Sana and the Hole in the Wall

🌍 Cairo, Egypt, 1996

(Book Excerpt from Veiled & Redeemed)

Sometimes the most profound lessons about humanity don’t come from palaces, mosques, or cathedrals. Sometimes they come from a hole in the wall.

When I moved to Cairo, I quickly learned how my U.S. passport changed the way people saw me. Back home I came from a working-class family, but in Egypt, I was suddenly treated like someone of status. I sat on Louis XVI furniture, was served by others, and felt the strange glow of privilege. At first, it felt good—until I saw who was serving me.

In Egypt they are called bawabs—literally, “door people.” They lived in holes or empty spaces in the sides or bottom floors of apartment buildings. They were small, unfinished spaces yet entire families lived in them. They carried groceries, opened doors, cleaned apartments, and ran errands for tips that amounted to a few U.S. dollars. I could stand on the balcony and call down ‘Yaa Ahmad!” and he or someone from the family would come running. That was their world, while I lived upstairs in another.

One day, my curiosity got the best of me. I had lost my door key, and Mimi, my mother-in-law, was out shopping when I arrived home from Arabic school. It was springtime in Egypt and the temperature was moderate. I sat outside and people-watched as I normally did from our 3rd-floor balcony.

As I sat outside, the bawab’s wife greeted me warmly: “Salam, Madame! Amala eyh?” (“Peace to you, Madame! How are you?”).

I said, ‘I forgot my key,” in my perfect classical Arabic, “and Mama is not home.” I tried to mix in a little Egyptian colloquial, ‘Mama mish gowa‘. I said.

She shook her head and smiled. Then she did the unthinkable…she motioned her hand to invite me inside, “tafadalee, Madame!” (Come in!) She invited me around the corner into her home.

I stepped through a human-sized hole in the wall and found myself in a dim, humble space. There was one bed, a carpet for the children, and a small hose outside for bathing. Yet the first thing she did was serve me tea and bread. They had so little, but what they had, they shared.

That’s how I met Sana, their nine-year-old daughter. Instead of going to school, she worked—cleaning apartments like mine from top to bottom. The first time she cleaned our place, I paid her the equivalent of about $2.00US, and she was smiling from ear to ear. Then she pointed to the top of the fridge. I took down the bag of croissants and offered her one. She was in heaven!

We developed a sweet friendship. She loved me, and I loved her. After work, she would teach me Egyptian Arabic, and I would help her sound out verses of the Quran.

For a while, she became the daughter I never had.

On Eid day, I bought her family a whole basket of croissants and a jar of strawberry jam. She threw her arms around me and held me tightly. “Wallahi, (I swear to God) I love you Madame!” I had no children in my life then, and I was enjoying life; young and carefree, studying in Cairo. The pure love of a child felt so refreshing.

One day, after she finished work, I gave her half a cantelope from the fridge and a knife and let her sit on the balcony to eat it. Her brother came up looking for her, and I told him to go out there with his sister. Interestingly, the building owner’s daughter came to the door just then.

She came in, her eyes scanning the apartment. Her lips tightened as she glared at the children eating fruit on my balcony. Her disapproval was obvious—the help wasn’t supposed to be comfortable in my home. I had crossed a boundary. Yes, they were ‘the help’, I could not change that, but they were also children, deserving of compassion.

Despite the poverty of the Bawab family, somehow Sana’s dad managed to marry a second wife! It was incredible to me the drama that happened when that wife showed up at their hole-in-the- wall downstairs. If I didn’t have a front row seat, I would not have believed it. First, we were drawn to the balcony by the sound of women fiercely arguing…and then screaming.

As we rushed to the balcony to look over, there was Sana’s mom, running down the street with a small tree in her hand. She must have pulled it up from the sidewalk with her bare hands! She was holding it while chasing the second wife down the street. The second wife was screaming, ‘Help me someone, help!’.

We only witnessed the chase, but later on at tea next door, the building owner’s sister filled us in, “he has another wife!” she said in clear, careful English. Her sister and sister-in-law burst out laughing. I only understood bits and pieces of their Egyptian Arabic, but it had been decided that Sana’s family was too noisy and too troublesome.

Then, one day, they were gone. Just like that. The owner said they hadn’t “done a good job,” so the family was dismissed. My heart broke. I never got to say goodbye.

🌟 Lessons from a Hole in the Wall

That little room in Cairo taught me more about life than any lecture hall:

Privilege is fragile. Status can rise or fall depending on where we stand in the world. It is never the measure of our worth.
Hospitality is not about abundance. Tea, bread, and kindness can carry more warmth than the finest banquet.
Children remind us of what really matters. Love, laughter, and friendship do not need permission.
Compassion may look like rebellion. Loving across social lines will always make someone uncomfortable.
Even brief encounters can leave eternal imprints. Sana’s smile still lives in my memory, long after the door closed.

✨ Journal Prompts for Reflection

Privilege & Compassion
- Where in your own life do you experience privilege (social, financial, cultural)? How might God be inviting you to use it in service of others?
Hospitality
- Think of a time when someone with very little gave you something meaningful. What did it teach you about generosity and love?
Boundaries & Compassion
- Have you ever risked breaking social “rules” or expectations to show kindness? What happened, and what did you learn?
Children as Teachers
- What lessons have you learned from children that reminded you of God’s heart?

August 19, 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

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