Breaking The Cycle

     I grew up as the youngest in a family of five siblings. The one closest to me in age was already seven years older, so for most of my childhood, I learned to be alone. While others were busy with their own lives, I played in quiet corners, creating my own worlds. I don’t remember being comforted when I cried, or celebrated when I succeeded. I only remember trying, trying to be noticed, trying to be liked.

    Over time, I became the “funny one,” the people pleaser. Not because I naturally was, but because I had to be. Earning attention became survival. Laughter became my language to feel seen. I wore smiles like armor, and read every room like it was a battlefield hence the reaosn why I picked up Aina's mood in a glimpse of second of seeing her or meeting her.

    And speaking of battlefields, my late dad, Abaji, may Allah bless his soul, was an ex-army. His love was strict. His presence, while firm, was often felt more as pressure than protection.  He tolerate no bullshit, all serious, wise nevertheless. Discipline ruled the house. There was order, but little emotional warmth. It wasn’t abuse, it was just... unspoken hardness. I know now he did what he thought was best, based on how he was raised, and what he carried from the army. But even so, that experience left marks I didn’t understand until much later.

    It wasn’t until I met Aina and truly let someone see me, that things began to shift.

She didn’t just love me, again like the previous post, she asked the hard questions.
She noticed patterns I didn’t.
She said: “Have you ever wondered why you struggle to say no?”
“Do you think your childhood made you feel like love had to be earned?”

    Those questions didn’t hurt, they healed. They cracked the walls I didn’t know I built. And for the first time, I realized that a lot of what I thought was “just me” was actually unresolved pain I never had space to process.

Since then, I’ve been on a slow but steady journey of reflection and growth.

I no longer see being vulnerable as weakness. 
I let my emotion runs freely now so long it didn't interfere in any major decision making or situation.
I'm learning to no longer see silence as rejection.

And I’m learning that I don’t have to perform to be loved. I don't need to have a mask on to be loved and that is the life I'm striving for because the burden of performing to be loved is too heavy.

    Now, with Lily in our lives, that growth has a deeper purpose. She deserves a father who doesn’t pass on his wounds. She deserves warmth, not just structure. Safety, not just control. And I’m committed to giving her what I wish I had more of: emotional presence, patient love, and a home where she never has to earn affection.

    I have made up my mind to be the one that breaks the chain of generational childhood trauma being passed down, for Aina, for Lily.

    And to Aina, I thank you for not running away from my mess, for helping me make sense of it instead. For loving me not despite my past, but through it.

This journey of healing isn’t quick. But it’s honest.
And more than anything, it’s necessary.
Because we can’t change how we were raised.
But we can choose how we raise those we love now.

    As I reflect on my past and strive to grow into a better man, husband, and father, I’m reminded of the verse:

‘Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.’ (13:11)

The healing started within. And by Allah’s mercy, I pray it ends with love.