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The Missing Ten Percent
Learning to Hold Appreciation and Correction Together Imagine a child comes home from school with an exam paper. He studied hard. He worried about the test. He did his best, and he scored 90%. The first question he hears is, “Where did the other ten marks go?” The question isn’t wrong. The missing ten percent exists. It can be corrected; it can become a lesson. But I sometimes wonder what quietly disappeared first in that moment—the missing ten, or the ninety that came before it? The Ninety That Quietly Disappears I think family life often works the same way. Someone forgets one thing, and somehow that one thing becomes the…
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I See Myself in Her
On Overwhelmed Mothers, Changing Bodies, and the Bridge We Still Need to Build I do not write this because I am ungrateful. Alhamdulillah, Allah has blessed me far beyond what I deserve. A husband. Children. A home. Food on the table. Decades of memories. The immense privilege of motherhood itself. Naturally, I know these are blessings, and I am fully aware that many people long for exactly what I have. Yet, I also know that Allah says: لَقَدْ خَلَقْنَا الْإِنسَانَ فِي كَبَدٍ “Indeed, We have created humankind in toil and hardship.” Surah Al-Balad 90:4 Ultimately, hardship is not the opposite of gratitude; it is simply part of being human. Consequently,…
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The Neurodivergent Tax
There is a particular kind of expense that rarely appears in family budgets. No one plans for it. No one talks about it. Yet, some of us pay it every single day. I have heard it called the ADHD tax. Perhaps, for me, it is more accurate to call it the neurodivergent tax. Though I have never been formally diagnosed, these experiences resonate with me at a cellular level. It is the literal cost of existing in a world that expects certain kinds of minds to function effortlessly. It looks like the quiet accumulation of minor replacements: Sometimes it looks like buying groceries when I already have ingredients at home.…
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The Inner Thoughts of a Perimenopausal Woman
On Household Management, Overgiving, and Running Out of Bandwidth There should probably be an official translator for the inner thoughts of a perimenopausal woman. Not because we are irrational. Not because we are angry all the time. But because there seems to come a point in midlife where the part of us that spent decades smoothing things over quietly packs up its bags and leaves. For years, our default response to everything was simple: It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just do it. I’ll just clean it. I’ll just buy it. I’ll just absorb it. And then one day, somewhere between fluctuating hormones, interrupted sleep, chronic fatigue, decades…
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When Everyone Speaks the Language of Invisible Work
Recently, I hosted an all-women’s pool gathering, and I cannot stop thinking about how beautiful it was. Not only because the children had fun, or because there was a giant spread of food, or because the pool was full of laughter. But because, for a few hours, I was surrounded by women who truly understood. Before the gathering even began, the invisible work was already in motion. I am so incredibly grateful to my husband and my older boys, who were gracious enough to completely give the house over to the women and girls for the day. They didn’t just step aside so everyone could swim comfortably and relax freely;…
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The Zoo Trip That Never Happened
This is not a transcript. This is not a verdict. This is not proof. This is not an accusation. This is my perspective. This is what it felt like to be me. This is the story I have carried. And perhaps understanding myself begins by allowing my own experience to exist alongside everyone else’s. The night before the trip, I packed. I gathered clothes, snacks, bags, water bottles, and spare clothes—all those little things children always seem to need at the very last minute. I thought ahead. I prepared. I imagined a happy day. The next morning, while the children finished breakfast, I brought out the bags and made sure…
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Evidence
Some days I thinkI have done nothing. The house still breathes clutter.The laundry waits patiently.There are dishes somewhere.Something is always misplaced.Something is always unfinished. And yet— Today I created. I designed small signs for small hands,hoping they might rememberwhat I can no longer holdall at once in my mind. I printed, laminated, and hung them—tiny promisesthat tomorrowmay ask a little less of me. I packed away thoughts.Sorted worries.Built systemsfor a life that requiresmore rememberingthan one personwas ever meant to carry. I baked.I nourished. I drank waterin a bodythat is often tired. I searched for wordsto explainthe shape of my own mind,revisiting old wounds—not to reopen them,but to understandwhy they still…
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The Eid Al-Adha 2026 Allah Chose for Me
The Unexpected First Day of Eid There is an Eid we imagine. The one where everyone wakes up healthy. The children are dressed beautifully. The prayer goes smoothly. The food is ready on time. The family photo turns out perfectly. And then there is the Eid Allah chooses for us. This year, the two were not quite the same. On the morning of Eid al-Adha, the sound of takbir drifted through the humid air in Sharjah while I sat curled up on the downstairs sofa. A sudden stomach pain arrived unexpectedly when I woke up for Fajr, bringing my plans to a sudden halt. I had planned to be at…
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Nobody Claps for the Mother Who Remembered Everything
Nobody claps for the mother who remembered everything. Usually, they only notice the one thing she forgot. It’s the child suddenly announcing at 9 PM that they need green cardboard for school tomorrow. It’s the “Mama, did you sign this?” paper appearing exactly when everyone is already wearing shoes. But beneath those frantic moments is a vast, silent ocean of things that did happen because you remembered them: the favorite snack you bought, the way everyone’s different food preferences live permanently inside your brain, and the small emotional tensions you noticed before they ever became arguments. I don’t think most families do this maliciously. Invisible labor becomes invisible precisely because…
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The Quiet Vulnerability of Financial Dependence
Sometimes I stand holding an item in a store for far too long before quietly putting it back. Not necessarily because we cannot afford it. But because I am already mentally tired imagining how to explain why it matters. I think many women understand this feeling immediately. The small internal rehearsal. How to make the request sound reasonable enough. Necessary enough. Useful enough. Worth asking for. Especially when the thing is not pure survival. A notebook. A new prayer dress. Comfortable shoes. Skincare. An iced matcha. Containers you genuinely believe will finally organize your life this time. Tiny things. Tiny things that help tired women emotionally survive adulthood. And honestly,…
