(A reflection on knowledge, and the sacred strength of believing women)
There is a certain light that Allah ﷻ places in the heart of a woman who seeks Him.
It is not the kind that dazzles; it is the kind that endures. It doesn’t flicker with praise nor fade with exhaustion — it stays, quietly, like a lamp tended by sincerity.
When a woman lives for Allah ﷻ, everything about her transforms. Her silence becomes remembrance. Her patience becomes worship. Even her struggles — her unseen tears and her unspoken endurance — become verses written in the language of the unseen.
There’s something almost celestial about a woman who lives with purpose.
A woman whose dreams stretch beyond herself — who wants to serve, to know, to build, to nurture.
Her heart beats not for the applause of people, but for the gaze of her Creator.
And when she walks upon this earth, she leaves traces of light — unseen by many, but deeply felt by those who pause long enough to notice.
In a world that glorifies noise, a believing woman chooses depth. While others chase visibility, she chases proximity — not to fame, but to Allah ﷻ.
She doesn’t just want to be known; she wants to be near.
These are the women I think of — the ones whose footsteps still echo through history. They are my role models! Not because they lived perfect lives, but because they lived purposeful ones, because their love for Allah ﷻ was greater than the fear of what they might lose.
The Legacy of Knowledge and Faith
From the earliest dawn of Islam, women were never meant to fade into silence or shadow.
They were seekers of knowledge, teachers of wisdom, financiers of truth, and martyrs of conviction.
When I imagine Fatimah al-Fihri — the woman who built the world’s first university in Fez — I see a soul so certain of her purpose that even time bowed to it. In an age when women were silenced, she raised walls that would echo with Qur’an, medicine, astronomy, and philosophy. She didn’t ask permission to change the world; she simply began — in the name of Allah. And through her, generations of men and women learned that knowledge itself is an act of worship.
Then I think of Aisha bint Abi Bakr رضي الله عنها — the wife of the Prophet ﷺ, the scholar of her generation, the teacher of nations. Her intellect illuminated the ummah. She narrated more than two thousand hadiths, corrected the greatest companions, and advised caliphs with clarity and wisdom.
Imam az-Zuhri once said, “If the knowledge of all men were gathered and compared to Aishah’s, hers would surpass them all.”
Her brilliance wasn’t an exception — it was Islam’s declaration that the pursuit of knowledge belongs to every believing soul, regardless of gender.
And Khadijah bint Khuwaylid رضي الله عنها — the Prophet’s beloved, his pillar in the storm.
Before revelation descended, she saw light in him that the world had yet to recognize. When the first tremors of prophethood shook his heart, it was her arms that steadied him, her faith that calmed him, her wealth that fueled the mission, and her heart that bore the weight of Islam’s earliest trials.
She gave everything — her gold, her comfort, her peace — and when she left this world, she left behind a Prophet who never stopped remembering her. That was Khadijah — the first believer, the first supporter, the first heart to whisper la ilaaha illa Allah beside him.
And then, Sumayyah bint Khayyaaṭ رضي الله عنها — the first martyr in Islam.
An old woman, frail in body, but strong as mountains in faith. When the tyrant’s spear pierced her, her lips still moved: “My Lord is Allah.” And with that, she wrote the first chapter of courage for every believing woman who came after her.
There was also Fatimah, the sister of ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab رضي الله عنه — who faced her brother’s rage when he stormed into her home with his sword drawn. Her calm was her weapon. Her words pierced where his sword could not. It was through her, that Allah softened the heart of the man who would later raise the banner of Islam across the earth.
And What of the Mothers — The ones history forgot to name, but whose du’as shaped the future of Islam?
The mother of Imam Malik who dressed him for his first lesson and whispered,
“Go, my son. Learn Adab (manners) before knowledge.”
The mother of Imam ash-Shafiʿī who traveled across deserts alone so her orphaned boy could study.
And the mother of Sufyan ath-Thawri, who said to him,
“When you sit to seek knowledge, remember — you are sitting in the presence of Allah.”
He carried those words on a small paper in his pocket all his life — a reminder that knowledge is not for pride, but for presence.
Knowledge: The True Empowerment
When I think of these women, I am humbled.
Because we speak their names with reverence, but we forget their exhaustion, their endurance, their patience.
Their greatness was not built on ease — it was built on sacrifice.
Today, when we speak of success, we often mean titles like Doctor. Engineer. Architect.
All noble, yes — but what about the ones who build souls?
What about the ones who raise the thinkers, the leaders, the believers of tomorrow?
When I chose to pursue Islamic knowledge, many saw it as backward. But to me, it was the most forward thing I could do, because there’s nothing more liberating than knowing and getting closer to your Rab!!
Revelation doesn’t confine the mind — it expands it.
To study Islam is to study life itself — philosophy, science, psychology, ethics — all woven into divine truth.
The earliest scholars of Islam were not just Imams; they were physicians, astronomers, linguists, poets. Faith didn’t shrink their vision — it magnified it. Islam doesn’t ask you to silence your intellect; it asks you to sanctify it.
The Heart of Her Strength
Every one of these women — Khadijah’s loyalty, Aishah’s intellect, the mothers of scholars — they didn’t chase greatness; they became great by living sincerely.
Their strength wasn’t loud.
It was the strength of a du’a whispered after fajr,
of a child taught bismillāh before he could speak,
of a woman who studies when the world sleeps.
It was the quiet steadfastness of those who built nations from their prayer mats.
And that’s why, when Islam honors women, it does not do so with slogans — it does so with truth. Our worth is not measured by how much we resemble men, but by how beautifully we fulfill the purpose Allah has written for us.
The Noblest Role
So yes!! I say this without apology:
The noblest profession for a woman is motherhood.
Not because it confines her —
but because through her, generations rise.
The world calls it simple, But I call it sacred.
For no title equals the one written by sleepless nights and whispered du’as.
No achievement compares to raising a heart that loves Allah.
To every mother who sacrifices her comfort for love —
You are the True Queen.
Not the one on screens or stages,
but the one whose crown is mercy,
whose throne is a heart she has nurtured,
whose legacy is written in the unseen by angels who never sleep.
You are the unseen strength behind every generation,
the quiet miracle through which the world is sustained.
To every woman who wonders if she matters — Remember the lineage you belong to!
You are the daughter of women who founded universities, who debated scholars, who defied tyrants, who raised prophets and saints. You are the inheritor of their du’as. You are the continuation of their courage.
Seek knowledge!! Strengthen your faith!! Live with Ihsaan!!
In the end, let’s think of all the women who came before us —
those whose names we remember, and those whose names only Allah knows.
I imagine them — praying under moonlight, teaching in courtyards, whispering lullabies woven with Qur’an,
their hearts full of love for their Rab they never saw, but felt closer than their own breath.
I wonder what they would say if they saw us now — daughters of their du’as, still searching for meaning in a world that has forgotten its soul.
They would tell us:
Return!
Return to your Rabb!
Return to knowledge!
Return to the purpose that once made the women of Islam glow like stars in the night of the world.
Because your light, dear sister, was never meant to be hidden!
KHADIMAT AL IMAN 