For Raeesa, my daughter across the sea Once a year, the airport blooms, not with flowers, but with breath held tight.I count the steps between arrivals,watching glass doors like...
By: Naazi Morad Reclaiming space, rewriting love, and healing the wounds we were taught to ignore.There’s a quiet kind of heartbreak that comes when you realize the people closest...
Get well soon: My Naazi Morad Without our health, we are nothing.Whether you’re self-employed, working under a boss, a devoted housewife, or navigating unemployment your ability to show up...
In the quiet corners of my Zen Garden, healing doesn’t always wear a human face. Sometimes, it walks slowly on four clawed feet, or curls up in a sunbeam...
BY: Naazi Morad There are moments in parenting that feel almost invisible: the moment you ask your child to greet an elder and they refuse. The moment they pull...
Have you ever noticed how the loudest voice in the room is often your own mind—and not always your kindest ally? We’re taught to trust our thoughts as truth....
By Naazi Morad By: A Mother Who Stayed, Even When Unseen There’s a particular ache that parents carry, one that does not stem from conflict or rebellion, but from...
By A Mother Who Remembers What You Forget By: Naazi Morad Ask me how I fed you when the cupboards were bare. Ask me what my hands looked like...
Who Do I Have? Finding Sanctuary in the Sacred In therapy, we often speak of attachment, of the emotional threads that bind us to safety, identity, and belonging. For...
Because even in our sleep, we are tired. Some nights, sleep feels like a performance. The body goes limp, the lights go dim but inside, the theater never closes....