A Tide of Words

I am tired of the echoes.

One moment, one word, one glance—they reach into me and drag me back into a version of myself I no longer live in.

I have healed, I have grown, I have fought to rise and yet they see only the fall.

The slip. The “mistake.”

It is like a tide pulling me under,over and over, and I am gasping,and I have to remind myself I am not that girl anymore. I am here. I am now.

But the labels—they stick like mud.They cling.They suffocate.

How can they not see the struggle,the prayers I whisper, the nights I sit trembling, the courage it takes to walk this path,the hijab that is a shield against a world I once drowned in?

And yet, words come like blows.

Judgment delivered without pause, without reflection, without mercy.

My father, my family—they cannot see,cannot pause,cannot hold their tongues. And I am left with the bruises no one else can see.

I turn to Allah, to the Qur’an, and I see it reflected in every moment I endure. I am living the examples of patience, of steadfastness, of mercy, of endurance.

I am embodying the teachings of the Qur’an in the way I hold myself, in the way I rise again after each blow, in the way I protect my heart even when others cannot see. This is not just feeling—it is action, it is living, it is practice.I am walking the path it lays out,even when the world around me is harsh, even when judgment rains down, even when the ones I love cannot understand.

I am tired, and I am angry, and I am hurt,and yet I rise. I rise because my worth is not in their eyes.I rise because my path is mine alone.I rise because faith is not the absence of struggle,it is the hand that guides me through it.

Let the tide come, let the words crash,I will not drown. I will not be undone.

I am held. I am steady. I am enough,because Allah is my protector, my guide, my strength, and He does not leave me.