I AM AT that stage of life where time feels scarce, and Ramadhan no longer looks the way it once did.
Gone are the days when I could stay up all night in Ramadhan, immersed in recitation, reflection, and worship, doing all the things well-meaning speakers often encourage us to do to make our Ramadhan “great.”
What changed?
Responsibility.
My time is now shared between many competing responsibilities: work, dawah, my spouse, my children (including a very active toddler), my elderly parents, and even my own health. Physically, I can no longer do what I once could. The hours I used to freely give to acts of worship now have to be carefully divided.
So when Ramadhan arrives, should I feel guilty that I can no longer do as much as before?
No.
What I have come to realise is that with increased responsibility, Ramadhan is no longer about quantity. It is about quality, and about recognising that responsibility itself is an amanah. When fulfilled with the right intention, it too becomes ibadah.
As an example, earlier in my life, I could spend hours reciting, memorising, and pondering over the Qur’an whenever I wished. Today, that time must be shared. I still have my own relationship with the Qur’an to nurture, but I also carry the responsibility of developing an attachment to the Qur’an in my children. There may be fewer uninterrupted hours, but there are richer experiences and greater opportunities for reward.
Can we really say the reward is any less?
Allah is All-Aware. He knows our circumstances, our intentions, and our limitations. And He is Al-Karīm, the Most Generous. He rewards effort according to capacity, and sincerity according to what is carried in the heart.
Rather than worrying about meeting others’ expectations of what a “perfect” Ramadhan should look like, I choose to focus on doing the best I can with what Allah has entrusted to me this year.
I tend to think visually, so I often map things out. When I think about Ramadhan, the list is long: fasting, prayer, du‘ā’, tawbah, Qur’an, suḥūr and ifṭār, charity and zakāh, dawah, Jumu‘ah khutbas, reconnecting with family, community activities and connecting to the Ummah, and celebrating ‘Eid. Alongside all of that are work commitments and the mundane necessities of daily life, the school run, paying bills, and everything in between.
But Ramadhan is not about doing everything. It is about bringing quality to whatever we do. And what builds that quality? Mindfulness. Purpose. Intention. Infusing our actions with gratitude, patience, and compassion.
Every action in Ramadhan, no matter how small or ordinary, can be elevated when approached in this way.
Take suḥūr and ifṭār, for example. We often think of them only in terms of eating. But what if we approached them mindfully, considering health and nourishment as part of caring for the body Allah has entrusted to us? What if we were intentional about following the sunnah, eating less so that less becomes more? Would that not strengthen us in our fasts and enable us to stand more fully in worship at night?
And what if we added gratitude to those moments, recognising the blessing of food, family, and provision? If we extended patience and compassion to those we share the table with, would that not multiply the benefit? In this way, even eating becomes an act of worship.
Ramadhan is almost upon us. The shayāṭīn will be restrained, and rewards will be multiplied. But this blessed month is not about becoming who we once were. It is about turning to Allah as we are now.
May Allah accept every sincere intention, every small effort, and every act carried out under the weight of responsibility. May He place barakah in our time and grant us closeness to Him in whatever form our worship takes this Ramadhan.
Āmīn.
