Make Space and Allah Will Make Space for You: The Story of Our Book Club

Estimated reading time: 6 minutes

“Oh my God, I needed this so much.” “I feel so recharged and ready to take on the week.” “These get-togethers are so essential for self-care.” I’ve been to my share of social events: sisters’ nights out, kid-free mom gatherings, homeschool moms’ meetings. Every time, everyone seems to feel great afterwards—everyone but me, the one who’s completely drained every single time. Whenever I go to a social event, I block off the next two days on my calendar to recover my energy and feel normal again. Until I learned the importance of making space for myself, I thought there was no other option.

Social spaces are usually built for neurotypical comfort and expectations. That means bright, noisy, fast-moving gatherings where the unspoken rules are hard to read, and the sensory load is high. For me, and many other autistic people, the event itself becomes the work. We spend our energy masking, managing sensory overwhelm, and navigating small talk, leaving little energy to forge real friendships. Yet we still go, because we do want to forge friendships. The environment is just working against us.

The Qur’an reminds us in Surah Al-Mujadalah, ayah 11:

O believers! When you are told to make space in gatherings, then do so. Allah will make space for you.

This ayah beautifully highlights the importance of inclusion in our religion. But too often, autistic people are the ones doing that space-making. We step aside, we try to adapt, we soften our presence, we accommodate others — and we end up crowded out ourselves.

In the masjid, I learned the small, sharp ways exclusion shows up. When the imam says, “make space,” I stand up and do it — until there’s no space left for me. I get pushed out of the row and lose the space I need to do sujood properly. When I mention this to neurotypical people, they don’t understand how it’s possible, but every time I’ve mentioned this to an autistic person, they resonate with it completely. The sting of being pushed out of the row is something we grow accustomed to; it’s just part of going to the masjid. We are used to being crowded out and overlooked — whether it’s space in the row, accommodations we’ve asked for and been denied, or children’s events that are designed for neurotypical children and leave our kids in burnout or meltdown mode.

Those experiences taught me something important. If the spaces we need don’t exist, we can build them. I taught myself to stand in a way that stubbornly preserves my place in the prayer row. For my daughters, when the usual social options didn’t fit, we created a different option: a book club.

Our book club is intentionally simple and quiet. We do not do crafts or forced icebreakers. We sit for an hour and a half and discuss a good book. The girls who attend are the very people my daughters wanted to meet: people who appreciate reading on its own without having to add something to make it fun; people who enjoy simply sitting down and talking. The space is private, predictable, and gives everyone room to be themselves.

Making space for ourselves looks like small, practical choices: choosing a quiet room, keeping the group small, setting a clear agenda, and allowing people to arrive and leave without pressure. It looks like teaching our children how to hold their ground gently and creating environments that protect their energy.

Practical tips to make space for neurodivergent Muslims

For community leaders, event coordinators, and other hosts:

• Design with predictability in mind. Share an agenda, start and end times, and what will happen so people can prepare.
• Limit sensory triggers. Choose quieter venues, dim harsh lighting, and avoid loud music or sudden noises.
• Keep group sizes small. Smaller gatherings lower the social demand and make conversation easier. Adjust the group size based on the size of the space, so people have room to spread out and protect their personal space.
• Focus activities. Choose one clear activity, like a book discussion, rather than many simultaneous options that can be overwhelming to neurodivergent minds.
• Create opt-out options. Offer a quiet corner, scheduled breaks, or a way to step away without explanation. In our book club, we set out snacks in the dining room, which is attached to the living room. While we discuss the book in the living room, the girls are free to move to the dining room to get some food. It’s a quieter area where the discussion can still be heard, but there’s less pressure to participate.
• Invite intentionally. Reach out to people who share communication styles or interests rather than relying on chance. When I advertised our book club, I was very clear that we would not be doing any extra activities based on the books. We would simply sit down and talk. I figured that any girls who knew that and still wanted to come were probably the type of girls my daughters would click with, and I was right.

For yourself:

• Name the need. Tell hosts or event coordinators what helps you. Most hosts want their guests to be comfortable, but if you don’t tell them what you need, they’ll have a hard time guessing.
• Teach allies. Help friends and community members understand that small accommodations make a big difference. Most community leaders don’t know what they need to do to accommodate neurodivergent Muslims, and they envision huge changes that make events inaccessible to neurotypical people. Something small, like offering a quiet space, a sensory-friendly room, or even just making the event schedule available ahead of time, can make an event accessible to many neurodivergent Muslims without affecting other attendees. If we all try to teach the allies in our circles what they can do, more events might become more accessible to us.
• Protect your personal space. In prayer rows or crowded rooms, use gentle, consistent ways to hold your place and teach your children to do the same.
• Start your own. If nothing fits, build a space that does.

Making space for ourselves is both practical and spiritual. Just as we make space for others, we also need to make space for ourselves. We need room to breathe, to pray, to talk without masking, to build real friendships, just like anyone else. We have a right to be here. Making space for others should never mean removing yourself.