I Thought I'd Always Be The "Sexual Health for Muslims" Expert. Then I Discovered What Was Beneath.
We all carry wounds on our heart - which manifest as sexual, emotional, and spiritual struggles.
I still remember the moment I finished writing "Gender Education" on the whiteboard in 2011, my hand trembling slightly as I turned to face twelve curious fifth-grade Muslim girls. I had no idea that moment would shape the trajectory of my career—or that fourteen years later, I'd be standing at another threshold, trembling again, but for entirely different reasons.
This time, I'm not nervous about what to teach. I'm in awe of what I've learned.
When I began this work, I believed I was addressing sexual health for Muslims. And I was. I spent 17 years developing curricula, training educators, holding space for difficult conversations, and helping Muslim communities navigate topics that had been pushed to the margins or avoided altogether. But somewhere along the way—through my studies in Islamic Psychology, through my own continued healing journey, through writing a book that centers Islamic traditions of the soul for sexual health, and most recently through completing Level 2 Shifaa Method training—I began to see something I couldn't unsee.
My work has naturally focused on the soul. It's the direction I've been pulled in, the depth I've been called to explore. And now, I need to deepen even further.
Sexual health issues aren't just sexual health issues. They're doorways. They're invitations. They're the surface ripples of something much deeper happening beneath—in the qalb, the heart, the very center of our soul.
When someone comes to me struggling with intimacy in their marriage, I see the childhood wound that taught them they weren't safe to be vulnerable. When a parent asks how to talk to their child about bodies and boundaries, I hear the shame they still carry from their own upbringing. When a young adult grapples with sexual desire and discipline, I witness the spiritual crisis asking to be met with compassion, not just rules.
The struggles were never just about sexual health. They were always about the soul.
What I'm Learning to See
After years of this work, I'm beginning to understand something profound: people don't just struggle with sexual health. They struggle. Period.
And that struggle shows up everywhere—in our relationships, in our mental health, in our spiritual lives, in the ways we move through the world carrying wounds we didn't choose but that have shaped us nonetheless.
Sexual health was my doorway into this deeper understanding. It was the language I learned to speak first. But what I'm discovering is that beneath every struggle—whether it presents as sexual health, mental health, or spiritual health—are the same wounded places on the heart asking for the same thing:
To be seen.
To be met with compassion.
To be given permission to heal.
My recent Shifaa Method training has crystallized this for me in ways I'm still processing. The depth of Islamic Psychology, the wisdom of our tradition, the mercy embedded in how Allah designed healing—it's all pointing me toward a truth I can no longer ignore:
My work has always been about compassionately witnessing people's struggles with their soul.
The Trembling Returns
So here I am again, standing at a threshold with a trembling hand.
Because when I see something this clearly, I can't pretend I don't. When I realize my work has deepened beyond the borders I initially drew around it, I have to honor that expansion. When I understand that the people who need what I offer aren't just "seeking sexual health support"—they're seeking someone to witness their pain, to help them understand why they struggle, to guide them toward healing that honors both their humanity and their faith—I have to meet them there.
And if I don't do this work—if I don't take this step—then I'm not walking the talk of what my work with others embodies: compassionate self-accountability to move towards what is challenging.
Something is shifting. Deepening. Being reborn.
I'm in the process of aligning my work publicly with what has long been true internally: I help people compassionately navigate life’s struggles—whether in sexual health, spiritual health, or mental health—by understanding why they struggle and how to meet those struggles. That my work is rooted in four foundational principles—compassion (because Allah is compassionate), self-accountability (because each of us is responsible for our soul), struggle as an expected part of life in this world, and the truth that our struggles are inseparable from our journey towards God.
That healing, as I've come to understand it, is the capacity to move through what once left us stuck.
And that my role—the sacred privilege of my role—is to witness people in their pain with compassion, so they know they are not alone, and to support them in cultivating the courage to navigate life's challenges with dignity.
What's Coming
I can't share all the details yet—there's still so much unfolding, clarifying, being refined in the quiet spaces between revelation and action. But I wanted you to know that something is coming.
A deepening.
A rebranding.
A rebirth.
An honoring of how far this work has traveled from that classroom in 2011, and a recognition that it's ready to travel even further.
If you've been with me on this journey—whether you found me through sexual health education, therapy, training, or simply stumbled upon something I wrote that resonated—thank you. Your presence, your trust, your willingness to look at the hard things with courage and compassion, has shaped me as much as I hope I've been able to support you.
Stay close. There's more to come.
And if you're reading this and something in your own soul is stirring—if you're recognizing that the struggle you're carrying might be pointing you toward something deeper, toward wounds that are ready to be seen—I want you to know: you're not alone. Allah sees you. And healing is possible. As long as you’re willing to do the work.
The soul is at the center. And from that center, all things are made new.
