Motherhood, something so beautiful. To create life. To bring life into this world. How beautiful is it to have the blessing to one day become a mother. To become a mother in a world where motherhood is often overlooked. Where often times it's hard, physically, and mentally.

This instinct of motherhood feels so deeply rooted in me. The thought of loving the ones i bring into this world with my future partner makes me so happy. Happy because it is a blessing many do not get. A blessing to create life with the love of your life and watch them thrive.

I think about the day I get to be a mother. I think about it a lot. Growing up without one always hurt, but I always knew that when I am one day a mother my children will be my world. Where I get to love them and care for them, to teach them and guide them, to show them life in a way that makes them excited to experience new things. For them to feel safe in my arms, to know that no matter how loud the world gets, my love will be their quiet haven. I want to be the kind of mother who doesn't just watch her children grow but grows with them. Who listens before speaking, who nurtures not just their dreams but their hearts. Who creates a home not made of walls, but of warmth, trust, and softness.

I dream of being the kind of mother who knows that love is not just spoken, but shown through consistency, through sacrifice, through presence. A mother who understands that every tantrum has a root, every silence holds a message, and every small moment is a seed of memory being planted in the soul of her child.

I think of the little things: the early mornings when I’ll brush their hair with sleepy hands and quiet whispers, the bedtime stories that drift into dreams, the way they’ll run to me with scraped knees or wild joy, knowing that whatever they feel, it will always matter to me. I think of school projects and first days, of holding their hand just a bit tighter when they’re nervous, and letting go gently when they’re ready to fly.

But I think of the hard moments too. The nights they cry and I won’t have the answers, the days when they’ll be angry or distant or hurt. And even in those moments, I will love them maybe even more. Because I know that motherhood is not about perfection, but about being there. About choosing love over and over again, no matter how tired I am, no matter how much the world tries to steal my softness.

I think about the day I’ll hear the word “Mama” for the first time, how it will wrap around my heart and stitch something new into my soul. I think about raising them in love and in faith, teaching them to know Allah, to trust Him, to see the beauty of His mercy in the world around them. I want them to know that even when life is uncertain, they were created with purpose, with intention, with so much love.

Growing up without a mother shaped me in ways I’m still learning to understand. It left a space in me, a silence. But maybe that’s why I feel this yearning so deeply to be what I didn’t have. To give what I always longed for. To turn that ache into a new kind of love. The kind that is patient and nurturing, the kind that whispers “I’m here” without needing to be asked.

Motherhood, to me, is the holiest form of creation. To carry life, to protect it, to nurture it, it is both a gift and a responsibility. A divine trust. And when the time comes, I pray I’m ready. I pray I’m soft and strong, present and grounded. I pray I raise children who are kind, curious, full of light. And above all, I pray that they never have to question how deeply they are loved.

One day, when they look back, I hope they see a mother who gave them the sky but still taught them how to fly. A mother who held their hands through storms and their hearts through joy. A mother who, despite her wounds, chose to love with her whole being, and in doing so healed not just the little girl she once was, but the generations to come after her.