I Thought Ramadan Was About Sacrifice—Then I Realized THIS…

﷽

Have you ever felt like no matter how much you try, you keep facing the same test over and over?

Photo by Vince Fleming on Unsplash

Like Allah is putting a mirror in front of you, showing you the same wound, the same struggle—until you finally learn what you need to learn?

That has been my Ramadan so far.

It started beautifully, with a deep sense of connection on the first day. But from then on, it has been one challenge after another, each one forcing me to confront something deep within myself. At first, I felt frustrated, even defeated. Was this what my Ramadan was going to be? A constant struggle? But then, I remembered something: Allah never wastes a test.

And I began to wonder—what if all of this is preparation? What if, through these tests, Allah is refining me, preparing me for the ultimate moment we all claim to long for—the moment of meeting Him?

We all ask to be granted Jannah al-Firdaws. We ask to be among those whom Allah calls:

“O tranquil soul, return to your Lord, well-pleased and pleasing [to Him]. Enter among My servants, and enter My Paradise.” (Surah Al-Fajr 89:27-30)

But what does it actually take to become that soul?

Islam teaches us that Jannah is not cheap. It requires us to face ourselves, to rectify our hearts, to take responsibility for our reactions and choices. It requires submission—not just in our external acts of worship, but in how we handle our most difficult moments.

For me, the biggest test has always been other people. I set intentions to be kind, to be patient. But when I’m met with verbal attacks, dismissiveness, or unkindness, I feel that anger rise inside me. Sometimes, I walk away. Other times, I react in ways I later regret. Either way, it affects me deeply.

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

But this Ramadan, a shift happened.

I realized that my suffering wasn’t just from the way I was treated—it was from my expectation of being treated differently. I was seeking validation, fairness, and emotional safety from others. And when they failed to meet that expectation, I was left feeling hurt.

But what if I didn’t need their validation? What if my sense of safety came from Allah alone?

Photo by Muhammad Amaan on Unsplash

This shift became clear to me in a recent encounter. I had set my intention to be calm and kind toward a family member, making sure to speak in a neutral, non-triggering tone. But despite my best efforts, I was met with hostility—raised voices, unkind words.

I felt the familiar anger rise.

Normally, I would either react defensively or walk away and bottle it up, letting it eat away at me. But this time, I did something different. I reminded myself:

I am not responsible for their reaction. I am responsible for my own sincerity (ikhlas) of intention (niyyah).

I walked away to protect my peace, not out of fear. And later, when I was ready, I expressed my emotions—not bottling them up, but in a way that honored both my dignity and my sincerity. I spoke calmly and firmly, without needing them to understand or agree.

And for the first time, I felt truly free.

Because I wasn’t waiting for them to validate my feelings. I wasn’t trying to control how they responded. I was only seeking the pleasure of Allah.

This shift became even clearer when I spoke to my Qur’an teacher. She reminded me of something simple yet profound:

“We don’t hope for a reward from Allah. We are certain of it.”

That hit me.

I realized that part of me had still been attaching my efforts to outcomes—whether that was how others treated me or even whether I would receive reward for my patience. But in Islam, when an action is done purely for Allah’s sake, the reward is guaranteed. It is not something we wish for. It is something we know will be given.

And when I fully absorbed that truth, something in me let go.

The tension in my body eased. My heart felt lighter. The frustration melted away. Because I was no longer giving people power over me. My reward, my peace, my validation—all of it was with Allah.

And that realization brought me overwhelming gratitude and shukr.

For so long, I saw these situations as interruptions to my ibadah. I wanted Ramadan to be peaceful, filled with undisturbed worship. But now, I see the test is the ibadah.

This is my personal jihad—not in the way the world misinterprets it, but in the true meaning of the word: an internal struggle for the sake of Allah.

I am shifting from seeking a perfect Ramadan to embracing the Ramadan that Allah has chosen for me. And that means full submission—not just in my prayers and fasts, but in surrendering my heart to Him, trusting that every test is purifying me.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

If you’ve been struggling with frustration, disappointment, or emotional exhaustion this Ramadan, I want to remind you:

• Your test is not a distraction. It is your path to purification.

• Your sincerity is between you and Allah—no one else’s reaction can take that away from you.

• Every effort you make is already written with Allah. You are not unseen.

So if you have stumbled, turn back. If you’ve lost patience, reset. If you’ve been carrying anger, let it go for His sake. Keep moving toward Him, even if you feel like you’re crawling.

Because the hadith tells us:

“Whoever comes to Me walking, I come to him running.”

So imagine—if you are crawling, broken and exhausted, how much closer is Allah bringing Himself to you?

This shift didn’t happen overnight. It has been a daily practice—resetting my intentions every morning, evaluating myself every night, and holding myself accountable. And one of the things that has helped me stay grounded is following the Sunnah of the Prophet ﷺ in my daily life.

I’ve been documenting this in my Ramadan Sunnah Challenge, where I reflect on how small Sunnah acts bring immense barakah and transformation. If you’d like to follow along, join me on instagram nourcauveren in my Subtack Notes.

Let’s embrace this Ramadan—not the way we imagined it, but the way Allah planned it for us.

And let’s walk—crawl, if we must—toward Him, knowing He is already running to meet us.

With love and du’as,

Nour Cauveren