Struggling with Kids & Salah? Try This

The first time I told my daughter it was time for salah, she asked if she could bring her stuffed giraffe.

I hesitated. Was it respectful? Was it appropriate? Was this going to derail everything?

But then I remembered what it felt like to be a kid—half bored, half confused, and totally unsure why we were standing, bowing, and whispering Arabic phrases five times a day.

So I said yes.

She prayed with her giraffe that day. And every day after, salah became a little less of a chore and a little more of a moment we shared.

Why This Matters (Right Now)

In a world where mindfulness apps rake in billions and “digital detox” retreats are the new yoga, daily prayer is having a quiet moment of cultural relevance—even outside the Muslim community.

But for Muslim parents, especially in the West, salah isn’t a wellness trend. It’s a cornerstone of identity. The challenge? Convincing your iPad-loving, slime-making, TikTok-curious kids that prayer is not just a thing you have to do—but something you get to do.

And we’re not alone in this.

According to a 2022 Pew Research study, nearly 1 in 3 American Muslim parents said their biggest parenting struggle was “instilling consistent religious habits.” The top of that list? You guessed it: salah.

But here’s the plot twist—forcing it isn’t working.

Resistance Is a Clue, Not a Crisis

Let’s be real: if your 5-year-old is dragging their feet to the prayer mat, it’s not a moral failure. It’s developmentally normal.

Kids resist prayer for the same reason they resist vegetables, bedtime, and putting their shoes on the right feet:

• It interrupts their play

• They don’t understand the "why"

• It feels like something done to them, not with them

And here’s the kicker—forcing kids to pray can backfire.

A 2018 study in the Journal of Muslim Mental Health found that children who were pressured or shamed into religious practices were more likely to disengage from faith in adolescence than those who were gently encouraged.

So what works?

Step 1: Make It Play, Not Pressure

Before kids love salah, they need to feel it’s for them—not just for grownups. That means:

• Mini prayer rugs they can choose themselves

• “Call to prayer” songs sung with kitchen utensils

• Sticker charts or "prayer stars" to celebrate effort, not perfection

• Salah games—like finding the Qibla with a compass or “build your own masjid” with couch cushions

When we make prayer tactile, musical, visual, and physical—it becomes play. And kids learn through play.

Not by lectures. Not by guilt trips. Definitely not by threats of hellfire. (Looking at you, Uncle Haseeb.)

Step 2: Narrate, Don’t Lecture

Instead of turning into a Friday khutbah factory, try this: narrate what you love about salah.

“I had a really hard day, and that sujood felt like a nap for my body.”

Or: “When I heard the adhan, it reminded me to pause (literally & figuratively, looking at you Bluey) and breathe.”

When you make it about your experience—not their obligation—you shift the tone from control to connection.

As one Muslim parenting coach put it: “Kids don’t need sermons. They need stories.”

Step 3: Lead Like You Mean It

Here’s the part we don’t like to hear—but it’s true: the #1 predictor of kids who love salah later in life is parents who pray consistently and visibly.

You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to be hyper-pious.

You just need to be real.

Pray where your kids can see you. Let them climb on your back. Let them hand you your prayer beads like it’s a treasure.

In one viral TikTok, a dad prayed while his toddler sat next to him pretending to read Qur’an from a book of stickers. That’s not distraction—it’s devotion, in toddler form.

The Bottom Line: Salah is Caught, Not Taught

It’s easy to think our job is to “teach” salah. But what if our real job is to invite it, model it, and make space for our kids to discover the joy of it themselves?

There’s a reason Allah starts so many ayat with “Come to prayer,” not “Do your prayer.”

It’s a call. Not a command.

So the next time your kid asks if their giraffe can join, let it happen. That little moment of permission might just be the seed of lifelong love.

TLDR?

Don’t force it. Don’t fake it. And definitely don’t fret.

Lead with presence. Sprinkle in some play. Narrate your why.

And trust that what feels small now—one tiny prayer with a giraffe by your side—might just echo for generations.

Striving to be better Muslims & better parents—one coffee (or chai) at a time,
Shawn & Farihah