لم يكن هُنالِك أحدٌ في الطريق ليدلّني، كانَ اللهُ يعلم أنّي أقوى من أنْ أضيع، ولم أكن قوية بفضلي، إنّما استوحيتُ قوّتي من حُبِّي الفَيَّاض لله المهيمن، لقد أحببتُه حُبًا آنسَ وحشتي وأعادَ سلوتي، كنتُ أبحث عمّن يدلّني واليوم أنا التي أدلّهم على الطريق، ذلك فَتْحُ الله فالحمدُ لله.
I want my children to always know: if the relationship isn’t working—come home. If the bills are too much—come home. If you feel unsafe—come home. If something just doesn’t feel right—come home.
You will always have a place here. My kids are my kids forever, and that doesn’t stop at 18.
to my 2026 self,
i hope you are happier. i hope you wake up lighter, softer, and a little more at peace with the world and with yourself. i hope you smile more without forcing it, and i hope your days feel gentler than the ones you fought through this year.
i hope you are healthier in all the ways that matter. not just in body, but in mind and in heart. i hope you've learned to choose rest without guilt, to close doors that drain you, and to protect your peace like it's something sacred. because it is.
i hope you are loved. truly loved. the kind of love that makes you feel safe, seen, and valued. whether it comes from people, from god, or from your own healing, i hope you feel wrapped in warmth you once prayed for.
and most of all, i hope you get everything you deserve. the breakthroughs you cried for. the opportunities you waited for. the joy you almost gave up on. i hope you look back at me, your 2025 self, and whisper, "thank you for not giving up."
i'm rooting for your softest and strongest year yet.