falling apart is the only way forward

if you know anything about me, you’ll know that ramadan has always been my favourite time of year. i treat it like a reset button for my WHOLE life. every year for the past few years, i’ve gone into it with intention, with hope, with a sense that the month will change me, maybe even completely. and alhamdulillah, it always has. there’s something about fasting, praying, and spending time in reflection that strips everything else away, that lets me really see myself. it’s like i step into ramadan carrying all of the weight of the year, all of the noise and distractions, and then by the end of it, i come out lighter, calmer, more connected to Allah, and more connected to myself. i’ve genuinely felt like a different person after each of these months. not in a small way either, because these ramadans have been life-changing. it’s the kind of spiritual and emotional growth that sticks, that shapes how i move through the year ahead.

and because of that, every year i have this sense of anticipation, this hope that this ramadan will do it again. i plan for it, not in a rigid way, but in a way that makes me feel like i’m ready to pour myself into it fully. i make lists of goals, habits i want to build, reflections i want to focus on, prayers i want to be consistent with. and every year, it surprises me in ways i don’t expect, in ways that push me to grow even more than i planned. it feels almost like ramadan knows what i need better than i do. i think that’s why it’s always been the best month of the year for me. because it transforms me in ways i could’ve ever imagined. every. single. time.

so coming into this year, i was excited. maybe more excited than ever. i planned even more than i ever have before, thinking that if i just mapped it out, if i just set intentions and routines, this ramadan would be the most transformative one yet. i wanted to come out of it feeling completely renewed, like i always do, but amplified. i thought i could balance uni, responsibilities, deadlines, and still fully immerse myself in ramadan, and i was ready to give it my all. i wanted to pour into ramadan with my heart and mind and soul, to make it the month that finally fixed everything i’d been carrying, healed everything i thought needed healing, and strengthened everything i wanted to grow.

and honestly, i think part of me believed that ramadan was my safe space. that it could be perfect in a way the rest of the year never is. the months leading up to it were stressful, busy, full of challenges, and i went into ramadan with this idea that it would heal me. i thought that when i stepped into this sacred month, i could leave all of that behind, that i could reset completely, that i could emerge on the other side feeling like the person i was meant to be.

but this year felt different. i knew it would be, kind of, but i still went in hoping it would feel like the past few years. and the moment ramadan started, i just… felt it. it wasn’t about the fasting or the prayers, or even the routines i’d made. it was just me. sitting with myself. my thoughts. my feelings. in a way i hadn’t in so long. and it was uncomfortable. really uncomfortable. like looking into a mirror and seeing someone i thought i’d left behind.

i felt things i hadn’t felt in five, six years. things i thought i’d healed from. things i thought i’d dealt with. but i guess i’d just shoved them somewhere deep down, under the rug, and forgotten they were even there. until this ramadan, when they came sliding back out. and if you know me, or if you’ve read my past newsletters, you know my early to mid-teenage years were really… hard. messy. confusing. sometimes i still struggle to make sense of them. and this ramadan, i literally felt like my fourteen-year-old self again. raw. heavy. and… yeah. it was tough.

it was weird because i went in hoping ramadan would heal me. and at first, it didn’t feel like healing at all. it felt like being forced to look at things i’d been hiding from, things i wasn’t ready to face. and sitting with them made me think about everything: where i am, who i am to people, what i want, what i’ve been holding onto without even realising. and then it hit me.

you can’t heal if you’re still holding onto the past.

and i don’t mean in a neat, step-by-step, linear way. i KNOW healing is messy. it’s not clean. it’s not perfect. but if i wanted to actually grow, i had to give myself space to feel these things. to face them. to really sit with them. and that’s what this ramadan reminded me. it reminded me that growth isn’t comfortable. it’s heavy. it’s confronting. and sometimes, the months that feel the heaviest are the ones that teach you the most. it reminded me that i’m human. layered. flawed. but that’s okay.

and then… some news came through in my family that just hit me. hard. and at first, i couldn’t even process it. in my head i kept saying, it’s ramadan. this is supposed to be the month of mercy. the month of the Quran. the month where you’re meant to feel closest to Allah. so why now? why is this happening? and it’s not that i didn’t understand, exactly… it’s just that i thought everything was hitting me all at once.

and i kept asking myself over and over, why? why now? why is this happening when i’ve planned everything so carefully? the goals i set, the routines i made, the intentions i had… i thought i was ready. i thought i could do everything i needed to do and still fully immerse myself in ramadan. and now here i am, sitting with feelings i haven’t felt in years, memories i thought were gone, questions i wasn’t expecting, and i just… kept thinking, why? why is everything falling apart?

but upon reflection, everything is slowly starting to make sense.

sometimes, you have to fall apart in order to remember that only Allah can put you back together. that He is the one who truly holds the pieces.

and i’ve always been the kind of person who tries to be in control. i plan. i organise. i try to manage everything around me. i try to control the way my life unfolds. and i guess i tried to do that in ramadan too. making sure i hit every goal, push myself further than i probably needed to, convince myself that if i just worked hard enough, it would all be perfect.

but it wasn’t. and maybe that’s exactly what i needed. to slow down. to stop trying to force it. to sit with the feelings i didn’t want to feel. to accept that not everything is mine to fix. that some things are just meant for Allah to deal with. and in that moment, it was like a lesson hitting me softly, but firmly:

you can’t do everything. you can’t control everything. and that’s okay. maybe even necessary.

and maybe some of you know this feeling… like you’re chasing a version of yourself that keeps moving just out of reach. the one you think would finally be enough, finally fixed, finally free from all the old pain. and you try. you try to push harder, plan better, control everything, because surely that will get you there. right?

but here’s the thing ramadan reminded me. that version of you is NOT a switch you can flip. she’s not a finish line. she’s in the messy moments. the uncomfortable ones. the ones you thought you’d healed from, the ones you shoved under the rug years ago and forgot were even there… until ramadan drags them out into the light. and suddenly, you’re sitting with yourself and all of it just hits at once. and you feel like, wait, am i ever going to get there?

and if you’ve been chasing her too, you’ll know this. sometimes you want to run. you want to force it, push her to show up, tick all the boxes, feel ready, feel fixed. but what i learned this ramadan is… maybe you can’t. maybe she only exists in the moments you fall apart a little, in the moments you feel the feelings you’ve been avoiding, in the moments you can’t control and have to just let Allah hold you.

and it’s scary. and frustrating. and messy. and exhausting. but if you’ve felt it too, if you’ve sat there in that discomfort, wondering if it’ll ever get easier, then you know that maybe that’s exactly how growth works. maybe that’s exactly how we become who we’re meant to be, even if we can’t see her yet.

and maybe that’s the beauty of ramadan. i once saw a video that said ramadan is kind of scary. and i think that’s true. because it strips everything away. the world, the noise, the distractions. it’s just you, your prayers, your fasting, and Allah. nothing else. and maybe… that’s why it can feel so heavy. so confronting.

of course, ramadan is full of blessings, full of things we can never fully understand. we can only appreciate them, notice them where we can. and maybe one of those blessings is that it forces you to face things you’d never face otherwise. memories, feelings, parts of yourself you thought you’d dealt with, or healed, or just pushed under the surface. and maybe that’s exactly what’s needed to grow, to move forward, to figure out what needs to change.

if life was only happiness, only easy days, we’d never really come to terms with ourselves. we wouldn’t notice what we carry, what weighs us down, what we need to let go of. and maybe that’s why ramadan is both difficult and necessary. because it strips you down, even when you’re not ready, and forces you to see what’s really there.

so now, a few days after ramadan, as i’m finishing editing this, one thing i have to say is that i’m still dealing with the aftermath of the month. i miss it daily. ramadan has always been my favourite time of year, and reflecting on the past month just makes me love it even more. because here i am, back in the world, and it feels… strange. it’s strange because during the month, all i wanted was clarity. i thought i needed answers, solutions, some kind of light at the end of everything i was feeling.

but now, looking back, i guess maybe the pain was the clarity. maybe sitting with it, feeling it, facing it all, that was what i needed. it wasn’t neat, it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t exactly what i expected, but it forced me to see things i hadn’t allowed myself to see in years. and maybe that’s part of why ramadan is so special. it doesn’t just give you blessings or miracles or spiritual highs. sometimes it forces you to look at the hard stuff, the stuff you hide, the stuff that scares you. and maybe, in the end, that’s what makes it so meaningful.

and so now, after all of it, i’ve started to realise that maybe growth isn’t something you can schedule, or force, or even plan for perfectly. it’s not about hitting every goal, or checking every box, or snapping into some version of yourself you think you’re supposed to be. it’s slower than that. it’s sitting with the feelings you’ve avoided, facing the memories you thought you’d healed from, noticing the parts of yourself you try to control but can’t.

and i guess that’s the hardest part: accepting that you don’t have to “fix” everything at once. accepting that it’s okay to feel messy, to feel heavy, to feel unsure. accepting that letting go doesn’t mean giving up, it just means you’re giving yourself the space to breathe, to feel, to be. and maybe that’s what ramadan taught me this year. not perfection. not instant transformation. but patience. presence. honesty with yourself.

and if you relate to this in any sort of way, i want you to know you’re not alone. it’s okay to slow down. it’s okay to feel it all. it’s okay to let the pieces settle without forcing them. because sometimes, the difficult moments are the ones that actually change us the most. so cherish them. and take it easy. i promise, you will make it through.

love, imaan x

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