The week that shook me

Some weeks don’t pass. They sit in your body. You don’t measure them in days, but in heartbeats, hospital lights, and the sound of someone you love calling your name when they’re afraid.

This school break was supposed to be quiet. Rest and reset. Instead, it became the week I learned how loud fear can be and how heavy strength feels when you’re the one carrying it.

The first time my mom collapsed was Saturday, November 22. I was alone with her. One moment was normal, ordinary. The next, I was watching my mother say her Shahada while my hands shook and my brain screamed. I was panicking, trying to be rational, trying to do the right things while my heart was doing everything wrong. Time slowed down in a cruel way. Every second felt like a test I didn’t ask to take.

She survived Alhamdulillah, but recovery wasn’t instant. It took a full week for her to feel like herself again. A week where I barely slept, barely relaxed, constantly listening for changes in her breathing, her voice, her steps.

I thought that was the storm. I was wrong! The second time didn’t warn us.

Wednesday, I booked our train tickets. We were planning to travel on Saturday. Life was moving forward again. Friday, I came home from work, took a shower and we sat down for lunch, casually talking about what more do we need to pack. Small talk. Normal talk. The kind you don’t appreciate until it disappears.

She said she felt dizzy and was going to lie down for a bit.

I was about to clean up when I heard her call my dad. Her voice sounded weak and barely there. Then I heard my dad’s voice change. Panic has a sound. Once you hear it, you never forget it.

She collapsed on the last step of the stairs. My dad was holding her. Her eyes rolled back, white, unfocused. She couldn’t speak. Then she was gone. Completely unconscious.

I screamed. I cried. I begged. I begged her to open her eyes. I begged God. I begged reality to undo itself.

I did everything I could think of. Water, perfume, essential oils. Anything to make her respond, anything to bring her back.

At the emergency room, I watched my mother’s body betray her in ways no child should witness. Her eyes turned yellow, then blue. Her face and lips drained of color. Her hands and feet were ice cold.

Doctors tried to draw blood. Again and again. Failed attempts. Her arms marked, stabbed everywhere with needles that looked too big to be near someone you love. I stood there, helpless, counting breaths that didn’t feel steady enough.

They took her to the MRI. They talked in probabilities, in maybes and in words you don’t want attached to your mother’s name. She was admitted to intensive care for four days. 

And then came the part that broke something inside me.

Hearing your mother apologize because she’s scared to leave you alone if she dies. 

Hearing her say, "I know you’re strong. You’re capable. I trust you, I’m very proud of you."

Hearing her say, "الله يرضى عليك أكتر ما أنا راضية عليك."

That kind of love feels like both a blessing and a wound.

My mom is recovering now. And I'm truly grateful.

But I’m not okay.

I had to be the strong one. The calm one. The hopeful one. I had to reassure everyone, organize everything, make decisions, hold emotions back so others wouldn’t fall apart. I pushed through because there was no other option.

Now the silence after the crisis is loud. I’m exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t fix.

The school break is over. Tomorrow is Monday. A work day. Life expects me to show up like nothing happened. I don’t know exactly how I’m going to do it, but I will.

Not because it’s easy. Not because I’m untouched by what happened. But because strength isn’t loud heroism. Sometimes it’s just standing up the morning after your world almost collapsed and choosing to move anyway.

This week changed me. It taught me that fear doesn’t always look like panic. Sometimes it looks like focus. Like responsibility. Like doing what needs to be done while your insides are shaking.

I’m grateful my mother is still here. I’m also learning to be gentle with myself. Strength isn’t the absence of pain. It’s carrying it without letting it harden you.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up. I’ll go to work. I’ll function, and that for now, is more than enough.

Stoicism is NOT the whole story

So I fell into a YouTube rabbit hole and landed on a video that talked about the connection between Stoic philosophy and Islam and why so many people who start with Stoicism eventually find their way to faith. I clicked out of curiosity, stayed out of interest, and left with so many thoughts.

Stoicism, if you’ve ever heard of it between gym motivation reels and "be mentally unbreakable" podcasts, is an ancient Greek philosophy that’s all about keeping your cool in a messy world. Don’t overreact, don’t let emotions run the show and accept what you can’t change. Very Zen, very "I’m above the chaos." And to be fair, it actually helps. People lean on it to manage stress, anxiety, heartbreak, bad bosses and the general chaos of existing in 2025.

But here’s the part the video nailed. After the calm settles in, an awkward question shows up! Okay, I’m patient now… but why? What’s the endgame? Just to be less stressed until I die?

Stoicism is great at teaching you how to endure but it’s not great at telling you what endurance is for. It teaches acceptance but it stays silent about meaning. Pain becomes something to tolerate but not something that carries purpose. And this is where a lot of people take a sharp turn toward Islam.

They start noticing that everything they admired in Stoicism already exists in Islam, just with a soul, a destination and an afterlife attached to it. Patience in Islam isn’t just a coping skill, it’s worship with reward. Acceptance isn’t emotional numbness, it’s trust in God’s wisdom. Self-control isn’t just "inner peace", it’s a path to Paradise. Justice isn’t a nice idea to post about, it’s a sacred responsibility. Reliance on God isn’t passive, it’s doing the work and then letting go of the outcome.

The real plot twist? Stoicism can make life quieter. Islam makes life make sense.

Stoicism teaches you how to breathe during the storm while Islam explains why the storm exists, what it’s shaping in you and where the road actually ends. In other words, one helps you cope, the other gives you a reason to keep going.

And the funniest part of all this? The peace people travel the world searching for through philosophies, podcasts, retreats and self-help books has been sitting right there all along in closeness to God. Real tranquility doesn’t come from emotional detachment my friends but it comes from knowing who runs the universe and trusting Him with your mess.

When the heart is finally at rest, patience stops feeling like punishment and peace stops being temporary. That’s not just calm, that’s meaning. 

The eye-roll that humbled me !

I used to get irrationally irritated by guarded people. You know that type? The guy who thinks every woman is plotting to drain his bank account. The woman who’s convinced every man is emotionally scamming her. The friend who walks into every relationship already counting how they’ll be used, betrayed or disappointed... I’d roll my eyes so hard I risked a minor stroke. Relax, I thought. Not everyone is the villain in your Netflix drama.

Then life humbled me. Properly. No warning. No lube.

At some point, I got hit with my own dose of disappointment, betrayal, confusion and that special brand of emotional whiplash that turns optimism into a survival instinct. Then suddenly, I got it. The fear, the overthinking made, the emotional flak jackets, it all made perfect sense. When you’ve been burned enough times, you stop walking into rooms unarmed.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth though. Being guarded isn’t paranoia, it’s memory. It’s the nervous system keeping receipts.

However, life cannot be lived permanently in defensive mode. You can’t build deep connections while holding a shield, a sword and a courtroom inside your head all the time. Yes, absolutely protect yourself, set boundaries and lock your doors, but don’t turn your whole heart into a panic room. Because the world is not made only of villains.

If you’re a good person with decent intentions, you are statistical proof that other good people exist. They’re awkward, they’re healing, they’re also scared and they’re just trying not to bleed on people who didn’t cut them.

Here’s the part we don’t like to admit: when we treat everyone through the lens of our trauma, we start doing real damage. When we assume betrayal in advance, we punish innocence for crimes it didn’t commit. When we lash out preemptively, we become exactly what we’re afraid of. That’s how villains are made. Not born, but created!

Sometimes fear doesn’t just protect us. It teaches others to be afraid too.

So yes, be smart, be aware, be selective, but don’t be sealed shut. Don’t confuse caution with condemnation and don’t let pain turn you into someone who spreads the very thing that broke you. You don’t have to trust blindly. Just don’t sentence people before the trial.

Some of us are still out here trying to be good in a world that taught us every reason not to be.

The delayed breakdown chronicles

Me: posts inspirational quote about staying strong after trauma

Also me: sobbing into a salad bowl because a cartoon character looked sad.

Apparently, my mental breakdown is like a guest who RSVP’d years late. Fashionably late? sure, but also extremely rude.

You know how you keep pushing through everything because you want to "stay strong"? Bills? Handled. Work stress? Handled. Family drama? Handled. Existential dread? Handled. Literally nothing fazes you… until one random night, when your brain goes, "Nah, I’ve been waiting, time to crash this party."

Symptoms are wild! Crying in weird places, overthinking literally everything, inexplicably hating your coffee mug and shouting at inanimate objects. Clothes not dry? Cry. Fridge’s door won’t open? Cry. Can’t find the red pen? Cry harder.

The funny part is how we act before it hits. We binge-watch our favorite shows, buy parfums, start journaling, go for daily walks… all in the desperate hope that duct tape and good vibes will hold our emotions together. Spoiler alert: they won’t. Duct tape works on furniture, not decades of suppressed feelings.

Here’s a highlight reel of my delayed breakdown:

Monday: Feel fine. Text friend: "I’m okay."

Tuesday: Laugh at meme. Sob uncontrollably for 17 minutes because the meme triggered a traumatic memory from years ago.

Wednesday: Eat my favorite bread for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Cry when it runs out.

Thursday: Text friend: "I think my brain is broken." They respond: "Same." Solidarity.

Friday: Sit in silence for hours. Wonder why everything feels heavy. Realize I’m basically a piñata of emotions and someone? time? trauma? just gave me a solid whack.

Delayed breakdowns are basically your brain’s way of saying "Remember me? I’ve been waiting." And there’s nothing you can do except survive it. Cry, scream, binge-watch A walk To Remember for the 400th time, eat chocolate directly from the bar... Just whatever it takes.

And here’s the kicker: society thinks trauma is linear. You’re "supposed" to feel bad for a week, adjust for a month and then poof, recovered! Meanwhile, your brain’s like: "Cute, I’ll show up in 2025 and ruin your latte."

The silver lining? Once the breakdown hits, at least it’s honest. No more pretending, no more "I’m fine" selfies, no more nodding politely while your soul silently screams. Just chaos, raw emotions and the occasional laugh at the absurdity of it all.

So, if your mental breakdown shows up late to the party, serve it some lemonade (keep it Halal), give it a chair and remember that you survived the waiting game. Now survive the breakdown itself. And hey, once you’re done, at least you can tell people this : "I cried, I screamed, I ate my weight in chocolate… and I lived." 

Special keys

I used to trust easily. I thought that if my intentions were pure, if I showed up with honesty and kindness, the world would meet me halfway. It didn’t. Over and over again, I gave people the benefit of the doubt, let them in, believed that maybe this time it would be different. However, I ended up disappointed, not just in them but in myself for believing so hard.

Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I let my excitement to connect, to care and to belong come across as desperation. Perhaps being genuinely happy to have people in my life made them think I needed them more than I should. It’s strange how pure intentions can be misread, how kindness can be mistaken for weakness and how loyalty becomes invisible when it’s not convenient for others.

I know that people are not the same. And that's why I still have a glimpse of hope in humanity. But sometimes it becomes so hard to believe especially when the story keeps repeating with different faces. They say every open door has a cost so that's why my door stays closed out of self-respect. 

I still believe good people exist because I exist, because my loved ones exist. But access to me comes with special keys, keys only earned through, sincerity, humility, empathy, consistency and real depth. Nobody is getting another chance to make me question these beautiful qualities. 

When good hearts go cold

It’s scary to think about what the world is slowly turning people into. You can already feel it :  the exhaustion, the numbness, the quiet bitterness growing in people who used to have soft hearts. There’s only so much disappointment, betrayal, and mistreatment a person can take before something inside them shuts down. And that’s the terrifying part! Not the loud, angry ones but the kind souls who start losing their light because life keeps showing them that kindness gets punished.

If things keep going this way, one day the people who always forgave, who always tried to see the good, will simply stop caring. They’ll become cold not because they want to, but because they’ll finally be too tired to keep being gentle in a world that keeps breaking them. And when that happens, the world will lose something it can’t replace.  It’ll lose the people who made it a little softer just by existing.

I've got some things to say

Sometimes you keep things inside for too long, then one day it all boils over. Well, today’s that day. Consider this a rant, a brain dump, a therapy session in writing.

Let’s start with taxi drivers in Tangier. Who made you kings of the city? You nod when I tell you where I’m going, let me get in, then halfway through the ride you suddenly decide you’re not "going that way." Excuse me? Or worse, you circle the city like you’re giving me a tour I didn’t ask for, stretching a 7 minute ride into 15 then expect double the fare. Do I look like an ATM?

To the doctors who don’t know what the hell they’re doing. I didn’t come to you for a speedrun toward death. Your "small mistake" isn’t small when it could potentially ruin someone’s health forever. Your experiments are not practice rounds, we are real human beings, not test dummies.

Then there are the parents who are ruder than their kids. What a legacy you’re leaving behind. Sometimes I’m honestly unsure if we should educate your child, or educate you first? You’re raising the next generation yet you act like you need supervision yourself.

Speaking of authority gone wrong. Dear principals and inspectors, some of you seem to wake up with only one mission: to make teachers miserable. Who hurt you? Who handed you a badge and thought bitterness was a leadership skill?

Let’s not forget some shop owners. You barely look up when someone enters, treat questions like an annoyance and then get angry when the person doesn’t buy anything. You mutter insults under your breath like we didn’t hear you. Newsflash: that’s why your store is empty.

Oh and one quick note, if you’re a Ross-from-Friends fan, stay away from me lol.

Can we also talk about people who enter your life with no intention of staying? What’s the point? A drive-by heartbreak? A quick ego boost? Sure, maybe you "taught them a lesson" but congratulations you also left unnecessary damage.

I’m not a negative person. In fact, I’m a very happy person. I enjoy small things. I laugh loud. I love being silly. But if you’re a vibe killer, please, by all means, stay in your lane. Don’t come ruin my sunshine because your cloud is following you around.

And finally, if you ever see me in a bookstore with a new stack of books celebrate me. Be proud the way my dad is. Because if I have an addiction, it’s one that feeds my mind, not destroys it.

I’ve said enough for now, stay tuned for next time.

The illusion of knowing it all

Have you ever met someone who has to be right all the time? The kind of person who says "I'm not an expert or anything" or "I don't claim knowing everything", and then directly adds a "but", as if that small disclaimer gives them the full right to reject opinions that do not align with their own? No matter how much evidence is being presented to them or even when they are aware that they could be wrong, they still insist on being right and refuse to change their mind.

I've done some research and according to what I've read, this behavior is usually linked to cognitive dissonance. A term used to describe the discomfort that people feel when they are faced with information that contradicts their beliefs. Some people would constantly adjust their argument, cherry-pick facts and twist logic to maintain their sense of truth and avoid the unpleasant feeling of being wrong. 

It could also be tied to ego protection, as some people, especially those whose feeling of worth depends on their intelligence or expertise, may believe that admitting fault is a personal failure and would rather control the conversation than appear uninformed. This can be a sort of gaslighting, not necessarily in a malicious way, but in a way that subtly alters your reality by making you question what you know to be true.

Some people's insecurity is the core cause of this behavior. If a person has been conditioned to associate "being wrong" with "being weak," they will do all in their power to seem as though they know it all. Others may just be addicted to the ability to influence others and enjoy the control that they have over a conversation.

For me, these interactions seem very frustrating because they are about winning, rather than finding the truth. The goal of these conversations should be learning, not just proving a point.

When someone rejects the possibility that they could be wrong about something, they're not only stalling personal growth, but they're also shutting down meaning discussions. 

So to best handle these people, you must avoid falling into the trap of proving them wrong because it'll only drain your energy. They're all about maintaining their perceived superiority and they don't care about the truth. And if you happen to ask them questions that challenge them to reflect on their logic and they still refuse to engage in an open conversation, just walk away and let them live in their illusion. 

Lessons taken from a Pokemon

I’m not embarrassed to say that life has humbled me more than once. Back then, I thought everything was straightforward and that dealing with people wasn’t too complicated, until real situations proved me wrong. Looking back now, I can see just how much I didn’t actually understand.

I believed I was mature, and to some extent I was. But my mindset didn’t always align with others. Sometimes I approached things with reason and logic, other times I let emotions run the show. The hardest part was trying to balance the two and in that struggle, I messed up. Those mistakes though, ended up teaching me some of the most important lessons.

I’m far from perfect and I don’t pretend to be but one thing I hold onto is knowing I never acted out of malice. My heart has always been in the right place.

I used to get stuck on the question "why". Why me, why this, why now... But I’ve realized that asking "why" doesn’t always move you forward. Sometimes you just have to shift the focus and move on.

I’m not trying to reinvent myself because I genuinely like who I am. I value my sincerity, my kindness, my ability to care, give and forgive. But I also know growth is necessary and I also know that growing doesn’t mean losing oneself, it means polishing who you already are by taking the lessons life throws at you and using them to evolve (just like a Pokemon). 

The shadow side of expectations

I’ve always been familiar with the Pygmalion effect. The idea that people tend to rise to the level of expectations placed on them. It’s always reasonated with me. Believing in someone, pushing them a little higher until they're suddenly capable of more than they thought. I’ve leaned on that idea constantly in the classroom throughout my teaching career and I’ve watched kids completely transform just because I treated them like they could.

What I didn’t know until recently is that there’s a darker flip side called the Golem effect. Same principle, just reversed. 

Low expectations pull people down.

That realization really made me stop and think. How many times have we, without meaning to, boxed someone in by assuming they couldn’t do more? And how many times have I been on the receiving end of that without realizing it had a name?

The truth is, people often become what we expect them to be. Expectations don’t just live in our heads but they bleed into how we speak, how we act and how we treat others. And unfortunately, that treatment slowly shapes their reality.

It’s really humbling. The Pygmalion effect is hopeful and inspiring while the Golem effect is a gut check. It reminds me that doubts weigh people down. Even a quiet "probably not" or an unspoken underestimation can steer someone’s path.

That’s why we have to be careful not to feed the Golem. We should focus on reinforcing the Pygmalion effect instead. Society often teaches us to lower expectations as a kind of shield in order to "protect ourselves from disappointment" but the downside is that over time, we start expecting the bad before it even happens. Sure, caution has its important place. However letting that mindset harden into an unshakable belief is exactly when it starts working against us.

Learning about this made me pause and re-examine my own expectations, not only for myself but for everyone I cross paths with. Because whether we like it or not, the bar we set for others usually ends up being the one they reach.

The detour that became a blessing

Funny how life works out sometimes. It's unpredictable, messy, and yet that’s where its real beauty hides. Teaching was never part of my original plan but somehow, destiny guided me in that direction.

I won’t lie, the job is tough! Working with kids is not for the faint of heart. It’s draining, it pushes you past your limits and there are days you wonder how you’re still standing (and still sane lol). But here’s the thing, it’s also one of the most rewarding paths I could have stumbled on. Kids have this magical way of reminding us what pure joy looks like. A burst of laughter that echoes through the classroom, the spark in their eyes when a lesson is finally understood, their excitement over the smallest activity, their curiosity about the world or even the random hugs and little "love notes" they slip onto your desk... Those are the moments that make it all worth it.

Through all of this, I’ve picked up lessons I never expected. Patience, resilience, creativity and finding happiness in the tiniest victories. My students taught me these things without even realizing it.

I’m aware this chapter may not last. Life changes, seasons shift, and paths evolve. But the memories I’ve made in the classroom will stay with me forever. And wherever destiny decides to take me next, I know these lessons will follow and serve me well.

Being part of a child’s life is something incredibly special. It's a blessing I never saw coming but one I’ll always be grateful for.

PS: To my future kids. "Mommy’s going to do her absolute best to take care of you, Insha’Allah."

Tested, yet protected

Life has tested me in every possible way, mentally, emotionally, and physically. It broke me, shaped me, and pushed me to limits I never imagined I could endure. Yet in those trials, I discovered lessons far greater than the pain itself. I learned that patience is not weakness, but an immense form of strength. I learned that carrying a good heart and keeping intentions pure brings blessings in ways the world cannot measure. And above all, I came to realize that Allah’s protection surrounds me constantly, in ways my limited understanding may never fully comprehend.

Here's to never saying «It is what it is»

For a long time, I genuinely believed that adopting an «it is what it is» mindset was the wisest way to deal with life, especially the hard parts. It felt like the ultimate surrender, a way to keep moving without letting things weigh me down. Whenever I faced something painful, unjust, or disappointing, I made it a habit to quietly repeat to myself: «It is what it is». As if that phrase could dissolve the pain or somehow fast-forward the healing.

But thanks to reading, listening, and reflecting through different points of view, I began to question this mindset and realized that, while it might feel comforting in the short-term, it can actually be quite toxic. It can create emotional numbness, foster passivity, and kill the desire for growth, empathy, and meaningful change. The very qualities that make us human. 

One of the books that shifted my perspective was “The Body Keeps the Score” by Bessel van der Kolk. It doesn’t address this phrase directly, but it made me think about how dismissing experiences as just how things are, is not healing, but avoidance and numbing. Eventually, that catches up with us, whether through mental exhaustion, broken relationships, or a sense of hopelessness.

Dr. Yasser Al Hazimi reminded me of the depth of emotional intelligence and spiritual responsibility that our religion calls us to. He speaks often about healing from within, about knowing your own emotional landscape and not being afraid to confront it. And that resonated with me deeply especially since I'm aware that Islam is not a religion of emotional suppression or passive surrender, but a religion of awareness, empathy, action, and sincere effort. It never teaches us to resign in the face of hardship. Yes, there’s tawakkul, but that’s not the same as giving up. 

When I look at the life of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), who was the most spiritually grouned person, I still see someone who grieved, cried, made du’a with urgency and never gave up on people or situations. He never shrugged and said «it is what it is». And even when things seemed hopeless, he engaged with heart, with patience, with intention. The Quran consistently tells us to stand up for justice, to care for others, to strive for better. «Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves» (Surat Ar-Ra'd) 

That verse alone made me question how I had been rationalizing passivity as piety. It reminds me that I can influence my reality, not by obsessing over control, but by showing up with sincerity and effort. And if I kept believing nothing can change, then I’m basically cutting off the possibility of hope, which in itself is a form of faith.

Even podcasts like "Yaqeen Institute’s DoubleTake" and specifically Omar Suleiman, have helped me see how much emphasis Islam places on healing, reform, and taking responsibility. Our beautiful religion encourages us to feel pain, process it and do better because of it, rather than shrugging it off. It teaches us thst empathy is a core value, and that healing isn’t a side note but a form of worship.

Now when I hear someone say «it is what it is» I don’t immediately disagree because sometimes, yes, acceptance is necessary. But I also know that acceptance should be the starting point, not the destination. Now, when I’m faced with hardship, I still practice acceptance but I remind myself to question about what does Allah want from me in this moment? 

Honestly, letting go of that mindset made me stronger. It made me more present, more accountable, and more hopeful and it taught me that faith doesn’t mean detachment.

In a world that’s constantly trying to numb us, that’s a resistance I want to holdon to.

La vie en rose

Yes, I do dream of living “la vie en rose.” It’s funny how many people tell me to be more realistic or to stop being delusional, as though wanting a beautiful life is foolish. I'm well aware that life is not just fun and games. I'm living it, and I've experienced its highs and lows, its joys and sorrows. But despite it all, I still yearn for a peaceful future.

I want to create a bright, warm and happy environment for me and my future little family, and I don’t consider that being delusional; I'm only being hopeful and trusting my resilience. I’ve always managed, even in the most challenging of times, to bring a bit of light to the darkness. And that’s why I am confident that I can build this life. An easy life, free of judgement and hostility. A life where I can express myself freely and comfortably. 

I want to cherish every moment and savour the simple yet profound pleasures of being. I wanna enjoy the early morning breeze after prayer, the serenity of sunsets and sunrises, the melodies birds make, the beauty of flowers, the satisfaction of my freshly baked desserts, the joy of singing and dancing like a fool, the comfort of reading my favorite book in quite and the intimacy of long walks, drives and meaningful conversations with my future partner.

To me, "la vie en rose" is about embracing a simple, joyful and playful life. Yes, it's a dream and I hold close to my heart.