Just a Mom

On removing the “just”

You know those moments when you lose the right words, but later, they hit you like a bulldozer. You wish you had a rewind button, but you promise yourself you’ll do better next time.

For me, the moment came while at this well-respected educational institution, when I was introduced to an academic through my grandfather’s legacy. Right away, he asked me what I do for a living. I wasn’t expecting it, so I just said the first thing that came to mind — perhaps because it’s the most natural, most central part of my life: I’m just a mom.

His response? “Oh, we need to fix that.”

The conversation quickly moved on, and so did we. Seconds later, it hit me — but by then, the moment may as well have been years. I wanted to turn back and say, “Wait—I’m not just a mom. I am a mom. And nothing about that needs fixing!”

Beyond him, I wanted to shout into the chasm of unraveling modernity:

I am an أم umm—the word for mother in Arabic—I am at the root of umma (nation), of amma (a person who leads the way) and of ummi (orature, the passing of knowledge through speech). I am amama (what lies straight ahead) and amami (what stands at the forefront).

You see, in Arabic, you could never say you are “just a mom,” because to say you are an umm is to invoke the depths of all of its meanings. You are a leader, a nation, and for a time, the whole world. You are a school — the guardian of wisdom, a bridge to a millennia of tradition.

You are the first line at the frontline.

Perhaps the power of motherhood has been shoved aside in this era of commodified souls. But if you pay attention to where perspectives begin, to where paths are forged, to where the foundations of civilization are laid, you will find, brick-by-brick, it is at the feet of mothers.

Because we mothers, we live in the here and now, the world of practice. A world where knowledge isn’t passed down through theory and textbook, but through the rhythms of everyday life—etched in permanence into the character of man.

I am a student of my grandfather’s, but I don’t write books—I write people. So you see sir, there is nothing to fix here. There is nothing to prove. After all, I am just a mom. And that is everything.