayal of you. <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">They’ve encouraged you to doubt me. To mistreat me. To see me through a distorted lens. And as painful as it is to admit, their influence has created a version of me in your eyes that doesn’t reflect who I truly am. <span data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Only Allah knows and the Angels are always there. <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">They’ve been with us all along— and they won't leave you habaybi. Deep down, I believe your hearts know the mother I am , my protection for you, &nbsp;my passion to teach you emotional awareness, and my guarding of your hearts. But right now, you’re being pressured and told to hold back from me. You’ve been taught that strength means silence—and that standing by me would cost you too much.You know what I've taught you and how and why. We have to endure this by trusting the will of Allah and don't ever deny or stop relying on Him and His angels. You just don't stop believing. Be the angels I know you to be.&nbsp; Disclaimer: I will be relieving my entire family, parent, siblings, aunts, uncles, &amp; cousins from the burden they believed I was to them.&nbsp;

Your Love is your Freedom

Denial and free will are two of the main reasons Allah tests us. Denial is usually the thing that sets us back—from learning, from progressing, or even just from starting. It comes in many forms, and we often find ways to keep entertaining it without even realizing. It’s much easier to be negative than it is to stay positive, which is why patience takes time. It’s something we have to learn and train ourselves in—internally—before we can handle it outwardly.But what’s important to remember is that Allah already instills the truth within us. It’s centered deep at our core, where our decisions, behavior, and actions come from. It’s just on us to balance out the denial, the doubts, and the vague thoughts that cloud that inner core and block our ability to reason intuitively.This is very similar to how we carry our morals and values. We protect them, and we often act on them right away in decision making. But when it comes to that deeper intuition—the one connected to Allah—it takes time to fully recognize and trust it. That’s because intention isn’t a one-time, set-in-stone decision. It shifts. We shift. Our circumstances change, our hearts change, and with that, our intentions need constant checking. That’s why Allah asks us to practice patience—not just with the world, but with ourselves. It’s a way to measure how consistent and sincere we are with what we claim to intend.So, to simplify the denial we experience in matters of faith, we have to first be willing to do the actual work required to meet the level of sincerity and presence it takes to even begin validating—or rejecting—what we’re being shown. Intention is everything. Without it, we’re not fully good, and we’re not fully bad—we’re just stuck somewhere in the middle, unable to move forward.And Allah already tells us that we have limited knowledge of the unseen. That reminder isn’t to belittle us—it’s to teach us that His plan is protection. His prescription is exactly what we need to move through life in a way that protects the soul, the heart, and the mind.

Free Will and Patience: The Measure of Our Intentions

Tropical paradise beach scene for background or wallpaper

There’s a case out there trying to get me.Its whole work-up is built on the idea that I sacrificed everything—my seemingly perfect marriage, my children, my dignity, my wealth, my appetite, my freedom, my name. That I’ve basically lost my self-respect and now walk around in a burka just to cover up a scandal with a man who, from what I’ve come to understand over the years, is also going through a divine intervention.They’re accusing me of using the deen as a cover. They think my claim of receiving clear guidance from Allah is just a way to get people to believe in me, trust me, follow me—when the truth is, I haven’t asked anyone for anything. I’ve never wanted attention or praise. All I’ve ever wanted was clarity and the ability to live it truthfully.The case takes it a step further, saying that my claim of being the reincarnation of Fatima Zahra (Prophet Muhammad’s daughter, peace be upon him) and the presence of the Prophet’s DNA in my lineage is a red flag.Even though I’ve said time and time again—with respect—that I understand it’s a lot to take in. I get that it’s hard to believe. But for the people who do follow, for the ones who have seen what I’ve seen and felt what I’ve felt—it’s my responsibility to hold what Allah has revealed and share it. What happens after that is not up to me. It’s up to Allah.I’ve had to speak up for myself because there are people out there who’ve been given the wrong version of my story. And when you wear the niqab and speak the truth you live, people think it’s for show, or that you’re trying to be something you’re not. But this isn’t an act. This isn’t a moment. This isn’t a roller coaster or an exhibit you walk through and leave. It’s real life. And I live it every day.Allah’s higher calling isn’t some fantasy—it’s the unfolding of our lives. And it’s on us to choose how much we’re willing to trust Him. Denial doesn’t protect you. Staying suspicious of someone who’s always moved with sincerity—that is a test on its own.No matter what I say, no matter how I try to explain, it will always be seen as a cover-up or some made-up story to those who don’t want to open their hearts. But if someone would just pause and say, “Ya Allah, Nora is this, this, and that—help me understand what’s really going on”—that’s real trust in Allah. That’s what sincerity looks like.Because the truth is, gossip has a cost. And some people are racking up debt on stories that were never theirs to begin with.Talk to Allah. It’s not pathetic. It’s not loser-ish. <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">And it's not a Disney movie. Your loyalty isn't limited to just your goals. This is instilling what you can as a way of life. It's a ladder and it takes time to climb. It takes a lot of patience, reflection and sincerity. Most importantly, Allah will not let you walk it blindly.&nbsp;

The Case for the Cause

The Importance of Mental Health in AdulthoodMental health isn’t a luxury—it’s a lifeline. As adults, we often carry with us the unresolved weight of our childhoods: the unmet needs, the misunderstood emotions, and the silences that echoed louder than words. These early experiences shape the lens through which we view the world, our relationships, and most importantly, ourselves.But to break generational curses, we must dare to confront what hurt us, not just cope with it. Healing isn’t about blaming our upbringing—it’s about understanding it. It’s about realizing that the bitterness, anger, or resentment we may carry isn’t a personality trait, but a result of unprocessed pain. And when we choose to heal, we give ourselves permission to stop upholding the wrong reasons for our suffering. We stop defending the patterns that broke us.There is nothing more tragic, and honestly, demeaning, than when someone chooses to mask healing—using it as a weapon rather than a path to growth. Healing should never be performative. It’s sacred work. To manipulate others through a fake portrayal of growth, while still operating from deceit, invalidates not only one’s own potential but also deeply harms others who are genuinely trying to grow.We must remember: healing isn’t about appearing better. It’s about becoming whole. It’s about facing the mirror and finally understanding the child within us, instead of resenting them. It’s about honoring our journey, owning our story, and not allowing the darkness of our past to determine the light of our future.In my life, people have mistaken my connection with Allah—His direct guidance and the clarity He gives me—as a cover-up for a supposed mental breakdown. Especially tied to my grief over my father, who passed away five years ago. The man who raised me with a massive heart, who gave me safety, protection, and unconditional love. I’ve always carried that with gratitude.&nbsp; Also, I would never misuse Allah’s words or falsely claim His guidance. I don’t care who it is or where it’s coming from—everyone who truly knows me deep down knows this. They just won’t admit it. Instead, they say I need help. In a way only Allah can orchestrate, He allowed me to experience a karmic reflection of that misunderstanding—through a humbling incident that occurred this past January. Due to some pressing family matters, I was sleeping in my car for a few days. One night, Allah guided me to stay near the masjid. I knew overnight parking wasn’t allowed, but I asked if I could simply leave my car there and rest. A board member kindly advised I move, warning me the police would be called otherwise. I calmly said, “If this is my bit to live, then so be it." The police showed up. They weren’t aggressive, just confused. I was calm, present, not argumentative at all. I told them straight—I’m on a spiritual journey. This is something I’m supposed to go through. They didn’t get it. One of them decided I was too calm—too okay with being misunderstood. So they labeled me as a 5150.I remember my mouth just dropping. I said, “What??”One of the officer's said, “Wait, how do you know what 5150 is?”Another misunderstanding. Another layer of judgment placed on top of something they couldn’t comprehend.I was taken to a behavioral hospital. They gave me disposable scrubs—thin, cold, flimsy. I wrapped myself in whatever blankets they had. I needed to pray, but people walk around constantly, and as Muslims, we can’t pray in high traffic areas. Salah is before Allah, surrounded by His angels. I found a corner near the door and faced the wall to pray. A nurse walked by and saw me standing there, but didn’t know I was praying. That’s the version of me she saw—just staring at the wall, wrapped in blankets. Another moment of being misunderstood.Then, I made a mistake. I gave them my ex-husband’s number to contact. And I immediately knew that decision was going to come back around. They decided to keep me longer. I was there for 36 hours and then told they were transferring me to another hospital to start the 72-hour hold again.That second hospital was more comfortable. The staff was warm. And I met so many people going through things they never had the language or support to express. I saw pain that had been buried deep. I saw strength in people who were told they were weak. The days moved fast—we were on a schedule. And I realized, this place wasn’t some scary movie depiction of a “psych ward.” It was a place where raw, unresolved life came to the surface.When the doctor sat with me, he recommended a medication to help me “avoid making irrational decisions” like not moving my car. I calmly explained my reasoning—that I wasn’t acting out. That this whole moment wasn’t a breakdown, it was a divine lesson and it highlighted a bigger issue involving the masjid.The truth is, people confuse peace with passivity. And they confuse surrender with delusion. But my experience showed me that spiritual guidance is often mistaken for instability—especially when it goes against the grain. What they didn’t realize was, I wasn’t breaking—I was being held. And when Allah is the One holding you, it doesn’t matter how the world labels your journey. He knows. He sees. And that’s enough.

Breaking the Cycle

<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Two of the saddest realities I’ve ever come to face were happening right under my nose—and yet, somehow, I remained in the dark. Not by choice, but by force. These weren’t just unfortunate coincidences or small misunderstandings. They were deep, sorrowful secrets—entangled in the lives of my children—and wrapped so tightly in deception that even when truth surfaced, it barely made a ripple in the hearts of those watching. It’s heartbreaking to admit that even with so many people aware, the truth is still not fully acknowledged. As if recognizing the weight of the problem would demand more than most are willing to give. The truth isn’t light. It isn’t simple. It doesn’t fade overnight. It requires proper attention, sincere effort, and spiritual humility. But instead, what I’m met with is a crowd under a spell—believing that I’m not worthy of Allah’s guidance. That the secrets I’ve carried, the pain I’ve endured, and the reality I’ve tried to protect have no worth beyond a cheap attempt at sympathy. That I’m just fraudulently trying to achieve something I didn’t earn. All while being under the limelight—or what I can really say is the skylight—visible, exposed, invalidated, exploited, and taken for granted.The people who know me best—who can actually connect the dots between who I am and the circumstances I’m in—have turned their backs. Worse, they’ve used the special access and attention they’ve received from authorities and systems to keep the narrative going. What was meant to be intervention became performance. The questions keep circling back to the same places, the answers lost in repetition, because the very people who were “invited” to step in and help have instead turned this into a series—dragging it out to keep feeding the story. They keep switching their stance—not because they’re waking up, but because they’re clinging to the real issue at the core. That’s exactly why Allah warns us in Surah Al-‘Ankabūt about those who weave webs—deception so fragile it should fall apart, but held together by arrogance and mockery. They laugh. They joke. They find ways to keep dismissing everything because they’re committed to the allegations. They’re nourishing the case’s title, keeping the label alive, instead of standing with true integrity before Allah. Because God forbid someone actually thinks a little deeper, questions the assumptions, or entertains the idea that maybe the one being painted as the perpetrator is actually the one who needed protection all along.They don’t realize the severity of putting someone under that kind of light. It’s not a compliment. It’s not a gift. It’s exposure. And if they hear even one thing that goes against the narrative they’ve stood by, they take it personally. Like they’ve betrayed the person they’ve been defending. But that’s part of the problem—when people base truth on loyalty rather than principle. When someone’s personality and ego become the reason for division, for choosing sides, and for keeping someone like me stuck under the surveillanceWhat they’ll come to find—whether they like it or not—is that I’ve been straightforward the entire time. Receptive. Present. I’ve been the victim in need of safety in every way. I haven’t changed—my circumstances changed. I’m not a fraud. I made a decision that reflected the reality I was facing. I had to stand up, shift, and protect what I needed to survive. But people don’t want to see that. To them, it looks like a cry for attention—too dreamy, too needy. The general tempo they work from is: “Go get a job, get a life, and stop using God.” That’s the mindset. And it’s not going to change.&nbsp;The whole truth is that the court was right to keep my husband and I separated, because Allah knew if I found out that my daughter was being molested and my son was abused while I was sleeping-- then the problem would've been much bigger than it is now if we didn't have these restrictions.&nbsp;

Tangled in Review

Comfort zones are sacred spaces in any home—places of predictability, control, and emotional rest. Growing up, comfort was important to everyone, and in my home, there was little tolerance for inconvenience, even in the smallest of ways. The expectation was to avoid anything that felt like discomfort or wasted time. But for me, comfort wasn’t a physical space—it was an internal battleground shaped by trauma bonds and emotional manipulation.There was someone close to me—older, significant, and deeply intertwined in my life. I was loyal to our sisterhood and consistently showed up for her, regardless of time or distance. I loved her kids like my own. But that love, I came to realize, wasn’t welcome. I began to notice subtle shifts—unspoken bitterness, awkward energy, the kind of silent competition that creeps in when you least expect it. Especially when the news was good. And I hate that kind of energy. I’ve always craved peace, fairness, boundaries, and mutual respect. But people mistake that for neediness, or a desire to submit to others for the sake of acceptance.I didn’t see it for what it was until later—how she slowly used her influence to manipulate my children in small, casual ways, leading them to question me. She let the current of trends and “normal” override the quiet, intentional foundation I had worked so hard to build. It broke me slowly. Not out of bitterness, but out of heartbreak that someone I trusted could work so hard to unravel what I had sewn with love.She moved closer, and with that, my comfort zone began to feel unsafe again. Not because of proximity—but because my home, my children, my vision as a mother, were not respected. And that matters more than anything. Because I honored hers too much for comfort.&nbsp;This isn’t about resentment. It’s about truth. It’s about honoring the woman and mother I’ve always been. This is an example of how easy it is for us to let the closest people &nbsp;Cross the line. Boundaries are a mercy. Loyalty is sacred. And trust should be protected.“Alhamdulillah, the One who did not let my heart go blind and made His presence a guide and light in my life.”

Blog | Soul Air Reality

Your Love is your Freedom

Free Will and Patience: The Measure of Our Intentions

The Case for the Cause

Breaking the Cycle

Tangled in Review

Workshop: Crossing Boundaries