When I introduced myself with Indian roots, they were even more excited about the yoga I suggested in the beginning. We began a slow breathing exercise about what happiness means to them. Together we closed our eyes and began a guided meditation taking them to the place where they felt the happiest, describing all that they saw. We thickened the senses they experienced – further naming the smells, the sounds, the people they saw besides them as well as the colors and lines around them. The tears began to fall down their faces as they began to honor their vulnerability. As we re-entered our bodies by slowly moving each part from our hands to our toes, I told them to open their eyes when they felt comfortable and begin to paint whatever comes up for them. I encouraged them to get messy and shared that I had towels and water cups to help them clean up after their process. After showing them the different colors created by mixing, I jumped right in to create my painting. It is important for me not to be a spectator but to be seen as their daughter and sister also joining them side by side. The light piano music continued from the mediation as they eagerly began dipping their fingers into the soft acrylic paint. They painted lines, circles, drew pictures of houses, of Mecca, of children..of bombs, of destruction. The tears kept rolling down across the room and small sniffles filled the space. This was a safe space for them to feel, to let it all out and I wanted to honor the journey they were undergoing by not “shushing them” or by pausing it. I began tearing up alongside them. They had 20 minutes to feel whatever was coming up in their bodies and push it out onto this blank canvas. One mother couldn’t handle the lack of a paintbrush and made a brush out of the paper.

When everyone began to finish their last few strokes, we sat back and breathed five more breaths to reconnect with the group. The share began and each woman listened so intently to each other. My translator slowly whispered into my ear the words shared. So much pain, my heart was so heavy. One woman said, “I cannot cry in front of my children, I have to be strong. You let me cry with this piece of paper, you let me feel better. ” Art allowed for her to express feelings she had kept inside for such a long time. Paint provided healing subhanAllah. When we talked about how it felt to fingerpaint, they said that it felt freeing. They felt like they could express more because it didn’t matter how the picture turned out. An older mother said, “Ever since the bombings, I can’t stop shaking, all I do is shake and here when I reached for the paint, the shaking made beautiful lines like ribbons. I didn’t think anything good can come out of me.”

As I said goodbye to each of these women, they each held me tight and showered prayers onto me. I showered even more prayers and gratitude back to them. They will always hold a special place in my heart, each mother will always be in my duas. As I sat in the car, I grabbed my Quran out of my bag and pulled the curtains closed as per security protocol with tears falling down my face. subhan’Allah such love, such hope, such courage in an abandoned building. Amidst the destruction, amidst the pain… there is noor. subhan’Allah.