This article explores the relationship among suffering, Islamic moral concepts, subjectivity, and agency within a cohort of middle-aged women who migrated from Pakistan to Britain in the 1960s and 1970s as the wives or daughters of industrial workers. These women were preoccupied with their ageing bodies and complained about the cumulative assaults on their health they had experienced, and which they felt had been neglected by health professionals and family alike. By examining how these women bear chronic illness through a discourse of sabar (patience or silent forbearance), I show how women were able to transform their illness into a selfless and virtuous consequence of shouldering the burdens of kinship. Sabar suggests passive acceptance or fatalism to some observers, but attending to how women situate their illness in a religious and eschatological frame, we see that they actively appropriate rather than passively imbibe the norm of sabar. Moreover, turning from narratives to everyday contexts of friendship, family, and inter-generational relations, we see that there are tensions between self-sublimation and self-assertion in the practice of sabar. It is argued that ethnographic attention to subjectivity and reflexivity are crucial to understanding sabar as an agential capacity.10.30 am on a brisk March morning in East London. Uzma, 1 a 44-year-old mother of four, had been called to attend her first retinal screening since she'd been diagnosed with diabetes, and she was scared. She'd asked her husband to go with her, but he worked nights and didn't want to take her for a morning appointment, so she called me instead. At the health centre that morning, Uzma was jittery. She'd panicked during the initial consultation, reluctant for the diabetes nurse to administrate the eye drops that were supposed to dilate her pupils and allow the retina to be imaged clearly, and then insisted that she was experiencing extreme stinging sensations and blurred vision. We'd been sent back to the waiting room to allow the drops to take their full effect. Uzma was fretting over her distorted vision, and I was trying to comfort her by repeating what the nurse had said about how the blurring would be only temporary. We fell into a troubled silence. I hadn't noticed before, but sitting among the other patients was Nasreen, a woman I knew well from fieldwork, who suffered from diabetes and glaucoma too. I greeted Nasreen and she peered up at me from beneath her scarf, at first not recognizing me -her deteriorating vision was something I knew she tried to hide as much as bs_bs_banner She'll keep it, bottle it in and think that bottling it in is OK but then that's what caused her depression, like not talking and not saying your opinions and not talking about what she wanted. She'd always do as others wanted even if it hurt her, she'd always do that and that's why she probably became like that. We're [herself and her siblings] not like that because probably we're born here, we've been brought up here so we have that equal opportunities m...