Many children grow up carrying both warmth and wounds from their parents,…

We for You | Daily Reflection | by Maryam ❤️

Salam Alaikum dear Sisters. 🌸
I hope you are all feeling well today.

Many children grow up carrying both warmth and wounds from their parents, especially from their mothers.

And maybe, at some point, you have said to yourself or even out loud: “I will never be like my mother.”

This is one of the strongest sentences a daughter can carry in her heart. And most often, it is not said from peace, but from pain, anger, and a quiet inner rebellion.

“I will never speak like her.”
“I will never live like her.”
“I will never allow this in my life.”
“I will never become like her.”

In that moment, it feels like strength. Like growth. Like you are finally choosing yourself and breaking away.
But psychology teaches us something important: *what we strongly reject often stays within us as an unresolved bond.*⚠️

When you say, “I will never be…”, you are still connected to what you are running from. Because rejection is not freedom -*it’s attachment in another form.*

The subconscious mind does not really register the word “not.” It holds on to the emotion, the image, the pattern. So even when you say, “I will not be like her,” your inner world still carries her.

And then, years later, you may notice something uncomfortable:

“I speak like her.”
“I react like her.”
“I build relationships like her.”

This can bring confusion, shame, even anger. But this is not failure. This is unprocessed emotional inheritance.

Very often, behind the words “I will never be like my mother” is something deeper, a part of you that has not fully accepted her. Maybe you judged her, felt she was too harsh, too distant, too controlling, too emotional, or simply not enough. And without realising it, you placed yourself above her, trying to become stronger or different.
But this created an inner imbalance. Because your mother is not just a person - she is your root. And when you reject her completely, you also feel disconnected from a part of yourself.

In Islam, the mother holds a deeply honored place. The Prophet pbuh said that Paradise lies beneath the feet of the mother. Not because she is perfect, but because the relationship itself is sacred.

At the same time, Islam does not ask you to deny your pain. It teaches balance- to hold truth and compassion together. To recognise what hurt you, and also to see your mother as a human being with her own story, her own wounds, and her own limitations. The Qur’an reminds us to show goodness to our parents, even when they are not perfect, because dignity begins within us.

Your mother gave what she had. Not always what you needed, but what she had. And most likely no one gave to her what she needed either. This is how pain can travel through generations. Not because you were not enough, but because she may not have had enough to give. And it’s not your fault.

Many daughters carry a quiet hope inside, even as adults- still waiting to hear: “I’m proud of you,” “I love you,” “you are enough.” And each time, there is hope… maybe this time. And when it doesn’t come, that same emptiness returns.

Healing begins when you gently accept: she may never give you what you needed. Not because you didn’t deserve it, but because she couldn’t.
It was her capacity.
You are allowed to feel anger why she didn’t understand, learned or been different. You are allowed to feel hurt. You can love your mother and still feel pain because of her. Both can exist at the same time. This does not make you a bad person -it makes you human.

Psychology tells us anger is often a sign of unmet needs. Islam teaches us not to suppress truth, but also not to let anger control us. Feel it. Understand it. But don’t let it define you.

At some point, healing becomes your responsibility. Not because it was your fault but because it’s your life.
You cannot change the past. But you can begin to give yourself what you never received: love, validation, safety, softness.

I often hear from sisters: “I can’t forgive or forget.”
And that’s okay.
You don’t have to force forgiveness, and you don’t have to forget. Healing begins by being honest about your pain.

*In Islam, forgiveness is a form of mercy, not only toward others, but toward yourself. It frees your heart.*❤️

Sometimes healing begins with something simple -writing a letter you will never send. Letting everything out: the anger, the sadness, the disappointment, and even the love.

And if at some point it feels too heavy to read what you wrote, you don’t have to read it again. You don’t have to go back into it. The purpose isn’t to analyse every word. The purpose is to unload what you were carrying.
You are not writing to remember the pain. You are writing to release it.

True freedom does not begin with rebellion. It begins with acceptance. Not acceptance of harm but acceptance of reality.

Because when you stop saying “I will never be like her”
and start saying “I see what was, and I choose who I become,”
something inside you softens.

Not because the past changed -
but because you did. ❤️