Feeling Spiritually Stuck? Here’s What No One Tells You About Real Growth.

Lesson # 8 Final Lesson and Most Important

Bismillah

Photo by Elena Kloppenburg on Unsplash

This is Lesson 8, the final lesson in this series of what I learned while I was hospitalized and those 36 hours I was dying.

It’s also the most powerful. And the most difficult.

Allah says in the Qur’an: “Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.” (Surah Ar-Ra’d, 13:11). What’s striking is that many of us—myself included—often want to change our lives, but we wait for something outside of us to shift first. We wait for people to behave better, for environments to improve, for opportunities to appear, for pain to disappear. We wait for ease. But this ayah calls us to something else entirely. Change must begin from the inside. It must start with what is within.

When I was in the hospital, facing the reality that I might not live through this, that ayah took on a completely different meaning. There’s a kind of raw honesty that facing death brings with it. It strips away illusion. The illusions of control, the illusions of time, the illusions of perfectionism, and perhaps most of all—the illusion that change is comfortable.

It’s not. Real change is deeply uncomfortable. But that discomfort is what can make it transformational.

In the West, many of us live in an age of hyper-comfort. Everything is designed to suit our tastes and preferences. We go to cafés where we can customize our drink almost down to the number of ice cubes. We order food exactly how we want it—gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, extra spicy, but not too spicy. We sleep in climate-controlled homes, where summer doesn’t feel like summer and winter doesn’t feel like winter. We’re not used to being uncomfortable, and in some ways, we’ve moralized comfort. We believe that if something is hard, it must be wrong. But Allah doesn’t teach us that. The Prophets didn’t live that. The Sahabah didn’t believe that. The early Muslims didn’t live that. And I came to realize: this generation, especially, has to consciously fight the worship of comfort.

In Ramadan, many of us willingly enter discomfort. We give up food and drink during the day. We spend long nights in prayer. We do this because we believe it will bring us closer to Allah. But what if we treated all of life like that? What if we entered discomfort daily—not because we enjoy it, but because we know that in discomfort lies growth?

This lesson is the one that will carry you forward. It’s the lesson that wakes you up in the morning and reminds you to keep trying. It’s the lesson that humbles you when you want to blame others for your pain. It’s the lesson that teaches you to let go—of people, of dreams, of comforts—because some of those things are holding you back from Allah.

Photo by Alisa Anton on Unsplash

And yes, it’s painful. Sometimes what you need to change is your attachment to a person who doesn’t bring you closer to Allah. Sometimes it’s the dream you’ve nurtured for years, but you now realize it was more about ego than service. Sometimes it’s the comfort of staying silent when you should speak up, or the habit of speaking when silence would serve your soul more.

Change is deeply uncomfortable for me. I don’t say that lightly. I used to think I feared the unknown most—but what I’ve come to realize is that the discomfort of staying comfortable terrifies me even more. That slow decay of the soul when nothing changes. When ease becomes a prison. When routine dulls your spirit, and life becomes about maintaining the illusion of safety rather than seeking Allah’s pleasure.

So I’ve started to push back—gently, quietly, daily. Nothing dramatic. Sometimes it’s as small as adding two extra minutes to my treadmill walk. Or finally sitting down to work through a problem I’ve avoided for far too long. These aren’t just productivity wins. These are acts of worship—when I intend them for Allah. And even when I struggle to find that intention in the moment, I’ve learned to take that struggle to Allah in dua. Ya Allah, let me do this for You. Let this small action be weighty with sincerity.

What I’ve learned is that real change doesn’t just come from discomfort—it also requires reflection. Looking back. Pausing. Asking: Where was I a year ago? Where was I last month? And then taking a moment to thank Allah for how far He’s brought me. To celebrate the growth, not with arrogance, but with gratitude. To recognize emotional blocks without shame, and to chip away at them step by step, knowing that even small progress is still progress in the sight of Allah.

This—this is the kind of discomfort that leads to ease. The kind of effort that builds resilience. The kind of striving that purifies the heart. And I’m slowly learning to be proud of it. To be grateful for it. Because even if it hurts, if it brings me closer to Allah, it’s worth every bit of the effort.

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Reflective Question:

What is one small act of discomfort you’re willing to embrace today—not for the sake of change itself, but for the sake of drawing closer to Allah?

I’d love to hear from you. Reply and share what that one act might be—whether it’s a step you’ve taken or a step you’re still gathering courage for. Let’s witness each other’s growth, even in the smallest ways.