I Lost Everything—Here’s What No One Tells You!

But you need to hear!

Feb 09, 2025

pink and white petals on ground — Photo by Ian Taylor on Unsplash

Dear friends,

There are moments in life that change everything.

One day, you are living as you always have—moving from task to task, planning for a future you assume is guaranteed. And then, suddenly, life shifts beneath your feet. A single moment, a single test, and everything you once took for granted is gone.

For the past week, I have been home. No longer in a hospital bed, no longer listening to the rhythmic beeping of machines, but still under treatment, still healing. The care I received in the hospital now continues at home with a nursing service. The doctors say my body will need a year to fully recover. A year feels long—until you realize that true healing isn’t just about the body. It’s about the heart, the soul, the very way you live.

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I have lost many things.

My energy, first and foremost. Where once my days were filled with movement, now I wake before Fajr, and by mid-morning, exhaustion washes over me like a tide, leaving me with no choice but to rest for most of the day. The busy lifestyle I once knew is gone. My body demands stillness, and I have no choice but to listen.

I have lost the proper functioning of an organ that sustained five tears—the reason for my emergency surgery. I have lost my overall health, something I never truly appreciated until it was taken from me. Even my hair has suffered, breaking mid-strand, falling out in chunks. Some losses are visible. Others are not.

person holding gold ring in dark room — Photo by Taylor Smith on Unsplash

I have lost friends—people who were absent in my time of need, who failed to fulfill the most basic rights that every Muslim has over another: to visit the sick, to be present. But I have also gained true friends—those who showed up, not out of obligation, but out of sincerity.

And what about you?

How many of these losses are not mine alone, but ours? How many of us live as if our health, our time, our loved ones, will always be there? How often do we move through life assuming that the things we rely on today will still be here tomorrow?

If illness has given me anything, it is clarity.

I am rereading The Barakah Effect, by Mohammed Faris, a book I once read when I was healthy, but now, in this state of limitation, it speaks to me in ways I never imagined. I see now how Barakah is not about how much time you have, but how you use it, and with what intention. Barakah is from Allah and your intentions invite Barakah or remove that Divine blessing. My hours are few, my energy even fewer, yet I see how Allah expands the smallest moments. Where I once relied on sheer effort, I now rely on His blessing.

And this is something we all must learn.

We spend our days rushing—working, studying, planning—believing that more hours, more effort, will bring us success. But how often do we seek Barakah instead? How often do we recognize that one hour with Allah’s blessing is worth more than ten without it?

grayscale photo of person placing hand on face — Photo by Adrian Swancar on Unsplash

I have gained something else, too: a regret that is not crippling, but refining. A realization that I did not always give my body its due right. That I, like so many of us, pushed beyond my limits, assuming my body would always carry me forward. And now, I am determined—not out of fear, but out of love for Allah—to honor the body He has entrusted to me.

What about you?

Are you listening to your body when it whispers, or are you waiting until it screams? Are you giving it its due, or are you treating it as if it is yours to control indefinitely?

I have gained something far greater than just physical awareness.
I have gained the urgency to act.

Before, I knew I would die one day, but I lived as if I had forever. But when you stand at the edge of life, looking at what could have been your final moments, you realize—this world was never meant to be permanent.

89:27

يَـٰٓأَيَّتُهَا ٱلنَّفْسُ ٱلْمُطْمَئِنَّةُ ٢٧

˹Allah will say to the righteous,˺ “O tranquil soul!

89:28

ٱرْجِعِىٓ إِلَىٰ رَبِّكِ رَاضِيَةًۭ مَّرْضِيَّةًۭ ٢٨

Return to your Lord, well pleased ˹with Him˺ and well pleasing ˹to Him˺.

89:29

فَٱدْخُلِى فِى عِبَـٰدِى ٢٩

So join My servants,

89:30

وَٱدْخُلِى جَنَّتِى ٣٠

and enter My Paradise.”(Surah Al-Fajr: 27-30)

How many of us are truly striving to be among these tranquil souls? How often do we put off good deeds, assuming we have time? How many days do we say tomorrow—tomorrow I’ll pray better, tomorrow I’ll give more charity, tomorrow I’ll fix what is broken? Tomorrow I’ll start wearing hijab? Tomorrow!

But what if there is no tomorrow?

I have gained the certainty that there is no time to delay. If there is good to be done, it must be done now. If there is a habit to change, it must be changed now.

I have gained an awareness of my own diseases of the heart—things I once excused, ignored, or didn’t even recognize. And I now know, I cannot purify my heart except with Allah’s help.

What about you?

When was the last time you truly looked within? When was the last time you asked yourself: What am I holding onto that is weighing my heart down?

One example for me is backbiting. How easy it is to let frustration lead us to speaking about others in ways we shouldn’t. And yet, I have made a commitment to myself: I will not speak about anyone behind their back unless it is Islamically necessary. Not because I am better, but because I have seen what is truly at stake.

And you?

What is the thing you know you must change but keep delaying? What if today was the only day you had left to fix it?

I Lost Everything—Here’s What No One Tells You!

But you need to hear!

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