Mahreen Yahya
As Muslim women, we often find ourselves navigating the tension between what the world expects of us and what our deen calls us toward, especially when it comes to motherhood. In a time where early motherhood is frequently framed as a limitation or interruption, it becomes essential to return to the examples and guidance that Allah (SWT) has given us.
Motherhood in Islam is not a pause in our purpose. It is a powerful expression of it.
When we reflect on the stories of the women who came before us, we begin to understand the true weight of this role. Their sacrifices, their intentions, and above all, their duaas, did not end with their children. They rippled outward, influencing generations.
To understand our own roles today, we must first look back.
One of the most profound examples is that of Hinnah bint Faqood, the mother of Maryam (AS). Her story is preserved in Surah Al-Imran, where Allah tells us of her sincere vow. She had intended to dedicate her child to the worship of Allah, assuming the child would be a boy. Yet when she gave birth to a girl, she did not withdraw or hesitate. Instead, she turned to Allah with humility and conviction: entrusting her daughter to His protection (3:36).
From that moment came the legacy of Maryam (AS), and ultimately Isa (AS), whose life and message would impact countless generations. Pause and consider that for a moment. A single dua, made by a mother in a moment of vulnerability, became part of a divine plan that shaped history. And this is not an isolated example.
The mother of Imam al-Bukhari spent years making dua for her son when he lost his sight as a child. Imagine the patience, the quiet persistence of turning to Allah again and again, with no immediate answer in sight. With time, Allah responded by not only restoring his vision, but elevating him to become one of the greatest preservers of the Prophet’s (SAWS) teachings.
Similarly, the mother of Imam al-Shafi’i faced poverty and widowhood, yet refused to let her circumstances define her son’s future. She moved to Makkah to prioritize his education, nurturing his abilities from an early age until he became one of the most influential scholars in Islam.
What connects all of these women is not ease or ideal circumstances. It is my intention. It is a sacrifice. It is yaqeen in Allah. And perhaps most importantly, it is their understanding that what they were doing in the early years of their children’s lives mattered far beyond what could be seen in the moment. Which brings us to an important question: why does Islam place such a profound emphasis on mothers?
We have all heard the Hadith: that the mother is three times more deserving of good treatment, that Jannah lies beneath her feet. These are not just comforting words—they are indicators of status, of weight, of responsibility. Allah Himself tells us why in Surah Luqman verse 14, reminding us that mothers endure “hardship upon hardship.”
As women, especially those who have experienced or are experiencing early motherhood, this ayah feels deeply personal. The exhaustion. The physical toll. The emotional weight. The constant giving of yourself, often without acknowledgment. And yet, alongside this hardship, Allah places a unique mercy in the heart of a mother—a love that compels her to continue, to nurture, to protect. This is not a coincidence. It is intentional. Allah elevates mothers because of what they carry, both physically and spiritually, and allows it to be a means of greater reward for them.
To persevere through the early years of motherhood, to make the intention of raising our children for the sake of Allah, is a test that results in a noble status. But if motherhood holds such a high status in Islam, why does it often feel undervalued in our lived experiences today?
Many of us have absorbed subtle messages from the world around us: that early motherhood is something to “get through,” that real contribution begins later, that being constantly occupied with young children somehow distances us from meaningful impact.
Even within our own communities, there are moments where mothers feel unseen. Masaajid may lack space for children. Mothers may feel hesitant bringing their babies, worried about judgment or inconvenience. Over time, this can create a quiet but powerful narrative: that motherhood and active participation in the ummah are separate paths.
But the stories we just reflected on tell us otherwise. The mothers of scholars did not wait for their children to grow older before investing in them. They did not separate nurturing from purpose. They carried their children into spaces of knowledge, built environments of learning at home, and made intentional choices from the very beginning.We need to rebuild a culture where children are welcomed in our spaces, mothers feel supported, not sidelined, and early years are recognized as foundational, not restrictive.
As Muslim women, we also need to reclaim our own perspective. Because if we do not see value in what we are doing, it becomes difficult to sustain it with intention.
One of the most transformative shifts we can make is to stop viewing motherhood as something separate from our deen. It is our deen. Every sleepless night. Every moment of patience. Every act of care. When done for the sake of Allah, these are acts of worship.
Yes, your salah may be interrupted.
Yes, Ramadan may look different.
Yes, your routines may no longer resemble what they once were.
But none of this diminishes your connection to Allah, it simply transforms the way you reach Him. Responding to your child’s needs is not a distraction from worship. It is worship. And beyond that, your children are learning from you long before you begin formally teaching them.
They see you pray.
They hear the Qur’an in your home, even from the womb.
They absorb your reactions, your priorities, your relationship with Allah.
This is tarbiyah in its earliest and most powerful form.The role of a mother extends far beyond daily tasks- it shapes hearts, minds, and ultimately, futures.
There is something deeply empowering in knowing that Allah has given parents a special status when it comes to dua. Your dua for your child is not insignificant. It is not passive. It is a means of shaping what is yet to come. Hinnah’s dua was not immediate in its visible impact—but its effects spanned generations. The same is true for the mothers of great scholars. And the same can be true for you.
The quiet duaas you make while rocking your child to sleep, the whispered prayers for their guidance, their protection, their future—these are not lost. They are being heard. And they may manifest in ways you cannot yet imagine.
As Muslim women, especially those experiencing the early years of motherhood, it is easy to feel overwhelmed, isolated, or even uncertain about our place and impact. But our tradition tells a different story. It tells us that mothers are not on the sidelines of change—they are at its very core.
The early years you are living through right now are not just a phase to endure. They are a foundation you are building with your own hands, your own patience, your own dua. You may not see the full results today. The mothers before us didn’t either. But their trust in Allah, their sacrifices, and their intentions shaped the world. And so can yours.
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