Healing Childhood Wounds From Your Parents as a Muslima
Many women carry wounds they never named. Not because they are unaware, but because they learned early on to keep going, to be strong, and not to dwell.
A father wound, a mother wound, or sometimes both. These wounds do not only stay in childhood. They quietly follow us into adulthood and shape how we see ourselves, how we see others, and how we relate to Allah SWT.
We may think we have moved on, but unhealed wounds have a way of speaking through our reactions. They influence our expectations, our fears, and the conclusions we draw about men, marriage, motherhood, and responsibility.
A mother wound often forms when emotional needs were unmet or inconsistently met. When affection was conditional. When a mother was overwhelmed, resentful, emotionally unavailable, or harsh—even if she loved deeply. The daughter learns early to suppress her needs, to over-function, to become the “strong one,” or to seek validation elsewhere.
Some daughters grow up feeling they must earn love. Others grow up feeling unseen. Some learn to silence themselves, and over time, these patterns become identity.
A father wound often forms through absence, emotional distance, criticism, neglect, or misuse of authority. A girl learns, consciously or subconsciously, that men are unreliable, unsafe, or uninterested in her inner world. Trust becomes fragile, vulnerability feels risky, and dependence feels dangerous.
These wounds do not disappear with age. They mature with us. They influence who we trust, how we love, and what we believe we must protect ourselves from.
This is why unhealed wounds often shape ideology.
Many women are drawn to feminism not because they want to reject Islam, but because feminism gives language to pain without asking women to sit with it, soften it, or heal it. It validates anger without requiring inner repair. It offers resistance instead of reconciliation.
But Islam offers something deeper. Islam does not deny wounds; it contextualizes them. It teaches us that parents are human, not divine. That they sometimes will fall short, make mistakes, and hurt us in ways they may never fully understand.
In Islam, accountability exists, but so does mercy. Honoring one’s parents does not mean denying the harm caused, and healing does not require hatred or cutting ties.
Healing the mother wound in Islam begins with truth and compassion. It means acknowledging what hurt without rewriting reality to justify resentment. It means seeing your mother not only as the source of your pain but as a woman shaped by her own trials, limitations, and wounds.
This does not excuse the harm; it explains it, and explanation allows the heart to soften without erasing boundaries.
Healing the father wound begins by separating Islam from flawed male examples. Your Lord is not distant because your father was. Authority is not abuse because it was misused, and protection is not oppression because it failed you once.
This separation is essential because when it does not happen, distrust of men quietly turns into discomfort with submission, guidance, and reliance upon Allah SWT.
Islam restores balance by reconnecting your wounds to your Creator. Allah SWT becomes the Protector you lacked, the Listener you needed, the Provider you feared losing, and the Judge who sees what others never acknowledged.
When wounds are brought to your Lord, they soften instead of harden. They teach wisdom instead of suspicion. Boundaries replace bitterness, and discernment replaces fear.
This is where feminism falls short.
It names pain but does not resolve it. It validates anger but does not transform it. It teaches resistance but not surrender.
Whereas Islam teaches healing through submission. Not submission to people or to injustice, but submission to the Will of Allah. And in that surrender, the heart finally feels settled.
A healed woman does not need to reject men to feel safe. She does not need to reject motherhood to feel whole. She does not need ideology to feel valued.
She knows who she is, and she knows Who her Lord is, and that is enough.
Salaam, I’m Zakeeya
I believe our homes are meant to be havens of sakina—places where families feel safe, nurtured, and loved. Since 2011, I’ve been dedicated to helping Muslim women find tranquility in their roles, care for themselves with dignity, and achieve inner peace. Drawing on my years of experience as a wife, mother, and mentor, I share tools and guidance to help you face life’s challenges with more gratitude and mindfulness. Here, you’ll find Muslima, wifehood, motherhood, and lifestyle insights to make your journey as a woman more fulfilling, inshallah. Read more about me here.
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