To the Muslim Mom Waiting for Permission to Travel With Her Kids

I see you. I was you.

I was 14 years younger, postpartum with my first baby, sleep-deprived, depressed, and walking through one of the hardest seasons of my life. My father had just suffered a stroke. He was alive, but the version of him I had grown up with was gone, and I was grieving a loss that had no name. My daughter Layal was one week old. I had never hiked alone in my life. I had never even been allowed to be outside after the streetlights came on growing up, let alone travel by myself.

And on that day, I got in my car with a week-old baby strapped to my chest, drove from San Jose to Point Reyes, asked the first ranger I saw where I could go, and walked into the woods alone.

That was the first time I broke a rule I had been carrying my whole life.

If you've never put words to it, let me try: many of us were raised to believe that a good Muslim woman doesn't go places alone. She doesn't drive across the state by herself. She doesn't take her kids on trips without her husband. She waits. She waits for someone to come with her. She waits for permission. She waits for the right time. And the right time, somehow, never quite comes.

I'm writing this post because I waited too long. And I don't want you to.

This is the post I wish someone had written for me when my kids were small and I was Googling "can a Muslim woman travel alone" at midnight, hoping the algorithm would tell me yes. It is the honest story of how I worldschooled my three kids for over a decade, how I almost let the fear stop me, and what I want every Muslim mom reading this to know.

1. I Have Been Worldschooling for 14 Years (Before I Knew the Word)

I have homeschooled my kids since my eldest, Layal, was four years old. She is fourteen now. That is over a decade of doing school in a way that has nothing to do with sitting at a table.

I never wanted structure. I never wanted routine. I never wanted to recreate a classroom in my living room. From day one, I just wanted to be with my kids, outside, learning together. So that's what we did.

We hiked. We brought watercolors and journals on every trail. We sat at the foot of redwoods and painted what we saw. We showed up at every visitor center we passed and learned alongside the rangers. We earned junior ranger badges at parks I'd never heard of. We let the kids lead, follow their curiosity, and ask the questions instead of being given the answers.

And here is the truth I never get to say in mom groups: I loved every minute of it. I still do. I love being around my kids. I love teaching them. I love learning alongside them. I am not a martyr-mom counting down the hours until they go to bed. They are my favorite people. Worldschooling, before I had a word for it, was just the natural shape of our life together.

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I tell you all of this because I want you to understand what was on the line for me when fear almost stopped me. I wasn't trying to chase a trend. I wasn't trying to perform a lifestyle for Instagram. I was trying to live the life I already knew was right for my family. The life I had been building for years.

And fear almost won.

2. The Fear That Almost Won

I grew up in a household where I wasn't allowed to be outside after the streetlights came on. I was never allowed to travel alone. I didn't even know that solo travel was an option for a woman like me until my husband told me, after we got married, that I could go places by myself if I wanted to.

Read that again. I was a grown woman, married, and I had to be told that going somewhere alone was something I was allowed to do. That's how deep the conditioning ran.

And here's the thing I want to say carefully, because I love my parents: this fear was not the deen. It was not Islam. It was the very specific cultural version of "keeping your daughter safe" that gets handed down from generation to generation in a lot of Muslim households, especially immigrant ones. My parents loved me so much it terrified them. They wanted me protected. And what they handed me, without meaning to, was the belief that I was fragile. That the world was not safe for me. That women like me wait.

I want to say this clearly because someone needs to hear it: that fear is instilled in us. It does not come from our religion. It comes from culture, from generations of women being told the world is not safe for us, and from love that didn't know how to let us go.

It took me years of fighting through that fear before I started to feel comfortable in my own skin going places. Years. There were trips I almost canceled. There were drives I made with my heart pounding the whole way. There were moments I almost turned the car around. Slowly, one outing at a time, I started to realize: there is nothing to be scared of. We as women, solo, with our kids in tow, are capable. We just have to do it safely and smartly. That is enough.

3. The Waiting Era

Even after I knew, in theory, that I could go places, there was a whole next chapter of fear: the fear of going alone.

Before kids, my husband was so busy with work and had so little time off. And I had this calling in me, this pull toward travel and the outdoors that wouldn't quiet down. So I would make plans for a friend instead. The trouble was, almost no one in my life had this same interest in hiking or exploring nature. I would ask, and ask, and ask, until finally I got someone to commit.

And every time someone canceled, I canceled too. Because I was scared to go alone.

This pattern went on for years. Years.

4. The Day Something Snapped

I don't remember the exact day. But I remember the feeling. I was so sad. So tired of waiting. So tired of being someone whose joy depended on whether someone else was free that weekend.

And one day I just thought: I don't want to live like this anymore. I want to be happy. And if that means doing it solo, with my kids in tow, then I am doing it.

That was the sentence that changed my life.

I told my parents I was going. They strongly disapproved. They worried. They didn't understand. They had spent my entire childhood teaching me to be careful,to wait, and now their daughter was packing her three kids into a car and driving off without a husband, without a brother, without anyone. It scared them.

I went anyway.

I told my friends I was leaving Friday and that I'd love company, and if they wanted to join, the door was open. Some came. Most didn't. I stopped letting it stop me. If they came, beautiful. If they didn't, I was still going.

It wasn't until then that I started actually living.

5. The New Worries That Showed Up On the Road

Once I started actually going places, a whole new set of fears came up. The fears that are particular to being a Muslim mom in spaces that aren't built with you in mind. Let me name them, because I think you're carrying them too.

These weren't small worries. They were the sound my brain made every night before a trip. Every one of them is legitimate. None of them stopped being real just because I went anyway.

But here is what I want you to know. Going anyway, with all those worries in my chest, was the bravest thing I have ever done. And what I found on the other side surprised me in the best way.

6. What I Actually Found

What surprised me most was my kids.

I had spent years worrying about whether they would feel different, whether they would be embarrassed, whether they would wish their mom looked like other moms. What I found, on trip after trip, was that my kids loved who they were. They knew. The confidence in them, considering how young they were, surprised me every single time. They never once wished they were anyone else. They were proud of being Muslim, proud of being us, proud of the way our family does this thing called life.

And here is the second thing I found, the one I didn't expect: the world was kind.

When we got to the Dominican Republic for our six weeks at The Hive, almost everyone we met told me I was the first Muslim woman they had ever seen. The locals were not used to seeing a hijabi mama, let alone one swimming in the ocean fully covered. They were surprised. They had questions. And they were nothing but warm. Curious, respectful, kind. I loved every conversation that came out of those small moments of difference. Some of them are the moments I will remember most from those six weeks.

I was scared of being seen as different. What I found is that being different opened doors. People wanted to know us. My kids became little ambassadors of their faith without ever being asked to perform anything. They were just themselves, and themselves was enough.

7. What I Want You to Know

If you've made it this far, I think I know who you are. You are the Muslim mom with the dream that doesn't go away. The one who keeps almost-booking the trip. The one who keeps almost-saying yes. The one whose kids are getting older every year while she waits for the right time.

Here is what I want you to hear, from one Muslim mom to another:

You are allowed to want this. You are allowed to take your kids out into the world. You are allowed to do it without a man, without a sister, without a friend. Just you and your children.

You are capable. The fear you're carrying was put there. It is not who you are. It is what you were taught. And you can unlearn it, one trip at a time.

You don't have to wait. The people you've been waiting for are not coming. Not the way you need them to. Stop waiting. The trip is yours. The dream is yours. Your kids are getting older every day.

Your kids will surprise you. Their courage, their adaptability, their pride in who they are. They will not feel othered if you don't teach them to. They will feel proud.

And the world is kinder than you've been told. Most people will meet you with curiosity, not judgment. Most people will want to know you. Most people will hold the door open. The fear has lied to you about what's out there.

If You Want a Soft Landing Into This

I know that for some of you, the leap from "reading this in bed" to "booking a flight with your three kids" is too far. I get it. That gap is exactly what I had to bridge for myself, and it's exactly what I'm trying to bridge for other Muslim families now.

I lead small-group worldschooling trips designed exactly for moms who want to try this without doing it completely alone. The first one is a 5-day curated trip to the Dominican Republic this fall. It's a soft landing. Other families will be there. The logistics are handled. You show up, you breathe, you watch your kids do the thing you've been picturing for years.

And if a trip isn't right yet, that's okay too. Start smaller. Take your kids to a state park you've never been to. Drive somewhere two hours away for the day. Pack a bag and try a single night camping. Build the muscle. The trip will still be there when you're ready.

I've written a full guide to the seven different ways you can try worldschooling without committing to long-term travel. Some of them require zero travel at all. Read it here: How to Try Worldschooling Without Committing to Long-Term Travel →

With love and a packed bag, Nesrin