Tired in a Way Sleep Can’t Fix
A reflection on burnout, guilt, and trusting that your small efforts still matter
When You Want to Do More, But Life Gets in the Way
It always happens in the final stretch of Ramadan.
This urgency settles into my chest—a pull to do more. More praying. More heartfelt du’as. More Qur'an. More reflection. More sincerity. As if I could somehow slow time with my worship, keep this sacred month from slipping through my fingers.
But the more I want to do, the more I find myself unable to.
Life doesn’t pause for my intentions. If anything, it accelerates.
The last days are filled with errands and noise—coordinating Eid clothes, worrying if they’ll arrive on time or if something will go wrong. Calculating how much Eidi to send back home. Double-checking that I haven’t forgotten anyone.
The kids are asking what we’re doing for Eid. Will there be gifts? A weekend trip like last time? There are schedules to coordinate, dessert recipes to test, carpets to vacuum, and a mosque event I’m not sure is even coming together.
My days blur into to-do lists. My nights blur into fatigue. And somewhere between the laundry and the meal planning, I start to feel like Ramadan is rushing past me—and I’m not keeping up.
I am tired.
The days feel long—
yet somehow, they vanish.
I chase meaning
through minutes that slip like sand.
I want to do more.
But I’m tired—
not the kind of tired sleep can fix,
but the kind that settles in the soul,
where longing and guilt lay side by side.
I want to be better,
but I can’t bring myself to.
I want to be soft,
yet scream out loud.
I want to rest,
but I want to pray.
I lie awake in bed,
exhausted but unable to rest—
the quilt of not doing enough keeps me awake,
my eyes filled with tears
I am unable to wipe away.
All of my I want to’s
turn into I have to’s—
and even those
remain undone.
And so I ask,
not for answers,
but for mercy—
Is this enough?
Am I enough?
Burnout in the Sacred Days
I know that Ramadan isn’t about perfection. I know it's not a race to complete the most. I know it's about sincerity. Presence. Heart.
But that didn’t stop the tears from falling when I saw an Instagram post titled: "You’re Not Doing Enough This Ramadan."
It felt like the final straw.
I was already feeling raw, already questioning whether my efforts were enough. That headline cut through me. The guilt wrapped tight around my chest.
And then, almost instinctively, I remembered something.
I wrote about this.
About how Ramadan isn’t about competing. About how we are allowed to feel tired. About how Allah sees even our smallest efforts—and that He is Al-Rahman, not a scoreboard keeper.
So I found that post. I read my own words back to myself. And they held me.
They reminded me that this feeling of inadequacy isn’t the truth. That sincerity in worship can look like a quiet du'a between tasks. That Allah accepts from hearts that are striving, even when the body is tired.
Doing the Best I Can
So I won’t do it all. Not this year. Maybe not ever.
But I will do what I can.
I will send the eidi. Bake the desserts. Hug my children when they run in asking questions. I will sit on the prayer mat, even if only for five minutes. I will whisper Astaghfirullah as I fold laundry. I will cry when I need to.
And I will trust that it counts.
Even if it doesn’t look like a perfectly planned Ramadan. Even if I feel like I'm falling short.
Because Allah doesn’t ask for perfection. He asks for effort. For sincerity. For turning back to Him, again and again.
Even if it's tired. Even if it's messy. Even if it's in between checking if the kids’ Eid clothes fit.
Next Week: The Eid That Feels Different
Eid is tomorrow. And it doesn’t feel quite the same anymore.
In next week’s post, I’ll be writing about what Eid used to feel like back home—and what it feels like now. The shift in traditions. The ache of distance. The new meanings we find in celebration.
Until then, I’d love to know: Have you ever felt like you weren’t doing enough—even when you were giving your all? Let’s talk in the comments. ✨
Absolutely I feel like I’m not doing enough.