Transforming Difficult Relationships Through Islam and Sufism
If you prefer to listen rather than read, you can find the audio version at the bottom of this page.
Recently, I shared a story on Instagram about how my relationship with my mother has transformed over the years in what some might call miraculous ways. Many of you not only resonated with the story but also sent questions, which I will try to address here.
While the transformation of our relationship is indeed a miracle, I believe that miracles in relationships and in our lives in general, often begin with the changes we make within ourselves, allowing us to understand when our relationships are out of balance.
So even though today I am discussing my relationship with my mother as an example, please adapt the following Qur'anic principle to the relationship you are struggling with:
"Allah does not change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves." (Qur'an 13:11)
It was only through Sufism that I was able to find peace and see the love and mercy of Allah in my challenges. Sufism asks us to seek and see Allah in everything, and without a doubt, everything is permeated by His infinite wisdom and love for us.
What I discovered through my very painful relationship with my mother was how far I was from understanding what balanced relationships look like. This was simply because nobody taught me this growing up.
A lot of us grow up in households where power imbalances, a lack of respect, and poor boundaries are part of everyday life. As a result, we may have no real understanding of what boundaries are or how they shape our experiences and relationships throughout life.
Regardless of whether we are dealing with a parent, spouse, friend, sibling, client, or anyone else, I came to realize that every relationship needs some level of reciprocity, and fairness to carry barakah (blessings).
This was the story I shared on Instagram in case you missed it:
I remember the first time my mom took me to a psychologist; I was only about 7 or 8 years old. She took me because my anxiety attacks had become severe and frequent, and the school asked her to have a professional look into it. I vividly recall her immense frustration over me not being 'normal' and the great lengths she went to to conceal my anxiety, treating it like a source of shame.
The saddest part was that she had absolutely no clue she was the main contributor to my suffering. Instead, she would often ask, "Why can't you be normal? Just be normal like your friends!!" Yet, she honestly didn't know any better, and that is what breaks my heart the most.
Now that she is 70, Allah has granted her the clarity to understand how her behaviour impacted our relationship. She often asks for my forgiveness, encouraging me to keep doing the work of freeing myself from the consequences of how she treated me as a vulnerable child.
While she tells me she prays every day for my healing, and I know Allah hears her, I also know that one of us had to change first for our dynamic to shift. If you are stuck in a cycle waiting for someone else to change, please don't wait. Start with yourself. Build the boundaries and inner strength needed to withstand those waves of intense guilt when doing what keeps you safe and sane. Allah truly transforms our lives when we take the first step towards changing ourselves. — Quran 13:11
The many messages I received after sharing my story tell me that there is something in it that resonates with people. After all, it is not strange that we find ourselves in this material world experiencing challenging relationships. But what I believe needs further discussion is a gap I noticed throughout the years I was suffering immensely because of my relationship with my mother.
Since becoming Muslim and being taught the weight Islam places in relating to parents with care and compassion, I asked so many religious people, shaykhs, and those I perceived as more knowledgeable than me to help me understand how to navigate the very challenging relationship with my mother. After all, I was a scared teenager who did not want to go to hell for how 'crazy' my relationship with her was.
Yet, it was Allah's will that I found no one who could give me an answer that didn't sound like a script, something along the lines of: "It doesn't matter what she did or does to you. She is your mother, and you have to respect her and be good to her."
Repeatedly encountering this advice would cause me more distress, as I did not have the tools to comprehend how this was possible, yet, something inside me would faintly whisper: What happened to you matters. There is a purpose in this experience, keep looking for answers.
But back then, I lived in such a state of personal disempowerment that I was convinced I knew nothing, that everyone else knew better than me, and that I needed to trust what they told me about how to deal with my mother.
I used to feel like a monster because I couldn't feel kindness or fondness towards her. The belief that I was doing something terribly wrong simply because I felt resentment and anger only intensified my anxiety and guilt.
Even though Allah opened up a way for me to move away from her when I was 16, that distance did not dissolve the profound effects that 16 years of daily interaction had on my nervous system and my soul.
All I can say is, if Allah did not take me out of my mom's care at the age of 16, I genuinely don't know if I would be here today. It was a violent relationship.
I cannot fully explain the many years I spent living physically apart from her while my body continued to remind me that something wasn't right. Whenever I visited her, or she visited me, I would sometimes experience panic attacks so severe that they took me to the hospital. No one could explain them, not even me.
From the outside, my life otherwise looked "normal," with no obvious stressors, yet I was living with the echoes of a past I couldn't even recognize as the source of my distress.
This is why I am sharing my experience. I want to help you navigate the painful reality of living with, or dealing with, people who may have harmed your nervous system or affected your life in profound ways, particularly parents who may have caused harm knowingly or unknowingly.
More often than not, I believe such harm is unintentional. However, I cannot rule out the possibility that some people are so disconnected from themselves and consumed by their own unresolved pain that they consciously harm their children. Whatever the circumstances, the impact on the child can be profound.
What we need to understand first and foremost is that we all relate to others through the lens of our wounds, our understanding of life, our understanding of Islam, and our own experiences and beliefs about what it means to be a parent, or any other role we play.
Personally, I am shocked by how, in my 20 years as a Muslim, I have witnessed parental abuse being minimized, while cultural narratives often suggest that Islam requires closeness and affection towards our parents regardless of how they behave towards us.
The reality of what Islam teaches about this, as I have come to understand it, is more subtle.
The reason I believe I could not have transformed my relationship with my mother in the way I did without Sufism is that the inward understanding of the Quranic verses concerning parents opened my heart and gave me the motivation and understanding to seek, and believe in transformation.
Imagine someone who has spent years being humiliated, emotionally neglected, rejected, and put down by a parent reading a verse such as this one:
"And We have enjoined upon man [care] for his parents. His mother carried him, [increasingly] weak upon weakness, and his weaning is in two years. Be grateful to Me and to your parents; to Me is the [final] destination." (Quran 31:14)
What would the most natural response be?
They might question the meaning of justice, and perhaps even question Allah. Why? Because they have been carrying immense pain and resentment for years, while no one around them seems willing to acknowledge how painful it can be to grow up in a dysfunctional family, or the immense challenges of spending years trying to untangle ourselves from its lasting effects.
No one seems to acknowledge that what happened to them was unjust, that they did not deserve to be treated that way.
No one deserves to have parents who are not sufficiently healed or emotionally mature to fulfil the responsibility of raising a child in a way that is pleasing to Allah.
Yet parenthood is not reserved for people who have resolved all their wounds or overcome all their struggles. Human beings often enter parenthood carrying pain they have never learned to understand, and the responsibility of raising a child can become one of the many opportunities life gives them to turn back towards Allah. Unfortunately, not everyone recognizes or responds to that opportunity, and some end up passing their unresolved wounds on to their children.
But while we are not responsible for the harm done to us as children, there comes a point in adulthood when we can begin to reclaim responsibility for our own healing. We can learn to recognize the patterns we have inherited, work through our own wounds, and take responsibility for the ways our behavior may affect ourselves, our families, and our communities.
I believe this is part of what Allah is inviting us to reflect on when He asks us to show care and gratitude towards our parents.
Maybe the deeper work is not simply about performing an outward act of obedience, but also about the inner transformation that allows us to approach our relationships with greater awareness, wisdom, and compassion.
I came to understand that gratitude and care do not necessarily look identical in every relationship. Our circumstances, our capacity, and the history we share with our parents all affect how we can put these principles into practice. For some, care may include affection and closeness. For others, it may require boundaries, distance, or finding a way to maintain respect without sacrificing their own wellbeing.
One of the biggest struggles I see in our communities is this black-and-white thinking: people believe they either need to cut off their parents or accept that they cannot heal or be okay. Of course, this depends on the level of harm involved and whether their safety is at risk. However, in many cases, we may need to find a way to create distance while maintaining some level of connection, as I have been able to do with my mom. This approach has worked in such beautiful ways that even she has acknowledged how the distance helped us heal.
As I often say, Islam provides us with principles, while Allah has given us intellect ('aql) and the practice of tafakkur (contemplation) to connect the dots between Islamic teachings and understand how to apply them to our own circumstances.
This does not mean picking and choosing what Islam says, nor does it mean changing its rules. Rather, Islam offers more flexibility than many people realize when we move beyond harmful cultural narratives rooted in power struggles and ego.
Through the purification of the self, or tazkiyat al-nafs, we can gradually develop a clearer vision of ourselves and others. As we become more aware of our own wounds and reactions, we may also become better able to recognize the wounds behind another person's behavior, and this is a gift that allows us to see them as human beings with their own limitations, fears, and unresolved pain.
This is one of the ways I came to understand the inward dimension of these Quranic teachings.
When we encounter a verse only through the lens of our immediate emotional experience, without exploring its wider context and deeper wisdom, we may struggle to reconcile it with our lived experience. Our pain can make it difficult to see beyond the apparent contradiction.
This doesn't mean that our pain is wrong, or that we should dismiss our questions. Rather, those questions can become the beginning of a deeper search for understanding.
I spent over a decade trying to connect the dots. How could Allah ask something like this of me when He knew what I had experienced, who my mother was, and how I felt towards her?
Over the years, I came to understand the answer through a process of gradual unveiling, in ways I could never have anticipated.
No one comes into this world without challenges. And while growing up in a home without nurturing or warmth can be one of the most painful experiences a person endures, I believe there is immense wisdom in exploring what Allah asks of us, even when we struggle to understand how to fulfil it.
If Allah calls us to show gratitude and care towards our parents, then perhaps there is something profound to discover through that invitation, something that contributes to our spiritual ascension and growth. This does not mean that we must tolerate abuse or destroy ourselves in the process. It means seeking to understand how we can respond to our particular circumstances in ways that honor our faith while acknowledging our human limitations.
I have also witnessed parents weaponizing religion and their position of authority to control or subjugate their children. When religious teachings are used to serve the ego rather than encourage humility, accountability, and compassion, they can become tools of harm rather than sources of guidance.
Then, of course, we have the other extreme: some people are so afraid of doing to their children what was done to them that they avoid setting boundaries or teaching discipline. However, this happens when parents themselves have not developed a clear understanding of boundaries and discipline.
This is why I believe the path of self-purification is so important. As we work to understand and transform ourselves, we can develop greater discernment about how to navigate our own very particular circumstances. We become better equipped to distinguish between genuine spiritual responsibility and the guilt, fear, and expectations that others may place upon us.
This is where the transformation begins: not by waiting for another person to change, nor by forcing ourselves to feel something we do not yet feel, but by turning inward, seeking Allah's guidance, and allowing that journey to change the way we understand ourselves, others, and the relationships we are given to navigate.
The questions I received from you can be grouped into two main themes:
How was it possible for my mom to transform? And have I forgiven her? If so, how did I do it?
How my mom transformed
Allah is always knocking at each of our doors, inviting us to wake up. While I cannot tell you whether my mom's relationships with her siblings or other people have also transformed, our relationship changed for the better because of the shift in my own priorities. I decided to put my well-being and safety first instead of giving in to the false idea that allowing her to manipulate me was an act of obedience to Allah.
Growing up, she would ask me to do things I was not comfortable with, and I learned to tolerate that discomfort. I had to unlearn this pattern and learn to speak up when it continued to happen.
For example, if we were on the phone and she began talking about something that added heaviness to my soul, such as engaging in ghibah (backbiting), or began criticizing me in the name of loving me and wanting the best for me, Allah gave me the strength to say, "I don't like these conversations. I'll have to leave you now, and we can talk tomorrow."
At first, it was difficult, but I knew I had to be strong for Allah. I recognized that my nafs (ego) was pulling me into fear and worry about how she might react, but I also knew that Allah did not want me to pollute my soul by enduring hurtful words or situations that further wounded it.
It took several years of consistently reminding her which types of conversations I was not comfortable having. But alhamdulillah, today, she sometimes catches herself before saying something she knows I would rather not hear. She laughs and says, "Okay, I know you don't want to hear this, so I won't say it."
And when that happens, I don't ask, "What was it? It's okay, tell me." No, because I know that sometimes all it takes is a tiny opening for us to return to conversations that drain me. I've learned that maintaining a boundary also means not inviting back what I've worked so hard to keep at a distance.
Once I learned to set boundaries with my mom, it became easier to do so with everyone else (because my mom was like the final boss😭😄).
Along the way, Allah has sent me many reminders that I was on the right path. For example, my aunts, colleagues, and other family members have complimented the way I handled certain situations they witnessed, telling me they admired how I approached them and set boundaries, and end up asking me how they could learn to do the same for themselves.
Did I forgive my mother?
The second theme you asked me about was forgiveness, which seems to be a big one for many of you. Forgiveness is also a significant theme in Islam, yet it can leave many people feeling stuck for years.
To be very honest, I don't recall struggling with forgiveness as much as I struggled with finding a way to live with what I had experienced. I always knew my mom was struggling herself. She seemed so burdened that, as a child, all I wanted was to ease her pain.
After I became Muslim, during my college years, I became very concerned about my mom's hereafter. I would pray tahajjud every night for her because I always hoped for a happy ending: that she would transform and become the joyful person I remember her being during the first five years of my life.
I knew my mom's childhood had been traumatic and painful, as had my grandmother's and great-grandmother's. I had been born into a chain of ancestral pain that had never been processed. And because life is already difficult as it is, my greatest motivation is to obtain Allah's forgiveness, because when we have that, nothing else matters.
As Allah reminds us:
“Let them pardon and forgive. Do you not love to be forgiven by Allah? And Allah is All-Forgiving, Most Merciful.” (Qur'an 24:22)
We all have our own personalities, and I don't believe that someone who finds forgiveness more difficult is any better or worse than someone who finds it easier.
All I can tell you is that my thoughts have rarely centered on whether I could forgive someone. My priority has always been figuring out how to preserve my own sanity, how to live without anxiety, build a fulfilling life despite everything, and return to Allah in peace. That is where I have chosen to direct my energy and efforts, and it has certainly paid off.
I understand that forgiveness doesn't work this way for everyone. My grandmother, for example, has such a beautiful heart, yet there are two people in her life she has not been able to forgive, and I believe that is okay, too.
Islam acknowledges the right to appropriate retaliation while also encouraging forgiveness, recognizing that the best course of action depends on the circumstances.
Allah also reminds us that forgiveness requires a particular kind of strength, one worth cultivating:
"And whoever is patient and forgives, indeed, that is of the matters requiring determination." (Qur'an 42:43)
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