Letting Go Of The Old

Making room for growth

"A garden forming within" what a beautiful understanding.

A friend once told me that women are like gardens and must be watered accordingly. That thought led me into a deep space of reflection. Like a garden, there are fruits, vegetables, herbs, flowers, and even weeds. Each element has its own purpose, its own responsibility, and contributes in a specific way.

When we truly take our time to water the garden, to plant seeds, we also must be willing to remove the weeds, develop compost, and give it time to grow. All in which ways we are nourishing. Studies show that when you talk to plants, it encourages healthy growth. This requires patience, because imagine talking to a living thing that can't respond immediate, lol. That in itself patience, similar to how our garden is being refined. As our gardens are showing growth and we witness the beauty, we still have to pull out what no longer serves us to make space for more beautiful things. Praise be to the Most High for enlightenment.

I remember being young and thinking I knew everything sis, you couldn't tell your girl she was about to spend the rest of her life making some of the very same mistakes she judged others for. As most young ladies do, i just thought I was immune to hearing wrong, and knowing I wasnt going to come close to it.

I was raised in the South, where I received so much love and nourishment. I grew up in a big family rooted in love and fun. But then we moved to the big city. The same city we loved visiting in the summer became our permanent home very unexpectedly. What a shocker, lol.

I officially moved in with my father for the first time, and life started to look very different. And let’s not forget the hormonal imbalance of a 12-year-old girl — sis, I was probably having a ball but being deeply influenced by the alien rollercoaster of teen emotions.

With a more dominant Muslim presence in Philadelphia and attending Sister Clara Muhammad School (where my father worked, and was quite stern at the time), ya sis was stagnant, stuck, ya girl was confused. You see, the Muslim community in North Carolina was very kind, loving, full of sweet Southern accents, long hugs, and warm smiles at the masjid. The Northern demeanor was very different!

Islamic teachings felt more rigid. As a 12-year-old, the shift was one I had to adjust to. There were things to get used to.

Letting go of North Carolina felt like a loss, like grief. A part of who I was, and everything I knew, was 500 miles away. And that felt terrible, so I thought.

It wasn’t in the harsh experiences, the strict rules, or the brutally honest adults that I received a nurturing upbringing, but it was the harsh reality of life that I didn’t know I needed. And now, I know I was meant to experience it.

You see, it may not make sense now. We want to protect our children from everything. We want to shelter them. But sometimes, those “bootcamp-style” interactions are what teach us who we truly are. I was different. But it was meant for me to discover my uniqueness. That stone-cold environment helped shape me, helped me grow firm in my Islamic identity.

In the South, there weren’t many Muslims at all. I didn’t have a desire to cover or wear hijab. But there were fundamental seeds of understanding that I needed at that age, and I’m so blessed to have experienced them.What an honor it was to be raised in North Carolina.

Having older sisters who attended HBCUs and were familiar with the Philadelphia community and dressed beautifully while still modest inspired me. It planted a desire to carry myself in a way that pleased Allah. I started wearing hijab, because my father wasnt having that lol, joining organizations, and increasing my understanding of Islam. Now, don’t get me wrong . You can totally make that sacrifice and grow spiritually wherever you are. But this was what Allah decreed for my journet specifically that was my growth formula.

Letting go of North Carolina was extremely painful. Walking into unfamiliar territory as a 12-year-old was isolating. Living with my loving, but more stern, father was unfamiliar. But on the other side of that discomfort, I developed character. I became more refined. My desire to strive intensified. That discomfort? It inspired growth. And through that growth, I began to blossom into a new version of Imani, one I now deeply appreciate and continue to nurture. The blossoming journey never ends, but this was where a new path of spiritual enlightenment began.