Special Needs Supermoms, Houston, TX, Houston, TX (2026)

12/24/2025

This verse has been stuck with me lately.

Some days the comments, the looks, or the things people don’t say can really sit heavy. Especially when you’re doing your absolute best for your child and still feel misunderstood.
I love knowing that Allah SWT actually names that feeling. The tight chest. The heaviness. The quiet hurt. Nothing about it is unseen or ignored.

Some days I just need the reminder that it’s okay to feel sad about it. That it doesn’t mean I’m weak or lacking faith. It just means I’m human.

And Allah knows that. 🤍

12/21/2025

Most people who love special needs families really do want to help. They just don’t always know how.

For us, the biggest thing is emotional understanding. Simply knowing that this season is hard for us removes so much pressure. It takes away the unspoken expectations to show up, travel, socialize, or keep up when we’re already stretched thin.

The second thing is accommodation. When plans are being made, thinking about our child from the beginning instead of as an afterthought makes a huge difference. Busy spaces are hard. Long days are hard. Sometimes hosting is easier than going out, sometimes it’s the opposite. Just being willing to plan with our reality in mind helps us feel included instead of burdensome.

And lastly, respite. We need help. Real help. Instead of asking how you can help, ask when. Because asking for help is hard for parents like us, and having to explain what we need feels like another thing on an already full plate.
Groceries. A meal. Taking siblings out. Sitting with our child so we can breathe for a moment.

None of this has to be perfect.
It just has to be intentional.
If you love a special needs family, meeting them where they are this season might be the greatest gift you give.

12/19/2025

The holidays can be beautiful.
They can also be really, really hard.

For a lot of special needs families, this season feels bittersweet.
While everything looks festive on the outside, our days can feel heavier.
Routine changes hit hard. School and therapy pauses mean the structure and breaks we rely on are suddenly gone.
And the expectations to travel, gather, and socialize don’t always match what our kids or our bodies can handle.
Some of us are managing medical needs.
Some of us are exhausted before the holidays even start.
Some of us don’t have a village.
And some of us are quietly grieving what the holidays used to look like.
This doesn’t mean we don’t love our kids or appreciate the season.
It just means we’re navigating a lot that most people don’t see.

If you love a special needs family, don’t just understand from a distance. Reach out. Be there. Offer support instead of waiting to be asked. Meet us where we are instead of where the holidays say we should be. Accommodate without making us explain or apologize.

12/18/2025

Special needs moms are often described as anxious, high strung, or overly cautious.

But what’s really happening is much deeper than that.

As mothers, we already share an intense bond with our children. In Islam, that bond is honored and protected. A mother is entrusted with an amanah, a responsibility that is both emotional and physical.

When your child is nonverbal or limited in communication, that responsibility deepens. You don’t just feel for them. You feel through them.

Their discomfort sits in your chest.
Their fear settles into your nervous system.
Their pain keeps you alert even when the world tells you to relax.

You learn to read what isn’t said. The smallest changes in breathing, sleep, behavior. Your intuition sharpens because it has to. And carrying that level of awareness every day takes a toll on the body and the mind.

This is why special needs moms move the way we do.
Not because we are dramatic.
Not because we enjoy worry.
But because love demands vigilance when a child cannot speak for themselves.

Islam reminds us that a mother’s heart is not weak. It is expanded.
And when we are carrying the emotions of two, being sensitive is not a flaw.
It is part of the amanah we were trusted with.

12/17/2025

Lately, my heart has been heavy in a way that’s hard to explain.

One of the biggest prayers of my life has always been the same. For Isa to be seizure free. Every birthday candle. Every quiet wish. Every dua I make when no one is watching. It’s always him first.

When we were in Saudi Arabia, between Makkah and Madinah, Isa only had three seizures. Three. For a child who can have multiple in a single day, it felt unreal. And on our very last visit to the Kaaba, right there on the mataaf, facing the House of Allah, he had a seizure. I cried. I pleaded. I begged Allah to never let me see another one again.

And for thirteen days after that, I didn’t.

For thirteen days, most of them back home, Isa was seizure free. Thirteen days that felt like a gift I didn’t know how to hold. Beautiful, overwhelming, and terrifying all at once. I got to see my son without seizures, but I was still holding my breath the entire time. Afraid to rest. Afraid to step away. Afraid to believe too hard.

Then one day, Anas was lying next to Isa and calmly said, “Mama, he’s having a seizure.”
Not panicked. Not shocked. Just matter of fact. I hadn’t even told him about the thirteen days. To him, seizures are just part of life.

Since then, Isa has had a few seizures again. Less than before, but enough to reopen every question in my mind. Was it the sleep. The pace. The environment. Was it a gift from Allah so I could focus on my Umrah. Was there something I missed.
The thoughts are endless. And I have to remind myself to stop trying to solve what was never meant for me to solve.

What brings me peace is this.

Allah is Al-Aleem, the All Knowing.
Allah is Al-Baseer, the All Seeing.
Allah is Ash-Shafi, the Healer.

No moment was random. No relief was accidental. And no illness is beyond Him.
That knowing settles my heart more than any explanation ever could.
🤍

12/12/2025

Two very different moments.
And somehow, they explain my entire life as a mother.
One carries me and I carry the other.
With Anas, he carries me silently.
I watch him take it in.
I see the boy who has grown up faster than most, not because he had to, but because love asked him to.
He carries so much awareness. So much gentleness.
Sometimes I forget he’s still a child because he shows up like a steady presence in my life.
He grounds me. He reminds me who I am when everything feels loud.
With Isa, I don’t stand beside him.
I hold him.
I carry him the way I’ve carried fear, exhaustion, hope, and prayers for years.
With Isa, love lives in my arms.
It asks more of my body, my patience, my heart.
And somehow gives me more softness than I ever knew I had.
Two sons.
Two completely different kinds of love.
One teaches me how to let go.
The other teaches me how to stay.
I look at these photos and I don’t see contrast.
I see balance.
I see how Allah knew exactly what I needed when He gave me both of them.
Same mother.
Same sacred place.
Two boys who complete me in ways I could never explain… but feel every single day.
🤍

12/09/2025

We had dinner at the base of Jabal Al Nour and I kept staring up at the mountain where the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ used to climb just to be alone with Allah. Before revelation ever came, he would go to the Cave of Hira to worship and search for answers in solitude. It was not easy. It took effort, exhaustion, and real climbing. He did not know when clarity would come, yet he kept returning.
And it made me think about how many times I have climbed my own “mountains” as a mother and especially as a special needs mom. The fear, the overwhelm, the constant unknowns, the prayers that come out of desperation, the feeling of being alone even when you are surrounded by people. We do not know how things will turn out for our children, but our hearts keeps returning to Allah SWT.
Here is the part that humbled me and comforted me at the same time: even the most beloved person to Allah had to go through so many moments of uncertainty, fear, and solitude. He ﷺ had to keep climbing with no sign of what was coming. 🥺That does not make our struggles disappear, but it puts them into perspective. And somehow, it makes the burden easier to carry. If hardship did not spare the one closest to Allah SWT, then hardship is not a sign that Allah SWT is displeased with us. It is a part of growth.
Our challenges cannot be compared to his, but his example shines light into ours. If he found strength through struggle, then perhaps our strength is being shaped through these quiet, heavy moments too. Maybe our “mountains” are not made of rock. Maybe they are therapy waiting rooms, seizures at night, sensory overload, communication barriers, and duas we keep repeating without answers yet. And maybe Allah SWT is watching us climb them just as He watched His Messenger at Hira, with mercy, with intention, and with a plan we cannot yet see.
So no, my journey is nothing like his. But his story helps me breathe through mine. It reminds me that fear and faith can exist together, that struggle can still lead to revelation, and that Allah SWT sees every step even when nobody else does.
Strength is not climbing without fear. Strength is climbing with fear, and still returning to Allah SWT. 🤍

12/07/2025

I made a quiet promise to Allah.

No one heard it, and I never said it out loud… but it lived in my heart for years.
A promise that I would bring Isa to His House.

That one day, I would stand before the Kaaba with my child in my arms and whisper to Allah with a mother’s desperation and a believer’s hope.

And when I finally recited Labayk Allahumma Labayk for the first time… I had chills.

It felt like I was answering a call, but also bringing one.
As if I was saying,
I’m here, Ya Allah. I came. I kept my promise. I brought him to You. Now please… heal him. Protect him. Take away his seizures. Make his path easy.

There is a moment when you see the Kaaba, and the noise of the world disappears.
It’s just you and the One Who sees you.
The One who always saw you.
During Sa’i, I thought of Hajar, a mother running, searching, crying, pleading… believing.
She didn’t know where the water would come from.
She just knew Allah would send it.
And in Arafat, I remembered Ibrahim (AS), and how he surrendered to Allah even when his heart was breaking.
He trusted the One who loves us more than mothers love their children.

I am no one.
I’m just a mother who showed up with whatever faith and strength I could carry,
holding a child who doesn’t know what he is teaching me about sabr, gratitude, and love.

And in that sacred place, I wasn’t asking for perfection.
I was asking for mercy.
For ease.
For healing.
For acceptance.
Ya Allah, I brought my son to You.
I don’t know what our future holds, but I believe in Your mercy more than I fear the unknown.

That moment in front of the Kaaba wasn’t about us being seen by the crowd.
It was about us being held by the One who never forgets a mother’s dua.
The One who hears promises we never even say out loud.

Special Needs Supermoms

12/24/2025

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12/18/2025

12/17/2025

12/12/2025

12/09/2025

12/07/2025

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