I remember the pain…

It was almost 20 years ago. I had just arrived back home from work. I called out to everybody in the house, Salamalaykum, but nobody answered me. It was very unusual for my wife to not be at home or not leave a note. I called her a few times and she didn’t answer. I remember the sick feeling I had in my stomach. That gut feeling that you know something’s wrong but you tried to ignore it.

I went into my children’s room and looked in the closet. Everything was gone. I looked in my other kids’ closets. Everything was gone. Physically my whole body began to tingle. And that was when I received the text from my wife. I’m taking the kids. I can’t be with you any longer.

Immediately my pride stepped in and asked the question, why would she leave me and take my kids away from me? I went into defense mode, painting myself as a good husband. I mean, I did exactly what I was supposed to. I worked 50 to 60 hours a week. My kids didn’t go a day hungry and wore the best of clothes. I took care of my wife and I was an active father in my kids’ school. On paper I was doing everything right, but according to my wife, I wasn’t.

And it only took me a few months to realize that her leaving me was probably the best thing she’d ever done in her life, and I’m really proud of her for that. After all, she is the mother of my children. She stayed with me for 15 years. Looking back today I wonder why she even gave me 15 years, because I was 80% of the problem.

I went through all of the emotions. Anger, disbelief, sadness, self pity. You name it. And then I came to the realization that I can’t change her. Even if I could change her, the damage had been done and the marriage was over. The only thing I could change was myself moving forward.

Life is like a book. When something bad happens in the book, you keep reading to see where the story goes from that point. Or you can be dumb and keep flipping back to the chapters that are already over, reliving that same misery on a loop, bleeding from a wound you keep reopening yourself. As for me, I chose to have the tough conversation with myself.

I put my phone in my bedroom. I came to my dining room table with a pen and paper. On one page I wrote everything I didn’t like about myself and wanted to change. On another page I wrote the type of man I wanted to be. And every day from that point forward I worked toward being that man, building his character one day at a time, one decision at a time, one honest moment at a time.

Because I cannot change anybody but myself.

I am a Muslim who is told to plant the sapling even at the Hour, even when the world is ending around him. That doesn’t mean be productive and plant as many trees as you can before time runs out. It means be present. Be fully in the moment of planting that one tree, whatever is in front of you, whatever Allah has placed in your hands right now, even if death is knocking at your door.

The tree belongs to Allah. The planting belongs to you.

That’s all any of us can control. And once I understood that, truly understood it, it changed everything.