I've been very quiet over the last two months, and it's because I've been grieving my auntie Fayza Alghoul, who passed away around two months ago. In that time, I've been focusing on myself, my current clients, and just healing and grieving.
I hate talking about grief, which is why I'm probably not going to type much. I've been finding it so strange because she's the person I owe this practice to. She taught me Quran; she taught me about angels; she taught me about spirituality; and a lot of the rituals I learned, I learned from her. In fact, the techniques I talk about in this blog post are all techniques I learned from her.
I feel guilty because I wish I had seen her more often when she was here. I wish I had gone to Kuwait more often to visit her. I left thinking I'd come back soon, but I had started my practice, solidified some studies and decided to take a part-time job to keep flexing my marketing and communications leadership muscle (which I also love) instead of building a consultancy. I was simply busy.
I also felt scared because I had other people in Kuwait I might not have wanted to see, and I wanted to keep my distance from them, so I avoided going altogether. The funny thing is, those issues with those people came to me in London, and they only really went away when I did the energy work to protect myself and my energy. Sometimes the teacher needs to remind herself. I ended up making my own hypnosis audios for my clients to create energetic boundaries and stop people from entering my space, and the very problems that followed me to London just went away.
Sometimes, I kick myself for not going sooner to see her; other times, I know she's with me in the ancestral realm. Today, I decided to onboard a new client for the first time in ages, and it felt so good, but I also felt so fresh. It reminded me why I do this work and what my purpose is. It felt interesting because while I held space for this new client, who had the biggest transformation she's had with any therapist in just one session, I felt a huge sense of peace knowing this was something my auntie was waiting for me to do after her ascension to the spirit realm.
My auntie Foofoo was the closest thing to a second mother. She never had children of her own, so we were her children. She was funny, stylish, and had an amazing makeup collection to raid, but she loved how I did my own eyeliner as I grew into my style as a young woman.
She had one signature perfume: Flower by Kenzo. I learned the power of scent from her because anytime I missed her, I used to find that perfume and smell it. She even gave me a bottle. My own signature perfume became Amor by Kenzo, inspired by her impeccable style, but just more vanilla.
She always had a reason to laugh and thank God for anything and everything. She taught me the power of prayer, taught me Quran, and actually made me love religion. When I questioned my own faith, a tiny conversation with her used to make me question my questions. I owe my Islam to my auntie Fayza.
I hated learning Arabic because it reminded me of Saturday school. I loved Kuwait so much and used to think Kuwait was perfect if everyone spoke to me in English instead of Arabic. Foofoo used to sit me down, teach me the alphabet, gently correct my mistakes, and make learning Arabic fun to the point of being fluent in my adult life. I can't remember the last time I spoke to her in English, and I owe that to her.
She was my slide; she would tickle me so hard that I would scream. One time, we were visiting guests, and I accidentally poured scalding hot tea on her; she took a deep breath to keep from screaming, got a tissue, and didn't say anything to me. She forgave me before I even said sorry.
My favourite photo of us. Matching eyebrows and matching lipstick. It was only the day she passed that I realised we were wearing matching lipstick.
Thank you all for being so patient while I took this time out to myself.
إنا لله وإنا إليه راجعون