The Day I Stopped Pretending I Was Fine

I was the kind of person who smiled a lot. At work, in family gatherings, even on the street when I bumped into neighbors — I always had a polite grin and the words “Alhamdulillah, everything’s good.”

But that was far from the truth.

Inside, something was breaking slowly. I couldn’t name it at first — was it sadness? Fear? Exhaustion? Whatever it was, it made my chest heavy, especially at night when the world grew quiet. I’d lie in bed scrolling my phone, trying to distract myself from my thoughts. But they always came back, louder, meaner.

“You’re not doing enough.” “You’re a disappointment.” “You’re pretending to be someone you’re not.”

I kept pushing through. I thought this was what strength looked like — keeping it together, not burdening anyone. I was scared of looking weak. I thought maybe this was a phase, maybe I just needed better sleep, or maybe I was just being ungrateful. So I forced smiles and answered “Alhamdulillah” every time someone asked how I was.

But I wasn’t okay.

One evening, after a particularly stressful day at work, I walked home in silence. I skipped dinner. I didn’t respond to messages. I simply sat in my room, staring at the floor. A strange numbness wrapped around me. It felt like I was drowning in a room full of air.

When the call for Maghrib echoed from the nearby masjid, I didn’t feel like getting up. But something inside me, some remaining thread of discipline or hope, pulled me to the prayer mat.

I stood there, raising my hands to say “Allahu Akbar.” The words trembled. My heart raced. I bowed. I went into sujood — and I stayed there longer than I ever had before.

My forehead pressed into the ground. My lips moved, but the words barely came out. Finally, in a whisper only Allah could hear, I said:

“Ya Allah, I can’t do this alone anymore.”

That was the moment everything changed.

I didn’t suddenly become healed or happy. But I felt something shift. Maybe because, for the first time, I was honest — not with people, but with my Creator.

That night, I opened the Quran randomly and my eyes landed on:

> “Did He not find you lost and guide you?” — Surah Duha (93:7)



I read the full Surah slowly:

> “By the morning brightness…”



> “And by the night when it covers with darkness…”



> “Your Lord has not forsaken you…”



Those words wrapped around me like a warm blanket. It felt as if Allah Himself was speaking to me.

The next morning, I did something I’d never done before. I wrote down how I felt. Just a few lines in a notebook:

“I don’t hate life. I just don’t know how to carry it anymore.”

I started journaling every day. It wasn’t poetic or organized. Just raw, messy thoughts. Somehow, writing them made me feel less overwhelmed.

Later that week, I spoke to a close friend — someone I trusted, someone who wouldn’t judge. I told him how I’d been feeling. He didn’t try to fix me. He just listened. And that alone made a difference.

I began reading Surah Duha every morning. I treated it like a personal message from Allah. I stopped pretending everything was fine. I started being kinder to myself.

I also learned that our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ faced days of deep sorrow. He lost loved ones. He cried. He felt alone. Yet he turned to Allah every single time.

Islam does not shame emotion — it gives us ways to guide it. Duas, patience, prayer, community, dhikr, rest. And yes, even seeking professional help when needed. The Prophet ﷺ said: “Seek treatment, for Allah has not made a disease without appointing a remedy for it.” (Abu Dawood)

I’m not writing this to say I’ve conquered anxiety or sadness. I still have hard days. But I’ve stopped pretending. I’ve stopped hiding behind fake smiles. And I’ve realized that asking for help — from Allah and from people — is not weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s trust. It’s tawakkul.


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🌱 Moral Reflection:

There are battles that happen within the heart — silent, invisible, and exhausting. Many of us walk around wearing masks, saying “I’m fine,” when inside, we’re crumbling.

But strength isn’t about staying silent. Strength is in seeking help. It’s in turning to Allah when your chest feels tight. It’s in making sujood and letting the tears fall. It’s in sharing your struggle with someone who can listen without judgment.

Islam encourages healing — emotional, physical, and spiritual. If you're struggling, remember: your pain is not ignored by your Lord. Every tear you shed, every silent prayer, every sleepless night — Allah knows. And He is closer to you than your own thoughts.

The day I stopped pretending was the day I started healing.

You can too.