Growing up, religion felt like a punishment. It was something that was done to me, not something that lived inside our home. I was forced to attend Saturday school because my father — Muslim by identity, not practice — believed it was the “right thing.” But the prayers were never spoken in our living room. Faith wasn’t woven into our days. There was no warmth, no meaning… just obligation.
So I grew up thinking religion was a burden.
But becoming a mother has a way of rearranging every corner of your heart — sometimes gently, sometimes with an earthquake.
And that’s how I found myself, this year, making a decision I never expected:
Our daughter is getting baptized on December 27.
Choosing Something I Never Thought I Would
My husband is Catholic. Not performative Catholic — not the kind who checks a box once a year. His faith isn’t loud or pushy; it’s steady. Quiet. Rooted. There’s a beauty in the way he carries it, almost like an heirloom passed down with care.
And one day, while holding our daughter, I realized something simple but powerful:
If faith matters to him, our daughter should see it lived — not lectured. Practiced — not pressured.
I didn’t grow up with that. My husband did. And there’s something undeniably grounding about it.
So we chose baptism.
Not because I’ve suddenly become deeply religious.
Not because someone told us we should.
Not because it’s tradition for tradition’s sake.
But because this moment feels like a new chapter.
A gentle entry point.
A chance to rewrite what religion can mean for me — and for her.
And honestly?
I’m nervous.
But I’m also… excited.
An Intimate Moment for Our Family
Her baptism won’t be a grand event, and that’s by intention.
It’s happening during the holiday season — December 27 — which is beautiful but also chaotic for most people. We never expected anyone beyond our immediate circle to make it, and that’s perfectly okay.
It will be just my in-laws, my mom, my sister-in-law, and our daughter’s little cousin. Simple. Quiet. Intimate. The kind of moment that won’t be drowned out by noise or crowds, but held gently by the people who already love her the most.
And in this softness, something in me feels safe enough to step into faith again — not with certainty, but with openness.
I will be baptized too, but that will come later.
One step at a time.
This Time, Religion Won’t Be a Chore
What I want for my daughter is the opposite of what I had.
I don’t want faith to be a punishment.
I don’t want Sunday mornings to feel like judgment.
I don’t want her to associate religion with fear, guilt, or exhaustion.
I want her to see religion the way I’m slowly learning to see it now:
As a rhythm.
A grounding.
A practice of gratitude, reflection, and connection.
Something beautiful — not burdensome.
And if that means relearning everything I thought I knew… I’m willing.
Because motherhood isn’t just about raising a child.
It’s about becoming someone worth imitating.
Thank You — for This Season and Beyond
To everyone who has shown up for us this year — through messages, gifts, diapers, generosity, kindness — please know we don’t take a single bit of it for granted. The holidays can stretch people thin, and yet so many of you offered what you could, when you could.
Thank you for helping us breathe a little easier.
Thank you for loving our daughter with us.
Thank you for holding our family in your thoughts.
And if anyone feels moved to celebrate her baptism with a small gesture or gift, we would receive it with full hearts — not expectation, just gratitude.
A New Chapter Begins
Maybe this is what faith is supposed to feel like.
Not forced.
Not feared.
Not hollow.
But chosen.
Honored.
Shared.
On December 27, our daughter will be baptized.
And in a quiet, still-growing way… so will I.
Not in water — not yet.
But in intention.
In motherhood.
In the possibility of something greater than us, guiding us gently forward.
This is our beginning.
And I can’t wait to see where it leads.
UPDATED BIO:
Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.
In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.
Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our 🌈 miracle baby.
If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.
🍼 Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — every burp cloth, diaper and/or bottle goes a long way.
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Read also: Two Days After Bringing Our Baby Home, I Asked for a Divorce
Read also: Our Marriage Ended Before It Began: The Pregnancy That Shattered Everything
Read also: I’m Pregnant And Broke — My Cry For Help
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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