I am struggling to find the balance between adopting technology that causes ease versus what breeds dependence. Our reliance on natural means of life is diminishing at an accelerated rate, making our bodies and minds weaker, easing the path to relying on paths laid out for us by other flawed human beings and dulling our ability to distinguish between the rights and the wrongs of this world.

Allah did not ask us to abstain from using technology but the ease that it comes with is precisely what He warned us against. Comfort creates delusions of world order. Seemingly, there is one. Study leads to work leads to money leads to financing the education of your children who then join the constantly spinning hamster’s wheel. These are the equations for success that today’s societal order has prescribed. An easy, comfortable path that allows you to spend your years with little to concern you beyond remaining on course until the journey reaches its inevitable end.

This recognition of comfort’s dangers shaped how I approached my own life from an early age. Ease and comfort distract us from our true purpose: the worship of Allah. Waking up in the darkness before dawn to pray tahajjud is very uncomfortable, especially during cold winter nights. Yet the barakah it brings into our lives is unparalleled. Reciting Quran when you could mind-numblingly consume Netflix content requires genuine discipline. But the discipline indicates that you are making deliberate choices rather than drifting with the herd.

I have made such choices over the years that surprise me today. I was never keen on following the latest trends. I wore what I wanted and lived on my own terms, even during my formative years. I was overweight but , but conforming to the mold society had cast for young girls was never my priority. I grew up tomboyish and indifferent to cosmetics. I knew that I didn’t care what people thought of me in terms of fitting in. My siblings and I were taught very early on to rely on our intellect rather than superficial means. For that, I am thankful to my parents. However, what I didn’t realize at that age and am grateful for beyond words today is that Allah chose for me to be this way. One truth that never left my side, even in my darkest times, was that Allah truly loves me. I saw girls struggling with the distractions of this world. Hijab was difficult because certain hairdstyles made them look attractive in the eyes of society. Simplicity was difficult because the beauty industry had captured them. Perhaps their reward for adhering to Allah’s will be far greater than mine, as I was not tested in these ways. Nonetheless, I am thankful these were never my trials because I have seen many who want to break free but cannot.

It is perhaps a dua that one of my predecessors did for their offspring that Allah has illuminated His path for me and allowed the rest to become background noise. I am far from perfect and I make mistakes, but Allah has always guided me back to the truth. Allah didn’t make vanity a trial for me, He allowed me to pray five times regularly in my teens, and the allure of music never truly penetrated my heart. For these blessings, I can never thank Allah enough—especially today, as I see others struggling to exit these whirlpools.

Yet even with these spiritual protections, I was not immune to the pressures of the modern world; I remain the product of contemporary education. An education that insisted I needed certain grades. One that conditioned me to pursue a conventional career to be considered a productive member of society, one who would do just to the years invested in that system and to the considerable resources my parents expended on my behalf. I struggled when I had children. I knew that it was my job to raise them well, and to ground them in the deen, and that this required my presence more than anything else. This would consume ten to twelve years of my life easily, until the children had acquired a solid foundation and achieved independence. It also meant relinquishing any prospects of success in a conventional career.

Watching others ascend to the pinnacles of their careers, travelling extensively in pursuit of temporal jobs, inevitably pushed me into cycles of self pity. I knew that given infinite chances to live my life again, I would still choose raising my children over a career—yet this certainty did not grant me peace of mind. Perhaps the early years of motherhood are particularly difficult. The deprivation of sleep and the absence of a disciplined routine—both essential to my ability to thrive—had been taken from me. I was unable to read for pleasure. I had to quit a religious course I had pursued for years due to two children who never slept longer than twenty minutes at a time during their infancy. It left me hollow on the inside.

In the depths of that hollowness, I could not have imagined what Allah had planned. He truly knows our heart’s desires, even the ones we ourselves have yet to recognize. And He also opens up doors and paths in unimaginable ways, that seem to unfold naturally when the time is right. He guided me back to reading, to writing, and to editing—to what I have always loved most deeply. He further illuminated my path through an editing degree. I had always read and enjoyed conventional speculative fiction and that is where I began writing. But then He set in motion the mechanisms that would lead my dua to transform into something more profound. “Oh Allah, allow me to use my pen and my humble skills to contribute to this beautiful deen. Oh Allah, employ me and do not replace me!”

Today He has opened doors that I never thought possible. But whether I achieve publication or not, whether I attain worldly success or not, whether my societal contributions create widespread impact or not, I am at peace with the decisions I have made and with the path Allah chose for me. And I believe with deepening certainty that He will continue to guide both me and my offspring. Because the unalterable truth that matters most is that He loves me!