We’ve all had some experience with the genetic section in our high school or college biology class. We have a rough idea of how biological traits are passed on from generation to generation. Still, in addition to physical traits and genetic conditions, generational trauma can be passed down. Given that this is a relatively newer field of study for psychologists, they are still uncovering the nuances and subtitles of how GT manifests itself in subsequent generations.

The premiere of Ms. Marvel on Disney+ this week has created a handful of camps: From “Christians Against Ms. Marvel” on Facebook, Muslim influencers calling out tokenization, to millennial Muslims rejoicing at their own reflection in the Marvel Comics Universe, foes and fans of Kamala Khan run the gamut.

I am the type of person that packs for a trip picturing the worst-case scenario of crashing on a deserted Island (LOST-style) and having my suitcase appear on the shoreline, ready to tackle any of the obstacles we will face as survivors. I have since found out that this is a result of my chronic anxiety, and packing this way helps me feel in control of the situation and is a coping mechanism to help navigate the chronic trauma I have embedded in my DNA.

Having a daughter is #goals, and that’s why I talk about mine a lot. Did you catch my last article about watching Ms. Marvel with my daughter and how it led to some very eye-opening conversations about trust and being seen as a Muslim? Bear with me, I know I’m the annoying mom with stories galore of my babies to share with unwilling audiences.

I want to be honest with you. I have had a very difficult time sitting down and writing this. I wish I could just tell you I am miraculously healed, that my every day is filled with rainbows and butterflies and that my relationship with my parents is fantastic. But not only would I be lying to you, but also to myself.

We’ve been writing columns for The Haute Take on all topics of Muslim parenting for more than a year now, and on the eve of our first retreat, it feels like a good time to talk about how this podcast and our mission came to be.

By Dr Uzma Jafri

As most of our listeners (and people who pretend to be our listeners but really only follow our Instagram) know, the Mommying While Muslim podcast hosts themed podcasts every month. We call them series and believe they’re easier to follow along this way, as each episode builds on the next. At least that’s the idea of our overly anxious executive producer. That’s me.

Dear Muslim men,

I am not afraid of you.

This is the birdsong of my thoughts, in hopes that one day I will believe it.

Before classrooms were my training ground, my education was assembled piecemeal from the hushed conversations of women and the smoky tobacco clouds of men. This is where I learned the words “custody,” “police,” “divorce,” and “shari.”

One in four women are victims of domestic violence. That is a staggering statistic – 25 percent of ALL women say they are somehow abused by their spouse (or significant other). Personally, I feel like the number is likely more significant as the intangible versions of domestic abuse tend not to be reported.

For many people, November brings the impending feeling of dread that “winter is coming.” But for me, the chill in the air, the crispy fallen leaves and the annual Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special fills me with gratitude. In our family, it’s forced family time – games of touch football, movies in front of the fireplace, and comfort foods we only bring out at this time of year.

As firstborns, Zaiba (my co-podcaster at Mommying While Muslim) and I are usually right. Check the research, and it’ll tell you that the gift of big headedness is for firstborns. We are firstborn and daughters. And now that we are in our forties, we are most assuredly right, but less vocal about it outside of our podcast. It’s 100 percent true that wisdom comes with age, and we are not too proud to report that our wisdom came at the expense of falling on our faces or butts many times.

As someone who doesn’t “celebrate” any major holidays in December, I still use the holiday season as a way to end the year on a positive note. And that’s usually, by having lots of family connection time, resetting my annual intentions, or creating a space of love and light into the new year.

When our children are born, they come into this world with a vulnerability that demands our instincts to love and protect them. We hold them close; we love them with a fierceness that can’t be described with words because the gift we have been given is so overwhelmingly powerful. All we can DO is love them.

I have been feeling a bit “off” the last few weeks and falling into some toxic patterns of behavior that I thought I had rehabilitated, but apparently, the cloud of darkness that enveloped me was just a bit stronger than the tools I had learned during my healing process. (I will leave THAT story for another day.) As mothers, we are the heart of the household, and everyone around us can feel our positive or negative energy, and this was becoming apparent in my home.

February is the month that we and our listeners look forward to because topics such as sexual rights AND dysfunction and reproductive health show up. Summed “women’s health” by mainstream, we don’t call it that on our Mommying While Muslim podcast because frankly, no one would listen. So we spell it out, continue to laugh and learn more about our bodies and sexual selves and invite all on this ride with us.

This is the first Ramadan my eldest will not be with our family during Ramadan. I feel angst surrounding it for various reasons, all of which ultimately stems from my insecurities as a parent in providing the proper Islamic foundation for my eldest, who has Grown and Flown from the nest and is in college.

Every parent wants their children to feel prepared to take on whatever life throws at them with courage and confidence. And especially with all our kids have seen and gone through – like the growing influence of social media, the COVID-19 global pandemic or ongoing mass shootings and gun violence in the U.S. – we know that having strong emotional health is key to achieving this. It's never too early to start instilling these skills in our kids.

Zaiba Hasan and Dr. Uzma Jafri are cohosts of the award-winning podcast, Mommying While Muslim. What started out as a quest to find answers to their own questions about raising American Muslim children in a post 9/11 America turned into an international support system for this community of mothers and their allies. Mommying While Muslim tackles a range of topics like their introduction says, “from potty-training to politics.” They invite us to sit at their virtual kitchen table for a glimpse of the world they face every day with their kids. Zaiba & Uzma have decided to put themselves in interview mode to change the format they’re usually operating in as podcast cohosts. Today, they’re in the hot seat!

With October comes Domestic Violence Awareness, and I loathe to recall my own childhood and adolescent experiences with it. It stirs pools of memory, allowing painful ones to surface, the ones I worked so hard to drown with 99 excuses, positivity and the sweat of intense work – both physical and mental. But the demons are there, threatening my relationships with my sons, and so I have to deep dive to meet it again and again.

When going through the college application process, just learning the terms can be overwhelming and daunting. Sometimes you have to call in the professionals and glad that I have Salman Khan, founder of Muslim Campus Life to direct this conversation. I spoke with him for the 411 (the information) on the college application process.

I was folding laundry and listening to my favorite podcast (Mommying While Muslim) when I had the rare pleasure of seeing my eldest child, Z1, walk into my room with a puzzled expression. He crawled into my bed – remnants of the little boy he used to be flashing before my eyes – let out a huge sigh, and said, “Who am I?”

Ask anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that I’m a poor sleeper. The same people will report that they can take me on a road trip and snap photos of my lolling tongue while I sleep. Even the carpool commute used to knock me out cold, just not enough 20 years ago when I heard on the radio that a tower was struck by a plane in New York City. I fought sleep to turn up the volume because I must have heard wrong.

I am anxious. My kids are anxious. We are inundated every day with news on COVID cases rising, people debating the effectiveness of masks, politicizing our desire to get the kids back in school, and our attempt to reach for some semblance of normalcy. As I write this, the Delta variant is getting stronger, and apparently, there is a Lambda strain as well.

The pressured mom facing another pandemic school year is in good company. What’s the right thing to do when community vaccination rates are low while pediatric infections and hospitalizations are the highest they’ve been in the last 18 months? What to do when the school board has to hold meetings with security on site every week as campuses quarantine up to 10K students (and that’s out of ONE district in Florida!)?

July is one of the most popular months for Muslim couples to get married. My spouse and I were no exception; our nikkah (Islamic wedding) was on July 31 a couple of decades ago (22 years to be exact). Just finishing my sophomore year of college, I naively and excitedly waited for my wedding with the anticipation of the schoolgirl I literally was. We were so focused on the clothes (I refused to dress up), the makeup (I did my own), and the hair (put in a loose bun), we never thought about what would happen afterward.

As the child of airline employees, I am very adept at traveling. I can pack in 15 minutes or days ahead of time and be ready to fly without even forgetting a toothbrush. A book can be read or a luxurious nap had inflight. I am the savior of the plane, distracting screaming babies with a handy Tic Tac box they can never open. As a child, my teachers were amazed at just how many cousins I had, and that at least one got married every year.

Summer 2021 is being described by many as the summer of “deconfinement.” This is a fancy way of saying that, with more people being vaccinated and social distancing and mask mandates easing, we are entering into summer feeling semi-safe and finally starting to imagine a more normalized, post-COVID world. Parents (like so many others) have been in survival mode for 15-plus months, probably having had to lean hard on screens and electronic devices. But now the dust is slowly settling.

While North American Muslims may have some closure with the funerals of the Afzaal family in London, Ontario this past weekend (who were deliberately mowed down and killed by a 20-year-old in what Candian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is calling a “terrorist attack”), we all know the actual process of grief is longer. For a newly orphaned nine-year-old Fayez, the youngest son and only surviving member of the Afzaal family, it may never happen at all.

Regular Quarterly Column Titled-“Mommying While Muslim”

Featured Presenters, Podcast Magazine Conference October 2020