the blessing of النِّسْيَان (forgetfulness).
I often find myself reflecting on this passage from Ibn al-Qayyim رحمه الله where he says :
وَمن اعْجَبْ النعم عَلَيْهِ نعْمَة النسْيَان فَإِنَّهُ لَوْلَا النسْيَان لما سلاشَيْئَا وَلَا انْقَضتْ لَهُ حسرة وَلَا تعزى عَن مُصِيبَة وَلَا مَاتَ لَهُ حزن وَلَا بَطل لَهُ حقد وَلَا تمتّع بِشَيْء من مَتَاع الدُّنْيَا مَعَ تذكر الافات وَلَا رجا غَفلَة عَدو وَلَا نقمة من حَاسِد فَتَأمل نعْمَة اللّٰه فِي الْحِفْظ
Among the most astonishing blessings bestowed upon a person is the blessing of forgetfulness. Were it not for forgetfulness, no one would find relief from anything; no sorrow would ever fade, no one could be comforted after a calamity, grief would never die, hatred would never disappear, and no one could enjoy any pleasure of worldly life while remembering every affliction. Nor would one ever hope for an enemy’s lapse or escape the vengeance of the envious. So reflect upon the blessing of God in both memory and forgetfulness.
And perhaps this is what Ibn al-Qayyim رحمه الله was pointing to that even what we call “forgetting” is not a flaw in us, but a mercy placed within us. A quiet form of protection from Allah, so that the weight of the past does not become heavier than what the soul can bear. So we move forward, not because the pain never existed, but because we are gently allowed not to carry all of it at once, and it stays with me in a quiet, lingering way. Even though I’ve gone through many difficult things especially in my childhood I keep wondering why it is that so much of the pain doesn’t remain present in our memory unless we deliberately return to it, or unless it suddenly rises up as a passing thought.
There are so many moments that were heavy on the heart, yet the mind seems to veil them from us, as if it were protecting us from what we are not meant to carry all at once. You see this often with those who have experienced trauma the way certain memories are sealed away, only to surface when something gently unlocks them.
SubḥānAllāh… is it not something deeply beautiful, even merciful, that the mind is made in such a way? That it allows life to continue, that it softens the weight of what was once unbearable, that it hides what would otherwise consume us.
To me, it truly feels like one of the quietest forms of mercy.
