Have you ever looked at yourself and thought, “Damn. What happened to me?” Not because you stopped believing in Allah. Not because you don’t know right from wrong. You know. You know exactly what you’re doing is wrong, yet somehow you’ve become numb to it. You sin, you know you sinned, and you still keep going. You know Allah told you to stay away from it, but you continue anyway. And now you’re at a point where you don’t even feel that bad about it anymore.

That’s what scares me. Or at least, that’s what used to scare me. My heart is in danger, and I’m still choosing not to change my ways. Why? It’s not because I lack knowledge. It’s not laziness. Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s something worse. I think it’s numbness in faith. May Allah forgive us.

There was a time when certain sins would genuinely bother me. I would feel that heaviness in my chest. I would regret it. I would want to run back to Allah. But what happens when you keep doing something long enough that it starts feeling normal? What happens when something you once begged Allah to help you leave behind becomes something you can casually live with? You sin. You know you sinned. You tell yourself you’ll stop. And then you do it again. And again.

Eventually, you’re just living your life. You’re laughing, going out, enjoying yourself, doing things you know you shouldn’t be doing, and somewhere in the back of your mind you know: this isn’t right. But the feeling isn’t what it used to be. The guilt gets quieter. The shame gets weaker. And you start wondering, “Why don’t I care like I used to?” That question should terrify you. But it doesn’t, and you don’t know why. May Allah help us.

When the Heart Stops Reacting

I didn’t stop writing because I ran out of things to say. I stopped because I didn’t want to fake it. Not wanting to sit here and write beautiful reminders about turning back to Allah, fighting your desires, staying away from sin, and never losing hope while knowing damn well I was struggling with those exact things myself. I didn’t want to write, “You need to come back to Allah,” while I was struggling to come back myself. I didn’t want to tell you to fight your desires when I was sometimes giving in to mine. I didn’t want to tell you not to become comfortable with sin when I was becoming comfortable with mine. And that made me feel like a hypocrite.

Not because I didn’t believe what I was writing. I believed every word. That was the problem. I knew the truth. I still know the truth. I just wasn’t always living it. And there is something deeply uncomfortable about knowing exactly what you should be doing and still choosing something else. It’s one thing to sin while knowing you’re weak. It’s another thing to sin, know it’s wrong, enjoy it, and realize that your heart isn’t even reacting the way it used to. That’s numbness. And I didn’t know what to do with it.

So I stopped writing. I stopped reading as much. I stopped doing some of the things that I knew brought me closer to Allah. And the more I pulled away, the easier it became to keep pulling away. That’s the frightening thing about distance from Allah. Sometimes you don’t even notice how far you’ve gone until you look back and realize you’re standing somewhere you never thought you would be.

I Didn’t Want to Be a Hypocrite

I write anonymously for a reason. There are people in my life who know I write, and sometimes I’ve wondered what they think when they read these words. Because imagine knowing me in real life and then reading something I wrote about faith, sin, repentance, desire, and trying to get closer to Allah. You might start looking at me differently. And honestly? I hate that.

Because I’m not some perfect Muslim who has everything figured out. I struggle. I mess up. I sin. I do things I know I shouldn’t do. Sometimes I’m doing something, and I already know in my head: this is wrong. And I still do it. Then I go on with my day. That’s the part I don’t know how to make sound pretty, because it isn’t pretty. It’s ugly. It’s uncomfortable. And sometimes it makes me think, “What the hell am I doing?”

But then I remembered something: the truth doesn’t stop being true just because I struggle to live by it. A reminder doesn’t become false because the person giving it needs the reminder too. And maybe that’s what I had forgotten.

Every chapter I’ve written has been something I genuinely felt. I wasn’t writing from some place of superiority. I was writing because I was struggling. Sometimes I was writing about something I was going through. Sometimes I was writing about something someone close to me was going through. And sometimes I was writing because I knew there was somebody out there feeling exactly what I was feeling.

Maybe I stopped because I thought I had to be the person who had already conquered the struggle before I could talk about it. But I haven’t conquered it. I’m still fighting. And some days, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not even fighting very hard. Some days I’m tired. Some days I give in. Some days I knowingly do something I shouldn’t. And some days, what scares me most is that I don’t feel much afterward.

Maybe This Is My First Step Back

But maybe that’s exactly when I need the reminder most. Because I don’t want to become comfortable being numb. And honestly, as I’m writing this, I am. This is low-key my way of taking one step towards Allah.

I don’t want to reach a point where sin doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t want to lose that feeling of wanting Allah. I don’t want to become someone who knows what’s right but stops caring about whether he follows it.

And maybe you’ve felt that too. Maybe you’ve looked at your own life and thought, “Damn. I know better than this.” Maybe you’ve committed the same sin so many times that you stopped being shocked by yourself. Maybe you’ve gotten so used to something you know is wrong that you barely even feel guilty anymore. Maybe you’ve told yourself you’ll change a hundred times and then found yourself right back there. And maybe you’ve started wondering whether the fact that you don’t feel the same guilt anymore means Allah has given up on you.

I don’t think it does. I think the fact that you’re worried about your numbness means there is still something inside you that wants to feel again.

But there’s something else I have to remind myself of. Allah says, “Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.” [Quran 13:11] And maybe that’s the part I don’t want to hear. I can ask Allah to soften my heart. I can ask Him to bring me back. I can ask Him to remove this numbness. But at some point, I have to make a choice too. I have to take a step. I can’t keep asking Allah to change me while I continue choosing the same things that are pulling me away from Him.

And that thought honestly scares me. Because I don’t know how much time I have left. I don’t know if I’ll get another year, another month, or even another day to fix what I keep telling myself I’ll fix later. Allah knows what I don’t. He knows what is in my heart better than I ever could. He knows whether I would change if I were given another five years, another fifty years, or even another five hundred.

The Quran describes people who, when faced with the Fire, will wish to return to this life so they can do better. But Allah tells us that even if they were returned, they would go back to what they had been forbidden from doing. [Quran 6:27–28] And that is terrifying to think about. Not because Allah’s mercy is limited, but because I don’t want to keep telling myself, “I’ll change later,” as if later is guaranteed.

Maybe this numbness is a warning. Maybe this discomfort I feel while writing this is a mercy. Maybe Allah is giving me another opportunity to recognize what I’ve become comfortable with before I run out of opportunities to change it.

So I don’t want to wait until I feel like changing.

I want to start changing because I know I need to.

So I’m writing this for you. But I’m also writing it for me. Because I’m not writing from the other side of this struggle. I’m writing from inside it. And maybe that’s what these chapters were always supposed to be. Not me standing above you telling you how to live. Just me sitting beside you saying, “Brother, I’m struggling too.”

Come Back Anyway

So if you’re numb, come back. If you’ve fallen again, come back. If you’ve knowingly done what you know you shouldn’t, come back. If you don’t even know how to feel anymore, come back. And if all you can manage right now is to whisper, “Ya Allah, I need You,” then start there.

Because maybe the heart isn’t dead. Maybe it’s just been away for too long. And maybe mine has too.

So I’m writing again.

A Duʿāʾ for the Numb Heart

Ya Allah, I don’t know what happened to my heart. I know what is right, yet I still choose what is wrong. I know what You have commanded, yet I still turn away. I know I should feel more, but sometimes I feel nothing at all.

Ya Allah, forgive me. Forgive me for becoming comfortable with what I once begged You to help me leave behind. Forgive me for knowing better and still choosing otherwise. Do not let my heart become comfortable with sin. Do not let my numbness become permanent.

Bring back the fear of displeasing You. Bring back the regret when I fall. Bring back the desire to return to You. And when I don’t have the strength to make a big change, help me take one small step, even if that step is just saying, “Ya Allah, I need You.”

Let that be enough to begin.

Ya Allah, I’m not coming to You because I have everything figured out. I’m coming because I don’t. I’m still struggling. I’m still falling. But I don’t want to stay here.

So bring me back to You. Soften my heart. Forgive me. And please don’t let me become someone who sins without caring that he has sinned.

Amen.