One of the most common defences of spanking is: “I was spanked, and it didn’t kill me. I turned out fine.”
Perhaps. but survival and flourishing are not the same thing.
Research in child development continues to show that spanking and other forms of physical punishment come with significant costs.
They work against building relationships rooted in trust, respect, and connection.
They create confusion in a child’s brain. The very person they are wired to run to for comfort and safety also becomes the source of fear and pain.
They teach that problems are solved by using greater power to inflict pain on someone smaller.
They may produce immediate compliance, but often at the expense of honesty. Children become better at hiding rather than learning.
They activate the brain’s survival response, fight, flight, or freeze, making it harder for children to access the parts of the brain responsible for reasoning, self-regulation, empathy, and learning.
These are not simply opinions. They are findings supported by decades of developmental neuroscience and attachment research. So perhaps the better question is not:
“Did spanking kill you?”
But rather…
What did it cost you?
Did it help you feel safe? Did it teach you emotional regulation? Did it deepen your relationship with your parents? Or did you learn to fear consequences, suppress emotions, and survive?
Many of us are raising children with tools we inherited rather than tools we intentionally chose. There is no shame in recognising that. Growth begins when we become willing to examine what we received and ask whether it reflects the kind of mercy, wisdom, and character we hope to pass on.
Children are an amānah from Allah. They deserve discipline that teaches, corrects, and guides, not discipline driven by anger or force. Our beloved Prophet ﷺ was the greatest teacher of humanity, yet his gentleness transformed hearts more powerfully than fear ever could.
May we have the courage to heal what needs healing, learn what needs learning, and break cycles that no longer deserve to be inherited.
They carry more than stories. They carry souls. Wounds. Triumphs. Secrets. Time. You hold one in your hand and you can travel through space, time and people.
A single book may have crossed oceans or even six countries, maybe more, before it arrived at your doorstep. Another might be stamped with a year older than your birthdate, its yellowing pages speak of generations past. And sometimes, a note in the margin, a faint underline, a scribble that was once your own, takes you back.
…Back to a version of you that once wrestled with those very lines, in a season you had almost forgotten.
Books are more than books. They are the best storytellers, they don’t just carry a story, they become part of yours.
And recently, as I sat listening to a lesson by AMAU Academy, Ustadh said something that gently shook me:
“This Qur’an you read (or in my case, try to read) is the same Qur’an the Messenger ﷺ read. The same words Jibreel عليه السلام brought down.”
I know this. Of course, I know this. But it landed in my chest differently. It felt personal. Immediate. Real.
This Qur’an, the one I sometimes struggle to recite, the one I make a mark everytime i make a mistake, the one I carry in my bag, on my lips, some of it, in my heart, it is the same one. Word for word. Verse for verse. Preserved. Protected. Passed down.
The exact same Divine Words that Jibreel عليه السلام delivered from the heavens to the heart of the Prophet ﷺ, the very same words I am privileged to hold and try to understand today.
Let that settle. This Book has journeyed not just across lands, but through centuries, through the hearts of the righteous, the huffadh, the scholars, the seekers, the weary, the wounded, the lost, and the found.
And somehow… It reached me. And you.
Is there a greater honour? It is more than a Book. It is a trust. A miracle. A mercy.
May we never lose sight of that. May we be among the people of the Qur’an, not just those who recite it, but those whose lives are shaped by it. Ameen.
I am a planner girl. I like to set expectations and I have even learnt to pivot and be comfortable when things do not go as planned. It has been good for my tawakkul muscles.
I love homeschooling. It has gotten quite real and it has been a journey of learning for me and I do get anxious that the space I make for my children and all the children that come into my space, will not necessarily be made for them by others.
One thing I get anxious about when we have to interact with others is the idea of greeting others. I introduced it to the children as “Assalamu Alaikum” and if i was to say to them “greet”, they will say “Assalamu Alaikum.” It gets awkward 😳 😅 😬 when the person is not Muslim. I don’t like for people to think I am forcing Islam on them, cos that is what they will think, sadly even Muslims.
Yesterday we got into a cab and I said salam to the driver and then prompted them to say salam and they did. And I sat with my thoughts, “how long do I need to remind them? What lessons can I plan around the different ways to greet etc.” We arrived at the mall and so my thoughts were interrupted.
We were standing in the corner waiting for B to finish his turn on a ride and then this old woman passed. K turned to her and said, “Hello” with the warmest cheekiest smile on her face. And unprovoked!
The woman was delighted and surprised.
I was shocked and blushing.
“Grandma” bent a little and asked her name. Which she replied with and then grandma opened her bag, counted out some money and gave to her.
I was humbled and in awe of Allah. I always pray that as we are doing our best and raising our children different, that Allah always surrounds them with people that make space for them and appreciate their differences.
Another old woman might have said, “is it hello you are to say to me. Am I your mate?” etc…But I digress!
And so that was the start of our budgeting lesson because baby girl went shopping right after.
I got married a little over 10 years ago, and everyone was “marrying their best friend.” It became such a clichè. Then another popular thing you would hear is “men are scum” and with all the #couplegoals, it used to leave me wondering, who was then married to the scums?
Here I am, after all these years later, still wondering the same thing. Everyone is still married to/marrying their best friends and men are still scum.
Is the problem our expectations?
Are we honest with ourselves?
Are we deluded?
Do we need to have/create a certain picture?
Are we suffering in silence?
Are we saying what has been fed to us because everyone is saying it?
Do we even know what it means?
I don’t know about marrying my best friend but a few days ago we had an issue…
You see, I don’t like what I do not like.
He has a habit I do not like and we have gone back and forth on it a lot. We have tried to tweak it so all our needs are met but this particular day, he did it and it hit me so bad, I said, “Haba, I have complained everyday for 10 years and you keep doing the same thing, help me understand, do you think I am faking it or do you just expect me to get over it?” His response shook me.
He said, “no now but you haven’t complained in the last two weeks because I made an effort.”
….that only led me to more unanswered questions…
“Is that why you did it, you just needed me to complain again?”
“Is it how you get me notice you?”
“Is 2 weeks your limit for my sanity?”
Again, extreme sport! I tell you!
Alhamdulillah!
So we have been meaning to do this for a while and here we are by the will of Allah.
We want to have a conversation with a small group of people, preferably couples or those about to get married. Go ahead and register to be on the waitlist. The goal is to talk about how these differences do not have to break us but allow us to truly make space and build a stronger team.
Again, join the waitlist and all details will be emailed out In sha’a Allah
In the name of Allah, the Entirely Merciful, the Especially Merciful
We had a thing that morning. I don’t even remember what it was about. It wasn’t a fight as such. Just a ‘thing.’
In the first few months of marriage, whenever we would fight, I will be so upset that I would hold my breath for a while cos I dont even want to breathe the same air as him.
I had put the children to bed and went for a solo tawaaf. I did it on the ground floor. Clutching my du’a book while being shoved and desperately speaking to Allah ﷻ
I finished my 7th round and joined the queue to pray my nawafil in the Hijr. And SubhanAllah, I got in. Prayed my nawafil. Took a few pictures so that he could live vicariously through me and then left. Stopped by to get food and walked to the hotel.
I got in at about midnight and all 3 of them were up staring at the door. “See! It’s mummy” and they all rushed to me. I felt it. His love.
I shared my excitement about how Allah ﷻ opened His doors for me and facilitated my ibaadah that day.
“I hope you remembered to pray for me.” He said. I smiled. I said, “I first thanked Him for you cos He chose you for me.”
“I am so sorry for this morning.” He said. I smiled. “I know.”
