Assessing Oneself for Religious Trauma

Religious Trauma Syndrome (RTS) refers to the lasting adverse effects on a person’s well-being caused by harmful religious experiences, beliefs, or practices. These often involve spiritual abuse, manipulation, or the use of fear, shame, and guilt to control behavior (EMDR Center of Denver; IntraSpectrum Counseling).

RTS is not unique to one religion. Survivors from Islamic sects, Christian cults like the Children of God, extreme Mormon groups, and even authoritarian evangelical circles describe remarkably similar patterns of harm. The language, clothing, and doctrines may differ, but the control, fear, and silencing are universal.

Here is where I stop apologizing. For years, I said “I’m sorry” too often. I do regret the pain my words may cause, but strongholds must be named before true spiritual freedom can be reached.

Harmful Religious Experiences

Common harmful practices across faith traditions include:

Being ordered to pray in prescribed ways.
Being ordered to fast, tithe, or perform rituals without choice.
Being ordered to wear particular clothing.
Being told to “be patient” or “submit” under harmful circumstances.
Feeling like religious expectations are unattainable.
Emphasis on collective identity over individuality.

Religious trauma occurs when a spiritual environment is stressful, degrading, dangerous, abusive, or damaging—whether to a person’s physical, emotional, mental, sexual, or spiritual health.

Gender and the Burden of Blame

In my Islamic experience, I often heard:

“I have not left anything more harmful and more detrimental on the men of this nation, than the women.” — attributed to Islamic tradition, agreed upon by scholars for centuries.

This mindset taught that women were the source of men’s downfall.

Christian cults echo the same idea through purity culture, modesty rules, and victim-blaming. In the Children of God, women were sexualized yet blamed for male temptation. In extreme LDS sects, girls were married off young under the belief that their worth was tied to obedience.

The message is the same: your gender makes you guilty before you even act.

Causes of Religious Trauma

1. Guilt and Shame
In Islam, I wore a face veil at the mosque because I felt ashamed to be the only woman uncovered. In Christian cults, shame often revolved around “impure thoughts,” failing to evangelize enough, or questioning the pastor.

2. Strict Gender Roles
In my world, men had authority, women had silence. In Mormon fundamentalist sects, women were groomed to be plural wives. In many evangelical churches, women are denied leadership roles with the phrase “God made men the head.”

3. Fear-Based Teaching
I feared hell, curses, and punishment. Survivors of Christian cults describe the same fear—whether of eternal damnation, missing the rapture, or being “cast out of God’s covering.” Fear, not love, became the motivator.

4. Excommunication and Shunning
In my community, “deviants” were cut off and so were those who associated with them. In Jehovah’s Witness congregations, families are instructed to shun those who leave. In extreme LDS groups, children are separated from parents who disobey leaders.

5. Repression of Critical Thinking
In Islam, we were told: “When Allah and His messenger have decreed a thing, we have no choice in the matter.” In Christian groups, the mantra is: “Touch not God’s anointed.” Both silence questions.

6. Abuse of Authority
Though I didn’t face physical or sexual abuse in Islam, I and numerous community members experienced deep emotional abuse in marriage. In other cults, survivors tell of sexual exploitation by leaders (Children of God) or financial control by authoritarian pastors.

Childhood Trauma Meets Toxic Religion

Why did I accept it? Because I was primed for it.

From ages 0–18, I moved between four households. My survival tools were freezing and fawning—doing whatever it took to be liked and accepted. Religious communities offered an illusion of safety, and so I stayed.

This is a common theme. Survivors of Christian and Mormon cults often describe being raised in instability, then finding false security in the structure of a controlling group.

Silencing Members

I was a teacher of Arabic and Quran, but as a Salafi woman, I had no authority. Speaking out would brand me “deviant.” And because of the repression of critical thinking, the word of ‘scholars’ was law, and we learned not to challenge.

Christian cult survivors describe the same silencing: women not allowed to preach, members forbidden from questioning “prophets,” and children raised to obey without hesitation.

Cult-Like Traits Across Faiths

No matter the label—Salafi, LDS, Jehovah’s Witness, evangelical cult, or Children of God—the traits are similar:

Extreme Beliefs – socially deviant teachings.
Isolation – separating from family, friends, or “outsiders.”
Control – regulating thought, emotion, and behavior.
Manipulation – guilt, shame, coercion.
Loyalty – unquestioning allegiance to leaders.

Symptoms of Religious Trauma

Some of the lingering effects include:

Compulsive perfectionism.
In the Salafi community, women and girls stressed over the jilbab, face veils, nail polish, makeup and shoes that made no noise. In evangelical circles, children stress over “appearing holy” enough—memorizing verses, praying publicly, serving constantly.
Faith crisis and disillusionment. A faith crisis involves a period of significant doubt, questioning, and uncertainty about one’s beliefs. We saw many of our children experience this, but we labeled it as youthful rebellion.
Self-hatred, low self-worth, shame.
Whether failing to pray perfectly or not evangelizing enough, no one could live up to the impossible standards.
Hypervigilance. Individuals are constantly scanning for potential threats, dangers, or signs of sin or disapproval within their religious environment.
Lack of boundaries.
Some religious communities often invade personal lives—dictating marriage, finances, parenting, or even medical care.

I admit that sometimes I played the role of the “critical sister.” I believe that I did hurt others, and for that, I repent. Survivors of Christian cults share the same pain: once victims, sometimes perpetrators.

Moving Toward Healing

Healing begins with recognition. Religious trauma is real. It is not a sign of weakness or lack of faith.

Across faiths, survivors describe the same freedom: naming the harm, breaking the silence, and rediscovering that love—not fear—is the foundation of true spirituality.

Reflection Prompt

Have you ever felt controlled by fear, guilt, or shame in your religious experience? What would it look like to begin redefining faith through love instead of fear?

Finding Hope Beyond Religious Trauma

Religious trauma can leave deep scars, but it does not have to define the rest of your life. The fact that you are even reading this, questioning, or seeking clarity is proof of your strength.

Healing is possible. Survivors across faith traditions testify that life on the other side of fear is freer, lighter, and more authentic. Healing may look like:

Learning to trust your own voice again.
Building safe relationships and community.
Exploring faith or spirituality in a way that is rooted in love, not fear.
Releasing shame and perfectionism, step by step.

For me, the journey has been about unlearning fear and rediscovering a God of love. For others, it may be therapy, journaling, or simply giving themselves permission to rest from religion for a while. There is no single path, but there is one truth: you are not broken, and you are not alone.

Your worth has never depended on how perfectly you followed rules, but on the fact that you are deeply loved.

This is why I share my story—not to dwell on pain, but to remind anyone listening that freedom is possible. You can step out of fear and into love.

Peace, Shalom, and Salam,

Nela

August 21, 2025 0

Healing for Muslim girls

💔 Through the Hijab: Healing Religious Trauma in the Lives of Muslim Girls

We speak endlessly about the struggles of Muslim women — their rights, their choices, their voices. But the stories of Muslim girls, ages 7 to 18, are often left untold. It’s as if they live behind a second veil — not of fabric, but of silence.

Growing up is hard enough. Growing up as a Muslim girl in an environment that demands strict conformity can feel like living under a microscope, every action weighed against the honor of the family, the image of the whole religion, and the fear of eternal punishment.

I’ve worked closely with Arab girls in the Middle East, Muslim teens in the West, and I’ve raised two Muslim daughters myself. I’ve seen firsthand how religious structures meant to guide can instead wound. I remember how my daughters struggled to follow the strict rules of hijab at the age of 7 and 8, negotiating long garments amid childhood play. The pressure to be “a good girl” often hides deep questions about love, identity, and autonomy — questions too dangerous to ask out loud.

🌍 Navigating Girlhood

Whether in the West or the Middle East, Muslim girls often struggle with identity issues that go beyond the typical teenage angst. They constantly weigh their decisions:

If I wear certain clothes, am I being immodest?
If I talk to a boy, am I disobeying my family or my faith?
If I’m found out, will I be punished — or will my family be ashamed?

These are not questions of simple rebellion. They are about survival. Fear of being labeled, of being found out, of bringing shame to one’s family — it all adds up to a kind of quiet trauma that can follow them into adulthood.

Recently, my daughter invited me to watch a teen soap opera, AlRawabi School for Girls — a Middle Eastern drama on Netflix set in Jordan. It hit close to home.

The show explores the secret lives of Arab girls at a private school — sneaking around for online romances, dealing with bullying, trying to navigate between traditional expectations and modern desires. One girl, Leanne, is under tight control from her brothers and father, but finds ways to rebel quietly. Watching this, I realized: this isn’t just drama. This is real life for many.

After Mariam is brutally bullied by Leanne and her friends, she plans revenge. However, her actions have unexpected consequences. The show reflects themes that are not commonly discussed: toxic patriarchy, bullying, mental health issues, religion and reputation, and the tradition of honor killings.

My two daughters spent half their childhood in the Middle East. They both know all too well what happens when girls are too controlled and suppressed. Though Leanne is presented as the villain of the story, she was just a girl, trying to prove her worthiness and curious about love.

The story, unfortunately, has a terrible ending for her.

🧩 Teenage Marriage and Complex Trauma

Here’s where it gets deeper — and darker. In the Salafi Islamic community, which I was once part of, the emphasis on marrying girls off early leads to a different kind of trauma.

I remember when I worked in the Islamic school, a mother pulled me aside to seek advice about her daughter, who had just turned 11.

“I see how she watches music videos and how she moves her body. She is acting like she’s ready to have sex.”

“Oh no, she’s much too young to really want to do it,” I reassured her. “She just needs more attention and more constructive activities.”

I told her about the Saudi girls I used to teach back in Madinah — how many came to the English institute just to get away from home. The virgins had a little freedom: malls, shopping with friends. But two of my young students had been divorcees; the grip on them was extremely tight.

“Because,” I explained to her, “after the girl has sex, she may desire it more afterwards… and if she ends up divorced, what will you do with an 11-year-old divorcee?”

My coworker sat back thoughtfully, then became resolute again.

“No, I have to protect her from fornication.”

I knew what that meant.

Only three months later, I had just had my baby, and I saw my coworker at a community event. After fussing over the baby, she introduced me to a veiled, smiling lady.

“This is Umm Muneeb. Her son has just proposed to my daughter.”

I tried not to look shocked as my heart pounded. They both smiled at each other with pride. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake them both.

But my lips stayed shut as I heard the voice of “Elder Noble Brother” in my head:

“Let no one speak against the sunnah! It is a protection.”

Months later, Umm Muneeb was at my dining table. She stayed behind after Arabic class and told me the horrors her 15-year-old son faced when he discovered his wife was only 11. My coworker had lied and said she was 13. A divorce was arranged.

And it didn’t stop there.

After we moved back to the Middle East, we would make summer visits back to our community. I would see familiar faces at Eid gatherings in the park. Invited to barbeque burgers and blankets in the grass, I listened to more stories of teen marriages gone wrong. Boys and girls I had watched grow up had multiple divorces by age 17.

That broke my heart. It still saddens me.

💡 Healing is Possible — And You’re Not Alone

For every story like Leanne’s, and for every real-life girl whose voice has been silenced, there are countless others quietly enduring in the shadows. Some will never speak about the pressure, the shame, or the choices they never got to make. Others will find the courage to break free — and when they do, they need a safe place to land.

We can’t rewrite the past for these girls, but we can help write a different future. That begins with listening, believing their stories, and yes…even challenging harmful traditions — no matter how “normal” they have been made to seem.

To the Muslim girls who have been told they are too much, too curious, too emotional, too disobedient — know this: you are not too much. You are exactly enough. Your life, your voice, and your heart matter more than anyone’s reputation.

Healing from religious trauma isn’t a straight road, but it’s a journey worth taking. And the more we walk it together, the more light we can pour into the dark corners where silence has reigned for too long.

I, myself, was silent for too long.

If you see yourself in these words, or know someone who might, I invite you to join me for my upcoming workshop, Healing from Religious Trauma, here at Nela’s Nest. Because your story is worth telling — and your healing is worth fighting for. The link to the form is below.

https://forms.gle/UqceNJLYr7KrnsEz6

August 15, 2025 1

Healing Our Parenting: How Fixations Poison Relationships

What Is a Fixation?

I first learned this term through the work of the late Peter Gerlach, MSW. He spent 15 years creating a remarkable body of work on childhood trauma, family dynamics, and inner healing before his passing in 2015. I was blessed to speak with him in 2014 during a very difficult time in my life, and his insights stayed with me.

In Gerlach’s framework, a fixation happens when a parent becomes so focused on a specific standard, object, or outcome that it becomes more important than the relationship with their child.

How Fixations Look in Everyday Life

Fixations can be as simple as an obsession with a spotless kitchen.

One dirty dish in the sink becomes a fight.
Instead of connection, the parent leads with judgment, shame, or blame.

Or, take a father who excelled in sports — football, boxing, basketball — and sees his son as an extension of himself. His fixation is for the son to match his athletic achievements, even if the child’s own interests lie elsewhere. The picture in the parent’s mind takes priority over the real, living relationship.

The Sock Story: How Small Things Become Big Wounds

I once saw a little girl, around seven or eight, bubbling with excitement because she was going out with her dad. She got to the door, only for him to notice she had on one blue sock and one green sock.

Instead of brushing it off, he sent her back upstairs to change. The problem? She couldn’t find the matching socks — she had simply put on what she could.

By the time she came back down, her head was hung low in shame — that feeling that something is wrong with you, not just what you did. The joy of the moment was gone. The “sock incident” became a snapshot in her mind, imprinted with intense emotion, and those moments can leave chemical imprints in the body that affect long-term well-being.

Why This Matters for Healing Our Parenting

When fixations take center stage, children begin to associate being around us with tension instead of safety. Over time, this can create lasting damage:

They avoid being around us once they have the choice.
They carry nervousness or self-doubt into other relationships.
The bond is weakened by years of small, avoidable wounds.

We must ask ourselves:

Is my desire for cleanliness, order, appearance, or achievement stronger than my desire to connect with my child?
Am I willing to loosen my standard to protect the relationship?

A Better Way

My own father was meticulous — the kind who aligned vacuum lines on the carpet. But he never let his perfectionism poison his relationships. If he saw a dish in the sink, he’d wash it himself, sometimes with a light comment, but always prioritizing connection over criticism.

That’s leadership. That’s love.

The Takeaway

Fixations may seem small in the moment, but they can poison the parent-child bond for years. As parents, we are called to put relationship above rigid standards. The immaculate kitchen, matching socks, or perfect picture in our minds is not worth losing the trust and warmth of our children.

When we choose connection over control, we plant seeds for lifelong closeness — and we break the cycle of shame and perfectionism that can pass down through generations.

Key Lessons:

Fixations are relationship killers — they put objects or standards above people.
Small incidents can leave lasting scars when handled with criticism instead of compassion.
Connection must outweigh control if we want a strong lifelong bond with our children.
Healing starts with self-awareness — notice when your standard is more about your own comfort or ego than your child’s well-being.

Reflection Prompt: Take a moment today to notice if your standards, habits, or personal fixations are coming before connection with your child. Ask yourself: What would love choose in this moment?

Every small step you take toward healing yourself is a step toward breaking generational cycles and building a legacy of trust and safety.

Healing Our Parenting isn’t about being perfect — it’s about being present, honest, and willing to grow alongside our children.

Until the next post,

Peace, Shalom and Salam,

Nela

August 14, 2025 0

The Healing Effects of Yoga: Breath, Body & Balance

Nela’s Nest | August 1, 2025

Yesterday evening, I found myself at an outdoor yoga class. The sun hadn’t set yet, and it was still hot—a steady 90 degrees at 6 p.m. I arrived early, secured a perfect spot, and stretched out my mat in the thick summer heat.

As the class began, I glanced behind me and was amazed by how many people had quietly joined. Something about the open sky, the golden light, and the communal breath made it feel sacred.

And the best part? The class was just right. Not too hard, not too easy—just enough to challenge me without overwhelm. I felt strong, stable, and present.

My Body Keeps the Score—and Rewards Me

One of the things I’ve noticed about yoga is how faithfully the body responds to consistency. I’ve only been practicing once, now twice a week, since the school year ended, and still—each time I go, my body rewards me. A little more balance. A little deeper stretch. A little longer hold.

There’s this one pose—standing pigeon—where you balance on one leg, cross the other over your thigh, and squat. It used to wobble me into frustration. But now? I’m stunned at how long I can hold it.

Same with warrior three, where you balance on one leg and extend the other behind you while reaching forward. I held it outside for the first time and thought, Who is this girl?

Maybe it was the fresh air. Maybe it was the heat softening my muscles. Or maybe…it was just the payoff of slow, steady healing. There is a Belgian scientist who talks about the way yoga helps release trauma from the body. The more fluid I feel, the more I believe him.

The Long Game of Embodied Recovery

Yoga isn’t a quick fix. It’s a long game. Over the past school year, I practiced once a week. That was it. But even that modest consistency reshaped me—literally and figuratively.

The fluidity in my body is real. I haven’t needed to see a chiropractor in months. My spine just… realigns itself. A good stretch, a deep breath—and crack, crack, crack. Instant release.

I’ve also added Pilates to the mix. The combination of posture work, core strength, balance, and intentional movement has been amazing. For anyone healing from trauma or emotional stress, these kinds of movement practices are powerful. They speak the language of the body—something most of us were never taught to understand.

Movement as Medicine

I’ve come to realize: healing isn’t just about talking or praying—it’s also about moving.

In fact, for me, movement came naturally after breath and after words. First I learned how to speak what I was feeling. Then I learned how to breathe through it. And eventually, I started to move my body through it. Even before I ever heard the term somatic healing, I was living it.

The body knows how to recover. You just have to give it the space, the tools, and the rhythm to do so.

Yoga and Pilates have given me a new set point—a new default. My nervous system isn’t holding the same tension it used to. I’m more flexible, more aware, more grounded in my own skin.

Healing Is a Whole-Body Experience

Whether it’s releasing the pain of religious trauma, navigating motherhood, or simply trying to reconnect to joy—healing is a whole-body experience. It happens through breath, through movement, through stillness, and through sweat.

That yoga class reminded me: I don’t have to strive. I just have to show up.

And every time I do, my body says thank you.

☕ Love what you read? Want to say thank you?
Treat me to a hot yoga session 🧘🏾‍♀️💦
👉 Send via Venmo @Nelasnest or via CashApp @Nela’s Nest 2025 ($nelasnest)

Your support helps fuel my healing—and lets me stretch a little deeper. 💛

Peace, Shalom, Salaam

Nela

August 5, 2025 0

🌿 Three Essential Things to Do When Beginning Your Spiritual and Emotional Healing Journey

🌿 Finding Your Way Back to You: A Gentle Beginning with Handpan Music by Malte Marten

Welcome, Precious One.

If you’ve found yourself here, maybe something inside is stirring—calling you toward healing, toward peace, or just toward something more. Whether you’re just beginning to explore your spiritual path, tending to emotional wounds, or simply trying to reconnect with your inner self, know this: you are not alone, and you are right on time.

This journey is not about fixing what’s broken—it’s about returning to your wholeness, slowly and gently.

“He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
— Psalm 23:3 (KJV)

Where is your soul being invited to rest and restore today?

Here are three powerful and loving steps to help ground you as you begin this sacred work.

🌸 Three Things to Do When You’re Just Beginning

If you are beginning your own journey of healing—emotionally, spiritually, or both—here are three powerful steps to ground your process:

1. Practice Breathwork

Breath is our anchor. It’s the gateway to slowing down, feeling our body, and reconnecting with ourselves.

Many of us live in survival mode—tense shoulders, clenched jaws, stiff backs, or even clenched buttocks (yes, I discovered that too!). These are signs of fight, flight, or freeze responses from past trauma.

Breathwork helps dismantle these walls gently. Start with noticing your breath. Lengthen your exhale. Breathe into the tight places. And most importantly, feel what it’s like to simply be in your body.

Thare are coaches on You Tube who can guide you in various breathing practices. If you would like to explore this deeper with me, I will be hosting a workshop very soon here at Nela’s Nest.

2. Build a Circle of SupportHealing is not meant to be done alone.

Surround yourself with 2 or even 3 trusted, safe people—friends, mentors, family—who will hold space for you. These are the folks who give the best hugs, who will sit with you over a cup of tea, and who can simply be present without judgment.

Let them know you’re beginning a healing journey. You may include a clinical therapist in your journey. Having someone with a clinical background to listen and help you identify, or even diagnose things that may be going on inside of you. Whether or not you include a therapist or coach is up to you,—but never underestimate the power of gentle, consistent support.

3. Give Yourself Grace

This may be the hardest and most important step: be kind to yourself.

Painful memories may surface. You might wonder why you tolerated certain things. You may feel guilt or shame.

But here’s what I want you to remember:

Guilt says: I did something wrong.
Shame says: I am something wrong.

Neither defines who you truly are.

Give yourself grace. Talk to yourself kindly. Hug yourself. Look in the mirror and say, “I love you.” Or if that’s too hard, just point to your reflection and say, “You are loved. You are supported. You are worthy.”

This is a lifelong journey. It’s not linear. But every breath, every prayer, every moment of grace is a step forward.

From my heart to yours—thank you for flying into Nella’s Nest today.

Peace. Shalom. Salaam.
— Nela 🌿

August 1, 2025 0

Parenting, Confidence, and Spiritual Growth

A Morning Walk in Soloman’s Wisdom

This morning, my daughter started her first real job. Not just a part-time gig or something casual—her first truly “adult” job. A sales position uptown where she said she could make as much money as she wants… kind of.

As a mom, I felt a wave of pride—and also a tug of nervousness. I know sales demands confidence. I also know how delicate that confidence can be, especially if it’s been undermined in subtle ways by the kind of parenting I once practiced. Parenting shaped by fear. By rules. By the pressure of a strict religious environment.

So I offered a small gesture of support:
“Let me walk you to the bus station.”

It’s only a five-minute walk. But to me, it felt like a quiet chance to uplift her—and, if I’m honest, to gently undo some of the damage I may have caused over the years.

She agreed. I said, “We can walk and talk. I want to share something Solomon once said.”

She glanced at me sideways, suspicious.. “Mom… is this from the Bible?”

“Yes,” I smiled. “But you know Sulaiman,” I added in Arabic, hoping it might sound more familiar, more approachable. “He was a powerful prophet and king!”

We started walking. Well—she started walking. At nineteen, her legs are long and fast. Mine, not so much. I was falling behind, breathless.

She glanced back, called out, “Gotta go! There’s the bus!”

My shoulders drooped. I had missed my moment.

But just as she stepped onto the bus, she turned and shouted over her shoulder:

“Text me what Solomon said!”

Something about that moment felt like an opening.
Not because I’m trying to change her—her spiritual journey will unfold in its own time when the season is right. But I want her to have full access to the richness of God’s Word and the spiritual abundance that’s already meant for her.

Soloman’s words?

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
(Proverbs 4:23)

A seed planted.
A step toward healing.
For both of us.

💬 Have you had a moment like this—where a small exchange held deep healing?

I’d love to hear from you. Drop a comment below, or share this post with someone who’s healing from faith, parenting, or spiritual wounds.

Let’s keep these conversations going—because healing grows stronger when it’s shared.

🕊️ With love and light,
Nela

Nelajaye@gmail.com

July 8, 2025 0

Healing Through Healthy Masculinity: A Correctional Experience

(music by Malte Marten, Handpan music)

What does that mean? It means intentionally re-entering spaces or dynamics that once hurt me—but this time, with new tools, insight, and boundaries. The goal is to rewire the way my body and mind respond. I don’t just relive the experience—I redo it with wisdom and strength.

For me, a big part of that correctional work has been learning to engage with men again—safely, selectively, and intentionally.

From Wounds to Wisdom

I converted to Islam at 22, but my trauma started long before that— And unfortunately, my experience in Islamic marriage did not heal that—it deepened the trauma. I wasn’t nurtured, seen, or emotionally safe. I was ordered, shamed, and then abandoned,

I have had to relearn what it means to be in the presence of a man. Not as a wife. Not as someone bound by rules or shame or being threatened with punishments.

Prophet Muhammad said: “When a man invites his wife to his bed and she does not come, and he (the husband) spends the night being angry with her, the angels curse her until morning.” (Sahih Muslim)

and

Prophet Muhammad also said: “I was shown the Hell-fire and that the majority of its dwellers were women who were ungrateful.”

In the past, hadith like these had haunted me, deepening my shame and fueling my quest for perfectionism.

But now, showing up as a whole healed woman, I’ve been dating—and I mean truly dating. Dinners, concerts, conversations, mini-golf, walks. Not chasing marriage. Just enjoying respectful company and learning to receive healthy masculine energy.

And you know what? It’s been healing.

A Return to Self-Worth

Being treated like a queen—cherished, not merely tolerated or preached to—felt revolutionary after everything I had endured and watched my friends endure. To be taken out, cared for, and truly seen was more than just refreshing; it was healing.

Traditional dating didn’t just teach me about men—it taught me about myself. I realized how nervous I used to be, how I stumbled through conversations, unsure of how to relate to the opposite sex after years in a strictly segregated religious environment. I often said the wrong things—or shut down entirely.

But I’ve grown.

You know, knowing my value changed everything.

Once the fear dissolved… I learned to see men—differently. I no longer spoke from a place of fear or obligation, avoiding eye contact and hoping I’m doing the right thing. Instead, I now speak with ease and comfort knowing that as a woman, I am just as valuable to God as he is as a man.

And I learned to listen, not just to words, but… to a man’s heart. Men actually have hearts!

And once I could hear that… everything shifted. I began to see things—things most people miss. I could sense what weighed on him. I could tell when he was guarded… or when he was silently screaming for someone to truly see him.

Now, I can spot certain things in a man almost instantly.
And because of that… men often open up to me.
They share the quiet things. The tender things. The things they’ve never said out loud.

And when they do…
I honor them.

I don’t use a man’s vulnerability against him.
I don’t interrupt it.
I hold space for it.

Because when a man lets you see his heart,
that’s not weakness—it’s sacred.
And I treat it as such.

This, I believe, is part of becoming an emotionally healthy woman: not only knowing your worth, but also holding space for the humanity in others—without losing yourself in the process.

The Inner Work

My modesty, my etiquette, my grace—I do thank Islam for that. It taught me dignity, self-restraint, and the value of carrying oneself with purpose.

But my inner healing—my self-love, my freedom from judgment, my ability to breathe—that came from Jesus.

It was Jesus who transformed my heart. Who released me from being hardened, legalistic, and self-critical. Who took the inner struggle and replaced it with peace. And that’s a healing I could never have predicted.

Masculine Energy Without Romance

Not every healing moment involved dating. Some of the most nurturing male energy I’ve received has been in platonic spaces—like the men at church who greet me with side hugs and genuine concern, who ask how I’m doing, who offer help with no hidden motive.

It reminded me that masculine energy doesn’t always have to be romantic or sexual to be healing. Just being seen and honored by good men has been therapy for my soul.

The Formula That Changed Everything

Here’s a powerful practice I learned from my first life coach (and then saw modeled in real life):

When dating, don’t just focus on what went wrong. Look at what went right. Ask yourself:
✨ What did I like about this person?
✨ What quality made me feel safe, seen, or appreciated?

Then write those qualities down. Over time, you build a clear, personal picture of the kind of man you’re truly seeking—based on values, not appearances. It’s no longer “I want someone like Mike or John.” It’s “I want someone who’s emotionally available, or deeply spiritual, or adventurous.”

You strip away the face, and you focus on the substance.

Freedom at Fifty

When I left my marriage, I was told no one would want me. “You’re about to be 50. Who’s going to want you?”
But here’s the truth:
I’ve never been more wanted.
Not just physically—but spiritually, emotionally, intellectually. The right men see me. They value me. And more importantly, I value me.

I’m not who I was three or five years ago. That woman is gone. I’ve been reborn. My standards have changed, my energy has changed, my whole identity has been redefined.

Healing is an Open Door

If you’re in a religious space that doesn’t allow dating, you can still have these conversations—with brothers, cousins, uncles, fathers, or mentors. Ask the men in your life about their views on manhood, relationships, heartbreak, and healing. You might be surprised by what you learn.

Healing from trauma isn’t always about looking inward. Sometimes it’s about reaching across the line, sitting in unfamiliar company, and letting yourself be loved differently.

✨ Journaling Prompt:

What has your experience with masculine energy been like? How has it helped—or hindered—your healing? In what ways can you begin to rewrite that story today?

📖 Scripture Reflection:

“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?” — Isaiah 43:19

Talk to you soon!

Peace, Shalom and Salaam

Nela

July 6, 2025 0

My Father’s Day Breakthrough: Prayers Rediscovered

This weekend, I had a breakthrough—one that quietly unfolded over music, laughter, and the scent of homemade brunch.

My siblings and I spent Father’s Day weekend with our dad. We didn’t go out or make big plans. We stayed in, talked, cooked, played music, danced around the house, and watched movies. It was beautiful, intimate, and simple.

The next day, while sitting by the lake and reflecting on the weekend, something incredible happened.

I started praying for my father.

That might sound normal, even obvious, to some. But for me, it was a radical, healing moment. It was the first time I had ever done it. I prayed for his health. I prayed for the longevity of his life. I prayed with genuine love in my heart—and I was overcome. I wept tears of joy and gratitude.

Because for most of my adult life, I believed I wasn’t allowed to.

Undoing False Teaching: When Love Was Forbidden

I spent 27 years as a strict Salafi Muslim. For those unfamiliar, Salafism is a conservative and deeply literalist interpretation of Islam, closely aligned with the scholars of Saudi Arabia. One of its foundational principles is al-walaa wal-baraa—a doctrine that teaches loyalty and allegiance to fellow Muslims and disassociation or even hostility toward non-Muslims.

In practice, this means you’re taught to love and support those who follow your faith, and to emotionally distance yourself—or even hate—those who don’t.

Yes, including your parents.

Yes, including your Christian dad on Father’s Day.

As a young student, I memorized verses like these:

“O believers! Do not take Jews and Christians as allies. They are allies of one another…” (Qur’an 5:51)

“You will not find a people who believe in Allah and the Last Day loving those who oppose Allah and His Messenger, even if they were their fathers or sons or brothers…” (Qur’an 58:22)

“And the Jews will never be pleased with you, nor the Christians, until you follow their religion.” (Qur’an 2:120)

These verses were drilled into us in context that made their interpretation clear: love is reserved for believers. Anyone outside of Islam—especially Jews and Christians—are either your adversaries or your mission field.

When Hatred Was Framed as Holiness

As a student in Cairo, I remember eagerly listening to cassette tapes from popular Salafi scholars. One tape by Sheikh Muhammad …. was a fiery response to a controversial cartoon of the Prophet Muhammad. The title was chilling: “No—They Are the Pigs and Swine.” It referenced a Qur’anic story where a group of Jews were transformed into monkeys and pigs as punishment.

This kind of rhetoric was widespread in the circles I moved in. In Saudi Arabia, I studied under female students of well-known Salafi scholars like Sheikh U…. I remember clearly one study circle where we discussed how to treat non-Muslim relatives. I asked what felt like a very personal question:

“But what about our parents? Can we love them?”

The answer was unwavering: No.

You could show them kindness. You could be polite. But love? That was reserved only for the believers.

The only acceptable prayer for them was a plea for their conversion to Islam. Nothing else.

I remember one of my Arab friends asking me one time, “Your father’s not Muslim yet?” I said, “no,” feeling ashamed. “You are not making dua/praying for him.” she scolded me.

The Lie Unraveled

Today, I see things differently.

No longer do I believe in a God who commands me to suppress love, especially for the people who raised me, nurtured me, and celebrated me. My father is still a devout Christian. And I’m not praying for him to become something else. I’m praying for his heart, his peace, his strength, and his joy.

And I feel no shame in doing that.

In fact, I feel free.

A Message to My Former Self—and Others Like Me

To the younger version of me who thought loving her family meant betraying her faith—I’m so sorry. You deserved better theology.

To those who are still wrestling with fear and guilt because of the things you were taught in the name of God—keep wrestling. God can handle your questions.

And to my father—thank you. Thank you for being constant. Thank you for your love. Thank you for always seeing me, even when I was taught not to see you fully.

This Father’s Day, I didn’t just celebrate you. I reclaimed you.

And that is the real breakthrough.

Love, Nela

nelajaye@gmail.com

June 19, 2025 0