There are days where I move from one task to the next with barely enough breath in between—cups to fill, never-ending clothes to wash…fold…and try to put away in a timely manner. Hearts to mould, lessons to teach, and messes to tidy. But somewhere in that whirlwind, over the years, I started asking myself a quiet question: Is it possible to mother myself, too?
Because the truth I learnt is: we don’t stop being daughters just because we became mothers to our children.
I didn’t understand that for the longest time. I always felt I had to grow up quicker than my time—an eldest daughter who couldn’t afford to make mistakes, who felt she had to prove her worth by never being a burden. Even in the moments I craved affection or a gentle word from my mother after becoming a mother myself, I was faced with the hard reality: sometimes our mothers just can't carry us in the way we hope they can, and Alhamdullillah (Praise be to God) that's ok, they aren't meant to sometimes. But when they can’t, we must strive to become the mother we long for—we must nurture her within ourselves.
I had to remind myself: Just keep going, this is from Allah, take it on with grace. Not everyone will be able to help you, not everyone can save you. But Allah, The Most Gracious — is the One who brings you to the pain only to bring you through it. As we are always reminded of such an uplifting message from Allah in Surah Ash-Sharh [The Relief] (94:5) "So, surely with hardship comes ease."
Read that again, with the hardship comes the ease.
فَإِنَّ مَعَ ٱلْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا ٥
So, surely with hardship comes ease.
— The Clear Quran
I began to realise that the more depleted I felt, the less I could parent from a place of presence and softness. It wasn’t because I didn’t love my children—it was because I was forgetting to love myself as a soul in need, too. A soul in need of rest. A soul in need of understanding. A soul in need of listening, healing, du'a, mercy, and patience.
And through healing, through finally giving myself permission to breathe, voicing the me-time I needed, I became a better mother.
I began mothering from a place of ihsān instead of exhaustion.
Because a mother carries the emotion and calm of the home, the quiet anchor of its atmosphere… and she needs support too. She needs space to refill before she pours into everyone else.
These are the shifts that intentional “me time” created for me:
- Making time for intentional salah (prayer) and connection
- Drinking my coffee before it turns cold (at least trying my best to!)
- Speaking up about how I feel
- Setting boundaries without guilt or shame
- Being kind to myself when I fall short, allowing the perfectionism that suffocated me to ease a little with each slip up or task not complete, or plan that didnt go as I wrote it
- Asking for help, without embarrassment
- Being ok with a break, whether it be an hour in the day or a few, without feeling guilty
And what I found is, when I mother myself kindly, I mother them more presently and kindly too.
I was blessed to create a sacred space in my home that became mine—my sanctuary away from the chaos and beauty of the home. A space for me, the mother of the household, the safe-space keeper, while my husband takes on the world for us. It became a space for inner parenting. A place where I could empty out the thoughts I wouldn’t say aloud. A place to create, to learn, to journal, reflect, and sit with solitude. A place to write my intentions, visions and goals, and to process the day or the days yet to come.
Some of these words and reflections eventually shaped the prompts and affirmation cards I now share through The Deen Diaries. But it all began with a need to be compassionate with myself—to be accountable, intentional, and gentle with the woman behind the mother.
If you’re reading this and feel stretched thin, let this be your reminder: you are not just the one who gives care, the one who serves. You are deeply worthy of care and serving too.
Motherhood is a lifelong act of service, but let it be service done with a full heart, not a forgotten or breaking one.
Give yourself permission to voice what’s happening inside you. Whether it’s needing a space at home that’s just yours, or a day away, or even a few hours of guilt-free breathing room — these are human needs, not failures or heaviness to carry alone.
For the mothers walking this path entirely alone, with no partner or support… I’m sorry.
For the parents walking the part together, yet still have no help, no village, no one to lean on… I see you, and I'm sorry...
Your tiredness doesn’t make you ungrateful.
Your limits don’t make you weak.
And your need for rest doesn’t make you less of a motheR, or less of a parent — it makes you human.
And I pray Allah places ease in your days, softness in your heart, and support in the exact ways you’ve been needing.
May Allah send you the kind of help that lifts you, the kind of rest that heals you, and the kind of peace that feels like a deep exhale.
You don’t have to carry this alone — even when it feels like you are or have to, you shouldn't need to.
Turn to Allah with whatever sits heavy on your chest.
He is As-Salam — the source of peace, who cares for you in ways you don’t or may not always see.
Keep turning to Him, quietly, sincerily and just trust.
Allah hears what you can’t put into words, so if you don't know what to ask of Him, ask Him to ease the heaviness in your heart, the heaviness you can't put into words.
“Call upon Me; I will respond to you.”
(Qur’an 40:60)
If you felt the weight of this post, I’d love to have you here more often.
I write intentional letters — reflections on faith, motherhood, healing, learning, and journalling — for women who want to slow down and live with more meaning.
With love,
Zainab