Bismillahir-Rahmanir-Rahim.

The Beginning

A reminder of begining our day. Like the rakah of our prayer begins: with Surah Al-Fatihah.

Al-Fatihah means “The Opening.” It opens the Quran, it opens our prayers, and for me, it has also become a way of understanding the opening of a new chapter in my life.

Tomorrow, I will collect my new carte de séjour as a divorced woman.

On paper, that may appear to be a simple administrative change. In my heart, however, it represents a transition with a lot of hardships after 14 years, that has taken much longer than expected.

Some new beginnings happen suddenly. Others begin slowly.

Sometimes we leave a situation emotionally before it has physically caught up. Sometimes the legal process continues after the relationship has ended. Sometimes we are rebuilding while still parenting, healing, working, managing appointments, and trying to keep our homes spiritually grounded.

The beginning of a new beginning can be long.

As a single, divorced mother, I wake up knowing that the responsibility of guiding my household now rests differently upon my shoulders. When I wake my children for Fajr, I am reminded that I no longer have a husband beside me to wake for prayer.

There can be sadness in that realization.

But there can also be relief.

I no longer carry the same marital burdens. No more arguments before dawn. No more being the object of gaslighting. No more morning manipulation bestowed upon me and my children. I am learning that letting go of a burden does not mean that life immediately becomes easy. It means that, by Allah’s permission, I finally have room to begin healing, growing, and finding my focus again.

I am still co-parenting. Some days, the amount of help available to me depends on my former husband’s mental-health stability and his ability to participate consistently. That uncertainty can be tiring. It means that I often have to prepare myself to carry the full responsibility, even when I hope there will be support.

But Al-Fatihah reminds me that while people may be inconsistent, Allah is not.

Every ayah speaks to a part of my life as a mother.

بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ

Bismillahir-Rahmanir-Rahim

In the Name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Especially Merciful.

Motherhood gives us a thousand small beginnings every day.

We begin the morning. We wake the children. We prepare meals. We settle arguments. We manage school, appointments, emotions, and unexpected changes.

As a single mother, it can feel as though I must begin everything by myself.

But Bismillah reminds me that I do not truly begin alone.

I begin in the Name of Allah.

Before I wake my children, I can say Bismillah. Before I answer a difficult message, I can say Bismillah. Before an appointment, a school meeting, a new lesson, or a hard conversation, I can begin by remembering that Allah’s mercy surrounds what I am about to do.

For mothers, this can become a simple daily practice:

Begin the school run with Bismillah.

Begin cooking with Bismillah.

Begin correcting your child with Bismillah, so that discipline is guided by mercy rather than anger.

Begin again after a difficult morning with Bismillah.

ٱلْحَمْدُ لِلَّٰهِ رَبِّ ٱلْعَٰلَمِينَ

Al-hamdu lillahi Rabbil-alamin

All praise belongs to Allah, Lord of all creation.

Some mornings, gratitude comes easily.

Other mornings, I may be exhausted before the day has properly begun. A child may be struggling. The house may feel chaotic. There may be paperwork, financial pressure, school concerns, or uncertainty surrounding co-parenting.

Yet I still say, Alhamdulillah.

Not because every situation is pleasant, but because Allah remains worthy of praise in every situation.

He is Rabb. The One who creates, nurtures, sustains, develops, and guides.

That word has become especially meaningful to me as a mother. I spend my days nurturing my children, but Allah is the One nurturing all of us.

When I cannot see progress, Allah sees it.

When I feel that my family is moving too slowly, Allah knows what is developing beneath the surface.

When a new beginning takes months or years, Allah is still the Lord of that process.

A mother can incorporate this āyah by intentionally naming one blessing each morning:

Alhamdulillah, my children woke up today.

Alhamdulillah, we have another opportunity to pray.

Alhamdulillah, yesterday was difficult, but Allah allowed us to begin again.

Gratitude does not erase hardship. It keeps hardship from erasing our awareness of Allah’s blessings.

ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ

Ar-Rahmanir-Rahim

The Most Merciful, the Especially Merciful.

Allah repeats His Names of mercy.

As mothers, we need that repetition.

We need to remember Allah’s mercy when we make mistakes. We need it when our patience runs low. We need it when our children are struggling emotionally, developmentally, spiritually, or behaviorally.

We also need to remember that mercy does not always look like receiving what we wanted.

Sometimes mercy is Allah removing something.

Sometimes mercy is a closed door.

Sometimes mercy is separation from what was harming us.

Sometimes mercy is having to rebuild, because remaining where we were would have continued to break us.

Divorce was not the beginning I once imagined for myself. But I can acknowledge that the end of a marriage may also become the beginning of safety, clarity, accountability, and spiritual renewal.

For mothers, this āyah is also a reminder to bring mercy into the home.

We can correct without humiliating.

We can establish boundaries without cruelty.

We can acknowledge our children’s feelings without allowing every behavior.

We can apologize when we are wrong.

We can remember that a difficult child may actually be a child having a difficult time.

And we can extend some mercy to ourselves, too.

مَٰلِكِ يَوْمِ ٱلدِّينِ

Maliki Yawmid-Diin

Master of the Day of Judgment.

Divorce can leave many unanswered questions.

There may be things that were never acknowledged. Wrongs that were never repaired. Conversations that never brought closure. There may be times when another person presents events differently from how we experienced them.

This āyah reminds me that Allah knows the complete truth.

I do not have to spend every day trying to make every person understand everything that happened.

I should speak truthfully, seek justice through permissible means, protect my children, and fulfill my responsibilities. But ultimate judgment belongs to Allah.

That gives me space to focus on the life in front of me.

It also reminds me that I am accountable.

Being hurt does not give me permission to become unjust. Being overwhelmed does not remove my responsibility to my children. Divorce does not mean that I can speak carelessly, act vindictively, or use my children to punish their father.

I must answer to Allah for how I handle this chapter, just as others will answer for how they handled theirs.

For mothers, this ayah can bring both comfort and direction:

Allah sees what others overlook.

Allah knows how much you carry.

Allah also knows how you respond to what you carry.

إِيَّاكَ نَعْبُدُ وَإِيَّاكَ نَسْتَعِينُ

Iyyaka naʿbudu wa iyyaka nastaʿin

You alone we worship, and You alone we ask for help.

This is the ayah at the center of my new beginning.

Some days, I may receive cooperation and support from my former husband. Other days, his mental-health condition may affect his ability to participate reliably.

I have had to learn not to build my entire sense of security around what another person may or may not be able to do that day.

This does not mean that I refuse appropriate help. Islam does not teach us to reject assistance or pretend that we have no need for people.

It means that my heart does not treat people as though they are my ultimate source.

People are means.

Allah is the Provider.

People may help with transportation, childcare, money, advice, or emotional support. But the help only reaches us by Allah’s permission.

When I feel alone in motherhood, this āyah reminds me:

I worship Allah alone.

I seek Allah’s help first.

I ask Him to strengthen me before I begin the day.

I ask Him to guide my decisions concerning my children.

I ask Him to provide help from places I could not have predicted.

A mother can make this āyah part of daily life by pausing when overwhelmed and saying:

“Ya Allah, I cannot manage this properly without Your help.”

That is not weakness.

That is ʿubudiyyah—recognizing our servitude and need for Allah.

ٱهْدِنَا ٱلصِّرَٰطَ ٱلْمُسْتَقِيمَ

Ihdinas-siratal-mustaqim

Guide us to the Straight Path.

Motherhood is filled with decisions.

Which school is best?

How should I respond to this behavior?

When should I be firm?

When does my child need comfort?

How do I protect my children without making them fearful?

How do I teach Islam in a way that makes them love Allah and not simply fear punishment?

How do I co-parent wisely while maintaining necessary boundaries?

I do not always know the answer.

This ayah gives me permission to admit that.

Guidance is not something we request once. We ask for it in every rakʿah because we need it again and again.

As a mother, I need guidance for each child because each child is different.

I need guidance when I am calm, and I especially need guidance when I am angry, frightened, or exhausted.

This is where Fajr Focus becomes meaningful to me.

Fajr is not only a prayer to complete. It is an opportunity to find our direction before the demands of the day begin.

Even a few quiet minutes after Fajr can become a mother’s daily reset:

One ayah.

One dua.

One intention for the day.

One area in which we ask Allah for guidance.

We do not need to solve our entire lives before breakfast.

We only need enough guidance to take the next correct step.

صِرَٰطَ ٱلَّذِينَ أَنْعَمْتَ عَلَيْهِمْ

Siratal-ladhina anʿamta ʿalayhim

The path of those You have blessed.

I do not want my new life to be guided only by what feels easier.

I want it to be blessed.

There is a difference.

An easy choice is not always the right choice, and a difficult path is not always a sign that Allah has abandoned us.

As a mother, I want to follow the examples of righteous women who trusted Allah, endured hardship, sought knowledge, protected their children, and remained faithful through changing circumstances.

I want my children to see that Islam is not only something we practice when life is peaceful.

It is what gives us direction when life changes.

For other mothers, this can mean seeking good company, learning from trustworthy teachers, reading about the righteous women of Islam, and asking:

“Is this choice simply convenient, or is it leading my family toward what Allah loves?”

غَيْرِ ٱلْمَغْضُوبِ عَلَيْهِمْ وَلَا ٱلضَّالِّينَ

Ghayril-maghdubi ʿalayhim wa lad-dalliin

Not the path of those who earned anger, nor of those who went astray.

A new beginning needs direction, not only distance from the past.

Leaving a harmful situation does not automatically mean that every future choice will be correct.

I still need Allah to protect me from bitterness, poor judgment, misplaced trust, emotional decisions, and repeating unhealthy patterns.

I need Him to protect me from becoming so focused on surviving that I lose sight of worship.

I need Him to protect my children from confusion and guide them through the changes in our family.

This final ayah reminds me that I do not simply ask Allah to help me move forward.

I ask Him to help me move forward correctly.

For mothers, this can become a nightly reflection:

Where did I follow guidance today?

Where did anger lead me?

Did I speak fairly?

Did I react from wisdom or exhaustion?

What do I need to repent for?

What can I do differently tomorrow?

The goal is not perfection.

The goal is to keep returning to the Straight Path.

When the Opening Takes Time

Al-Fātiḥah is called The Opening, but an opening does not always happen all at once.

Sometimes the door opens slowly.

Sometimes Allah first removes what was blocking it.

Sometimes we stand in the doorway for a while, uncertain of what comes next.

Sometimes the paperwork changes before our hearts do.

Sometimes our hearts begin healing before our circumstances have fully changed.

Sometimes we are already in a new chapter, but we do not recognize it because it does not yet feel peaceful.

As mothers, we may want immediate answers. We want our children settled, our homes organized, our finances stable, our hearts healed, and our futures clear.

But growth rarely happens that neatly.

A seed can be alive long before anything appears above the soil.

In the same way, a new beginning may already be growing while everything still feels slow.

Tomorrow, I will collect a new residence card.

But my new beginning did not start tomorrow.

It began through every prayer, every difficult decision, every boundary, every tear, every lesson, and every morning that Allah allowed me to rise again.

A Simple Al-Fātiḥah Practice for Mothers

You can bring Al-Fatiḥah into your daily Islamic life without creating an overwhelming routine.

At Fajr—or during the quietest part of your morning—choose one āyah to focus on.

Begin your tasks with Bismillah.

Name one blessing with Alhamdulillah.

Show mercy to your children while remembering Ar-Rahman, Ar-Rahim.

Leave ultimate justice to Maliki Yawmid-Dīn.

Ask Allah for help with Iyyaka naʿbudu wa iyyaka nastaʿīn.

Ask for direction with Ihdinas-siratal-mustaqīm.

Choose what is blessed, not merely what is easy.

Then review your day and ask Allah to protect your family from losing its way.

This is what I hope Fajr Focus can become: a space for mothers, families, and learners to begin the day with Qur’an, reflection, practical Islamic learning, and a renewed sense of direction.

I am still learning.

I am still healing.

I am still mothering through uncertainty.

But I am also beginning again.

And this time, I am beginning with Al-Fātiḥah.

Alhamdulillah for every opening—even the ones that take longer than expected.*

Click here for your Al-Fatihah A4 poster

~Amanda Aakifah Emily