There’s a rise of women in these spaces calling themselves fierce, calling themselves warriors—but what I’m seeing isn’t strength.
It’s ego.
It’s being dismissive, controlling, unwilling to hear any view but their own.
That’s not power. That’s not maturity. That’s not sacred.
When you shut down conversation, when you bulldoze anyone who doesn’t mirror your beliefs—you’ve narrowed your mind. That’s the very definition of being closed off. And that kind of self-righteousness? It kills growth.
When you’re unwilling to be questioned, you can’t evolve.
When you attack others publicly because they dared to disagree, you’re not holding space—you’re holding a megaphone.
It’s not compassion. It’s not truth.
It’s a performance.
I’ve watched this for years. I didn’t just dip my toes in—I was in it.
I held red tents when they were first beginning. I trained women to hold space before it became trendy.
I used to run full festivals where genuine embodiment was the heartbeat of the work. We had deep trainings that prepared us for this path—how to recognise ego dynamics in circles, how to stay anchored, how to listen.
And now? I’m watching women pass through, cherry-pick bits of what they’ve seen at those festivals or trainings, glue them together into a “program,” run it for a while—and it fizzles. Because it’s not rooted. It’s not real.
It wasn’t born from the heart. It was born from the desire to make money.
And when something comes from ego—it will collapse. Every time.
I stepped away from all of this over a decade ago.
I saw it imploding even back then.
I saw the packaging, the rebranding, the endless cycle of women copying each other’s work, selling it on again with a new name. It lost its heart. And I couldn’t be part of that.
But now I’m watching it burn down—and I need to speak.
This isn’t a callout post. This is a warning to younger sisters:
Be discerning. Don’t confuse volume with truth. Don’t confuse polished branding with integrity.
There’s a poison leaking into what were once sacred spaces.
And if we stay silent, that poison spreads.
These spaces were always meant to be safe.
They were meant to be nurturing.
They were meant to promote growth, to support free thinking.
Because while there may be a common goal in the collective, each individual’s journey is sacred and unique.
There’s no one-size-fits-all model to empowerment.
This push of “either you agree with me or you’re wrong” has to end.
Two truths can coexist.
Multiple truths can coexist.
And that’s what so many women locked in this warrior-blindsided mindset need to remember.
But amidst all of this—there are women I deeply respect.
And I can count them on one hand. I’m actually wearing a scared shawl by one of these very women in my picture, one of many I own as I respect the heart in her work.
So who are these women? They’re not the loudest.
They’re gentle. They’re rooted. They’ve done the work.
They’ve moved through the fire and come out the other side softened, not hardened.
They don’t even realise what they carry is wisdom—because to them, it’s just life. Just love. Just truth.
They glow differently. Their words feel safe. Their work moves differently.
They took time. They let the teachings settle in their bones before they passed anything on.
They bloomed in private before ever teaching in public.
And to those women—I tip my hat.
You’re the ones carrying the medicine.
So no—I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. I’m just deeply sad.
Sad that what was once sacred is now a stage.
Sad that rage is mistaken for empowerment.
Sad that performance has replaced presence.
And no, we don’t need to go back to dancing around the fire.
We need to move with the times, but stay anchored in our bodies.
Rooted in humility.
Grounded in love.
That’s what this work was always meant to be.
And this isn’t just happening in the spaces of feminine mysteries or red tents or embodiment circles.
It’s happening in Islamic spaces too.
There’s a growing wave of Muslim women calling themselves coaches, mentors, guides—selling empowerment from an Islamic lens. And yet so many of these offerings are neither rooted in real feminine work nor grounded in actual Islamic knowledge.
They pull from hadith that may not even be sahih.
They draw loosely from teachings that have been molded to support a personal narrative, not a divine one.
And while they call it Islamic life coaching or Islamic mentoring, what you’re often getting is a confused blend of empowerment language and selective religious references.
It’s not empowerment.
It’s not scholarship.
And it’s certainly not sacred.
And I say this with love—but also with clarity—because I’ve walked both paths.
I’ve trained in the feminine mysteries. I’ve held sacred space long before it became fashionable.
And now I walk the path of Islam, too.
So I see it. The gap.
You can’t sell female empowerment in the ummah if you’ve never truly walked that path.
Because that path isn’t born in textbooks or on Canva slides. It’s born in the body. In blood. In grief. In rites of passage that tore you open and rebuilt you from the inside out.
And in the world of Islamic female empowerment—most of that is missing.
You’re trying to empower women through a patriarchal framework—and yes, Islam grants women rights Western feminism still doesn’t—but the spiritual empowerment people are trying to create here doesn’t quite have a place in the tradition as it stands. Not in the way it’s being packaged.
Because the divine feminine? The goddess current? The womb as a spiritual portal?
That’s not part of Islamic theology.
And if you haven’t lived and understood that current deeply, you can’t pretend to translate it into a sharia-compliant package.
It doesn’t work.
It confuses.
And it quietly disempowers while selling the illusion of growth.
So this is me speaking—not from bitterness, but from deep, heartbroken experience.
From the trenches of real sacred work.
From the path of witnessing what happens when ego tries to masquerade as spirit.
It’s time we remembered the difference.
And honoured it.
Seeking Sakina 