The house was quiet, the early morning air thick with the scent of warm oats and honey. Khadijah took a slow sip of water, her eyes flickering to the clock. 4:15 AM. Just a few more minutes before Fajr.
She should have felt peaceful. After all, she was fasting, waking up for sahur, and doing the best she could. But deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Her ibadah felt rushed, mechanical—like an item she was checking off a to-do list.
She wanted to feel Ramadan, not just go through the motions of it. She wanted that deep spiritual connection she had heard scholars talk about—the kind that made the Qur’an feel like a conversation with Allah, that made every sujood feel like home.
But between work, home, and exhaustion, she barely had energy for extra worship. As she sat at her dining table, stirring her tea absentmindedly, a message popped up from her best friend, Maryam:
“Sis, are you truly living Ramadan, or are you just surviving it?”
Khadijah stared at the screen. She knew the answer.
And that was the moment she decided—this Ramadan, she wouldn’t just survive. She would thrive.
Filling Her Days with Worship, Without Overwhelm
That morning after Fajr, she didn’t rush back to bed like usual. Instead, she stayed on the prayer mat, whispering dhikr as the early rays of dawn seeped through the curtains.
Instead of saying, “I’ll read the Qur’an later,” she opened it immediately, reading even if it was just a few lines.
She started small, setting daily intentions: to recite Qur’an with reflection, to be mindful in her prayers, to give more in charity, and to carve out time for personal du’a. Not just the hurried ones before iftar, but the kind where she poured her heart out, speaking to Allah as though He was near—because He was.
The barakah in her time became evident almost immediately. She found herself finishing work quicker, feeling lighter, and—even in her exhaustion—feeling more fulfilled.
Making Worship Fit Into Every Part of Her Life
She knew the reality: she couldn’t sit in ibadah all day. But who said worship only happened on the prayer mat?
She turned her daily routines into moments of dhikr—whispering Alhamdulillah as she cooked, sending Salawat on the Prophet (ﷺ) between emails, and using her commute to listen to tafsir.
She replaced mindless social media scrolling with Qur’an recitation. Even five minutes before a meeting, instead of refreshing her inbox, she’d pick up her mushaf.
And the biggest change? She stopped letting exhaustion be an excuse. If she was too tired for long taraweeh, she would still pray a few extra rak’ahs. If she couldn’t read a full page of Qur’an, she would read a few verses. If she missed her planned night worship, she’d wake up just an hour before Fajr to pray and make du’a.
She had removed the pressure of perfection—and in doing so, she found consistency.
Living Ramadan with Presence, Not Just Rituals
One evening, just before Maghrib, she stepped outside and took a deep breath. The sky was streaked with soft orange hues, the air still. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Ya Allah, let me feel this moment.”
For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t anxiously waiting for the next thing. She was simply present.
It was then she understood: worship wasn’t just about doing more—it was about feeling more.
It was about savoring the taste of a date as she broke her fast, remembering the Sunnah of the Prophet (ﷺ). It was about standing in prayer and truly reflecting on the words, not just reciting them. It was about making sincere du’a, even if her voice trembled. Ramadan wasn’t about fitting worship into her life. It was about letting worship become her life.
The Dua That Changed Everything
On the 3rd night of Ramadan, Khadijah stayed up after tahajjud, her hands cupped in front of her. She had one prayer in her heart, one that she whispered with every ounce of sincerity she had:
“Ya Allah, don’t just let me witness Ramadan. Let Ramadan change me.”
And it did.
How She Made It Work (And You Can Too)
If there was anything she learned from this journey, it was that thriving in Ramadan wasn’t about perfection—it was about small, meaningful efforts.
She started her day with intention, whispering Ya Allah, let me use today for Your sake before stepping into work. Instead of waiting for a ‘perfect’ time to read Qur’an, she attached it to moments of stillness—right after Fajr, before bed, even during lunch breaks. Routines became acts of worship; dhikr became second nature.
She talked to Allah like a close friend, not through memorized scripts but through raw, unfiltered conversations. She pushed past exhaustion with small acts—one verse, one rak’ah, one extra du’a. She disconnected from distractions to reconnect with what truly mattered.
The best Ramadan wasn’t about how much she did. It was about how much her heart was in it.
And for the first time, she wasn’t just going through Ramadan.
She was living it.