From Jealousy to Gratitude

For years, I was at war — not with the world, but with my own heart.

On the outside, I lived a quiet life. I greeted others with a smile, said “MashaAllah” when someone shared good news, and nodded during reminders about being thankful. But inside, I was burning with silent jealousy — not because I hated others, but because I couldn't understand why their lives were moving forward while mine remained still.

I didn’t envy wealth or fame. What hurt was watching people around me receive the very things I made dua for — a peaceful marriage, stable income, health, ease, barakah. My best friend got married to someone she loved. My cousin received a scholarship abroad. My neighbor opened her second business.

And me?

I felt left behind, like I was in a room full of doors — each one opening for someone else while I sat quietly, waiting for mine to unlock. Every unanswered dua felt like a rejection. Every scroll through social media reminded me of how much I didn't have.

I tried to stay silent. I didn’t want to be ungrateful. But my heart grew heavy. Sometimes I would cry after making dua, not because I had no hope — but because I feared Allah was displeased with me. That perhaps, I wasn’t worthy of His favors.

Then, one day, something small — yet powerful — changed everything.

At a family gathering, my young niece came running to me with a wide smile. She handed me a poorly drawn flower on a crumpled piece of paper and said, “I made this for you, Khala!”

It was uneven, childlike, and simple — but it was hers, and it was from love.

I smiled, hugged her tightly, and thanked her again and again. Her eyes lit up, and she skipped away happily.

That night, I sat alone thinking: I accepted her small gift with so much joy — not because it was perfect, but because of the love behind it.

And then it struck me —
What if Allah accepts our duas the same way?
Not because they are eloquent or perfectly timed, but because they come from sincerity.

And just like I didn’t compare her flower to professional art, maybe Allah doesn’t compare our journey to someone else’s.

That single moment opened my heart.

That night, I prayed two rak’ahs of Salat-ul-Tawbah, with real tears. I asked Allah to cleanse my heart from the jealousy that was eating away at my peace. I made dua for my friends’ happiness. I thanked Allah for things I had been ignoring — clean water, a roof, a healthy body, the ability to pray.

I started keeping a small gratitude notebook. Every night before bed, I wrote five things I was thankful for — even if they seemed small:

My mother’s warm chai.
The fact that I could walk without pain.
A quiet, undisturbed fajr.
A friend who checked in.
The sweetness of a ripe mango.

At first, it felt like I was just going through the motions. But within a week, I noticed something: my heart was lighter. The tightness in my chest, that invisible burden, started to lift. I was beginning to see beauty even in stillness.

Jealousy had narrowed my vision, but gratitude widened it.

And then something else happened — Allah opened a door.

I was offered a small opportunity to work from home doing something I loved — nothing glamorous, but enough to bring peace and purpose. I realized it wasn’t just a job — it was an answer. Not to what I had asked, but to how I had changed.

It wasn’t that shukr brought me success — it brought me sukoon.

And in that sukoon, I found the strength to do more, to try harder, to love deeper, and to trust fully.

🌿 What I Learned

Jealousy is like a shadow. You may not see it clearly, but it follows you, weighs on you, and makes even blessings look dull.

Shukr is like light. It doesn't just brighten your path — it shows you that the path itself is a gift.

The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said:

> “Look at those below you, and do not look at those above you, for this is more likely to keep you from belittling the blessings Allah has bestowed upon you.”
(Sahih Muslim)


And in the Qur’an, Allah promises:

> "If you are grateful, I will surely increase you."
(Surah Ibrahim 14:7)


I had spent so much time asking why them, that I forgot to say Alhamdulillah for me. But Allah, in His mercy, didn’t punish me for that. He guided me through it — softly, gently, beautifully.

Today, I still make dua for things I desire — but I no longer carry jealousy in my hands. I carry trust. I no longer compete silently in my heart. I rest in the belief that whatever is meant for me will come — in Allah’s time, not mine.

And until then, I will say:
Alhamdulillah. Always.