The Conditional Love of My Muslim Aunties

Now, I’ve shared with y’all about “My Not So Muslim Family,” my parents needed to improvise to give my brothers and me an extended family. Mainly, my mother and her besties became my aunties. As a child, I loved all of my Muslim aunties more than my biological aunts. It was never a question or doubt that the feelings were mutual. But unfortunately, the fairytale I was living came to a drastic stop. I learned their love was conditional; I wasn’t really their niece. All except for one; she deserves her own post.

But let’s stay focused; this is about the conditional love of the majority of my Muslim Aunties. My opinions are from a child’s eyes, but I have always been mature and intuitive. My mother was an extremely pious Muslimah, and so were the aunties. Then life shook my mother’s world, and she was no longer a pious Muslimah; she was struggling. When my mother needed her friends the most, they were all still on their self-righteous high horse, looking down, and eventually, one by one, left. It happened to be when I was going through puberty and needed female guidance.

My mother was going through a deep depression while I was trying to figure out womanhood. All of the women I had admired and aimed to be like vanished, beginning my abandonment issues. It seemed as if, once my mother was no longer actively practicing Islam, they had no more use for her and me as well. Of course, no one explicitly said that, but they kicked my mother when she was down and failed to step up as her friends or even decent women. Watching the unfortunate events play out planted a seed inside of me.

First, I never wanted to become anything close to those Muslim aunties, and I realized humans are poor representations of religion. Second, being a pious Muslimah does not mean you’re a good person. And most importantly, I judge and care more about a person’s character than what God they pray to. For a long time, I avoided getting close or even becoming friends with other Muslimahs; I had to heal that wound from my childhood.

Al Humduillah, time and therapy heal all wounds. I am proud of the Muslimah I blossomed into; I need to be more understood. As for the aunties, I’m sure they’re still looking down on my mother and me on their self-righteous high horse, but Allah(swt) makes no mistakes because that experience created an unbreakable bond between my mother and me. Even though I admit I am a bit overprotective regarding my mom, she’s such a special lady.