parents
The boundless love a parent has for their child is matched only by their capacity to embarrass them.
Story of Maryam (Mary) and the Birth of Isa (Jesus)
"This is the true story of 'Isa (Jesus), the son of Maryam (Mary) — a statement of truth, about which they are in doubt." (Surah Maryam, 19:34) AL QUR’AN Story of Maryam (Mary) and the Birth of Isa (Jesus) And mention in the Book (the story of) Mary, when she withdrew from her family to a place in the East. She screened herself away from them; then We sent to her Our spirit (angel Jibreel/Gabriel), and he appeared before her as a well-proportioned man. She said, "Indeed, I seek refuge in the Most Merciful from you, if you fear Allah." He said, "I am only the messenger of your Lord to give you a pure boy." She said, "How can I have a boy while no man has touched me, and I have not been unchaste?" He said, "So it will be; your Lord says, ‘It is easy for Me. And We will make him a sign to the people and a mercy from Us. And it is a matter already decreed.’" So she conceived him, and she withdrew with him to a remote place. Then the pains of childbirth drove her to the trunk of a date palm. She said, "Oh, I wish I had died before this and was in oblivion, forgotten." But he (a voice) called her from below her, "Do not grieve; your Lord has provided beneath you a stream." "And shake toward you the trunk of the palm tree; it will drop upon you ripe, fresh dates." "So eat and drink and be contented. And if you see from among humanity anyone, say, ‘Indeed, I have vowed to the Most Merciful abstention, so I will not speak today to any man.’" Then she brought him to her people, carrying him. They said, "O Mary, you have certainly done a thing unprecedented!" "O sister of Harun, your father was not a man of evil, nor was your mother unchaste." So she pointed to him. They said, "How can we speak to one who is in the cradle, a child?" He (Isa/Jesus) said, "Indeed, I am the servant of Allah. He has given me the Scripture and made me a prophet." "And He has made me blessed wherever I am and has enjoined upon me prayer and zakah (charity) as long as I remain alive." "And (He has made me) dutiful to my mother, and He has not made me a wretched tyrant." "And peace is on me the day I was born, the day I will die, and the day I am raised alive." That is Jesus, the son of Mary—the word of truth about which they are in dispute. It is not befitting for Allah to take a son; exalted is He! When He decrees a matter, He only says to it, "Be," and it is. (Isa said), "Indeed, Allah is my Lord and your Lord, so worship Him. That is the straight path." Then the factions differed concerning him (Jesus), so woe to those who disbelieved from the scene of a tremendous Day. How clearly they will hear and see the Day they come to Us! But the wrongdoers today are in clear error. And warn them of the Day of Regret when the matter will be concluded; and yet they are heedless, and they do not believe. Indeed, it is We who will inherit the earth and whoever is on it, and to Us they will be returned.
By Atif jamal about a year ago in Families
Tuberose: A Father's Silent Love
The Mid-Autumn Festival came early that year, but the season felt unchanged. There was no autumn chill, no breath of falling leaves—none of the stillness poets once likened to “cool water in autumn.” I often found myself slipping away to the northern edge of Yulin, searching for a signal in the wind that autumn had arrived.
By zhimin wangabout a year ago in Families
Things I Wish I Told My Mom Before I Moved Out
The morning I moved out, my mom made pancakes. She never said, “I’ll miss you.” She just slid the plate toward me with a quiet, practiced grace and asked if I wanted syrup. I nodded, heart thumping, trying not to cry. My car was already packed. The keys were in my pocket. The rest of my life waited in a two-bedroom apartment across town.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Families
Truth Be Told: Letters to My Loved Ones Series. Content Warning.
them, Someday when I'm gone from here, I want my children and loved ones to know just how much I loved them and not only that, but I want the whole world to know. Not just words, of course my actions as well. My mother died suddenly when I was seven months pregnant with SJ (6, autism, loves donuts). I didn’t get a chance to tell her how much I really loved her. So, guess what... you get to read about Mama Lott right here (rapid blink). You will also read a letter to my daughter, who lived with my mother for a time, to my oldest son, who is my middle child and often reserved because of his disability. My two eldest (daughter 21, the K-pop guru, son 18, Mr. Tech). Those letters will really take time. I was a young mom and there is a lot of pain there for all of us, so bear with me. This letter though, this is SJ's and to be honest I feel somewhere down the road, maybe at graduation, God give me long life, I’ll write him another one. But for now, here it goes! (of course I cried... hush up).
By V Joyce Lottabout a year ago in Families
I Blocked My Parents for a Month—And Found Peace I Didn’t Know I Needed
The first time I hovered my finger over the "Block Contact" option on my mother’s name, I felt a tightness in my chest that reminded me of every Sunday lunch I had forced myself to sit through with a fake smile and a churning stomach. My parents weren’t monsters. They didn’t scream or curse. They didn’t hit or throw things. But they did something more invisible—they made me doubt myself, my worth, and the validity of my own feelings.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Families
Bleeding While Breastfeeding: What’s Normal and What’s Not?
While breastfeeding your baby, you may face some complications. It can be breast engorgement, when your breasts overfill with milk, or latching problems, in which your baby is unable to attach to the breast. These problems can be troublesome, but they are not as concerning as seeing blood traces in your breast milk. It’s obvious that as a mother, you will freak out and assume that it’s a grave medical issue. But the truth is that it’s not always a real headache.
By Lovemere Storeabout a year ago in Families
The Declaration of Parental Rights
“Children belong to their parents—not to the government.” That shouldn’t be a radical statement—but in 2025, it is. We are living through a silent revolution—one where government agents, unelected bureaucrats, and activist judges have increasingly inserted themselves into the sacred space between parent and child. Under the guise of “safety,” “equity,” or “best interest,” the state is taking more control while parents are being treated as threats, not protectors.
By Michael Phillipsabout a year ago in Families
Through Their Eyes
Mira sat quietly on the edge of her bed, acceptance letter in hand. The emblem of the prestigious university gleamed in gold at the top of the page. Full tuition wasn’t covered—only partial. She knew her parents would smile and say “we’ll manage,” but she also knew what manage meant in their world.
By Adil Nawazabout a year ago in Families
How to Create the Perfect Birthday Photo Album for Parents, Children, and Families
Birthdays are some of the most memorable occasions for families. From the joy of celebrating milestones to capturing the little moments that make each year special, a birthday photo album is a wonderful way to preserve these memories. Whether you’re making a baby photobook or a family birthday album, this guide will walk you through the process of creating the perfect birthday photo album to cherish for years to come.
By Photojaanicabout a year ago in Families
“The Apology I’ll Never Get — And Why I Finally Stopped Needing It.”
The Apology I’ll Never Get — And Why I Finally Stopped Needing It I used to rehearse the apology in my head like a movie script. It always started with them crying — remorseful, broken, finally seeing the pain they caused. They’d say things like “I’m so sorry for not protecting you,” or “I didn’t know what I was doing to you back then.” I’d nod, maybe cry a little, and then — for the first time in my life — I’d feel peace. But that scene never came. Instead, I got silence. Denial. Defensiveness. Or worse — the twisted gaslighting that made me question whether any of it was “really that bad.” And for years, I carried that silence like a stone in my chest, thinking I couldn’t fully heal until I heard those magic words: “I’m sorry.” The Damage That Was Never Admitted I grew up in a home that looked normal from the outside. We had dinner at 6, my dad went to work every morning, and my mom kept the house spotless like it was her full-time job. But behind closed doors, the air was thick with tension. Love was conditional. Affection came with strings. And any sign of emotional neediness from me was met with a cold wall or sharp correction. I learned early how to disappear — how to shrink myself into the version of me they could tolerate. Obedient. Quiet. Never too sad, never too loud, never too messy. There weren’t bruises. That’s the part people misunderstand about emotional abuse — it’s harder to point to. It lives in the unsaid. The emotional neglect. The way your tears are met with annoyance instead of comfort. The way your joy is dimmed by a parent’s disapproval. The way you internalize the idea that your worth is tied to performance, perfection, or being easy to love. And for years, I blamed myself. The Ache of the Unspoken In my twenties, I started therapy — at first for anxiety, then for “trouble in relationships,” and finally, for the deep well of shame I couldn’t name. It didn’t take long before we circled back to the house I grew up in. At first, I defended them. “They did their best.” “They had it worse.” “They didn’t mean to hurt me.” But under that rationalizing was a quiet desperation: If I forgive them too easily, does that mean my pain didn’t matter? And if I don’t forgive them, am I a bitter person? That tension ate me alive. I found myself longing for something I knew I’d never get: an acknowledgment of what happened. A real apology. A moment where the people who made me feel small would look me in the eyes and say, “You didn’t imagine it. You were a child. And you deserved better.” But they didn’t — and they won’t. Not because they’re evil, but because they’re too wounded, too proud, or too unwilling to face themselves. The Shift I Didn’t See Coming There wasn’t a single moment I stopped needing the apology — it faded, the way grief does. Slowly. Unevenly. One therapy session, one boundary, one tear-soaked journal page at a time. At some point, I realized: I was waiting for the people who broke me to validate my healing. I wanted the apology because I thought it would make it real. That their words could finally make the pain legible, official, worthy of compassion — maybe even my own. But the truth is: my healing doesn’t need their permission. My hurt is still valid, even if they never say a word. That realization changed everything. Letting Go Without Letting It Go Let me be clear: I didn’t “just get over it.” I didn’t wake up one day filled with forgiveness. And I don’t believe closure always requires contact or confrontation. What I did do was this: I stopped rehearsing the imaginary apology. I wrote letters I never sent. I gave my inner child what she never got — protection, patience, softness. I built relationships with people who see me clearly and love me anyway. I allowed myself to grieve the childhood I should have had, not just the one I got. And maybe most importantly: I stopped trying to turn my pain into someone else’s responsibility. They didn’t own it. So I did. The Quiet Power of Self-Validation These days, when I think about those imagined apologies, I feel something I never expected: Not anger. Not bitterness. Not even sadness. I feel a kind of quiet strength. Because I survived without the apology. I healed without the confession. I gave myself the closure I used to beg others for. And that’s the thing they never taught me — that healing isn’t about the people who hurt you. It’s about reclaiming your voice in a story where you were once silenced. So no, I’ll probably never hear “I’m sorry” from them. But I’ve finally stopped needing it. And that, in itself, is enough. Have you ever had to heal without an apology? Share your story in the comments — or write your own. You never know who needs to hear it.
By Soul Draftsabout a year ago in Families
