A Life in Letters

Eid-e-Milad reminds us of the Prophet's timeless lessons. In two letters, a Kashmiri mother reflects on how faith carried her through the 90s conflict and now guides her as she helps her children steer a changing world.

- Tabassum Haroon

There are letters that live inside us, unsent, unspoken. They wait for the right time, for the right silence to surface. Mine are addressed to the Prophet, written across two decades of my life.

One belongs to the young girl I once was, caught in the tumult of Kashmir in the 1990s. The other belongs to the woman I am now, in my forties, a mother with children of her own.

Letter One: At 18

Beloved Prophet ( ).

Growing up in Kashmir in the 90s is traumatic. Everything around me feels heavy and unsafe, and being a teenager only makes it harder.

My body, mind, and emotions are all changing, and the pain outside somehow echoes inside the house.

My parents’ constant clashes add to the weight I am already carrying. I am always told to be strong, so I hide my tears and never let anyone see my pain.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that showing grief is weakness, that sharing what hurts me would only invite judgment. And there was no one I could really talk to: no friends, no relatives, no counsellors or therapists. Just silence.

I felt so alone, so lost. Even faith felt far away. Allah is always there. I knew that, but I was only taught to be afraid of His punishment.