The Spiritual Wound That Held Me Back From Creating This Blog

For the past 4 years, I have been thinking about having a blog.

If you have followed me for some time, you may remember how I used to share long reflections through Instagram stories. Even then, I felt limited. There were deeper realizations I wanted to write—insights that required more space, more stillness—something that was challenging to exist within the pace of social media.

In theory, creating a blog did not seem difficult.

There are countless ways today to build a website and begin writing. My mind understood this clearly. It seemed simple.

And yet, something was blocking me from even finding out how to start.

I kept putting it off.

Until about a year and a half ago, when I decided to take it more seriously and actually do something about it.

I explored different platforms, but nothing felt right. Everything felt heavy. Complicated. I wasn’t enjoying the process, and I couldn’t understand why.

I kept asking Allah:

Why is this so difficult for me?

Because from a mental perspective, it was not difficult at all.

But internally, something was resisting.

There was a wound I did not yet understand.

A subtle blockage that was interrupting the natural flow of creativity and ease.

So I began asking Allah, sincerely, to show me what was behind it.

And slowly, over time, He answered.

Not all at once—but in pieces. It was given to me according to my readiness, and the timing of what we come to understand rests entirely in Allah’s wisdom.

Through tafakkur.
Through duaa.
Through moments of clarity that would come and go.

As someone who also works with energy and emotional awareness, I began paying close attention to how I felt whenever I thought about creating this blog.

And it was not ease.
It was tension. Resistance. Heaviness.

Emotions are messengers.

And if we are willing to listen, they often reveal what the mind cannot yet see.

Over those 4 years, I had accumulated hundreds of drafts.

Reflections. Insights. Moments of understanding. Pieces of something I knew I was meant to share.

And yet, they remained where they began—saved in emails, notes, and notebooks.

At some point, I asked myself a different question:

What pattern can I identify in this experience that keeps repeating for me?

The answer came clearly:
Perfectionism.

I would spend hours adjusting colors, changing fonts, rewriting sentences—only to arrive at the same conclusion:

This is not good enough.
I can’t publish this.

And this pattern repeated.

Again and again.
For years.

But I had normalized it, because for my unconscious mind, it was normal to be this hard on myself. Afterall, I was raised hearing this voice telling me that what I was doing was never enough.

I continued asking Allah to show me what was behind this pattern—so I could understand it, and move through it.

And He responded.

Through dreams.
Through moments of insight.
Through words I would read, conversations I would have, through people I would observe flowing in trust, not in perfectionism, and realizations that would unfold gradually.

It was a process of being emptied—of beliefs I had carried for years without questioning.

Until a few days ago.

I was, once again, sitting and thinking about the blog when I heard something within me say:

“There are easier ways. It doesn’t have to be difficult.”

And those words brought me to tears. 😭

Because they did not just speak to the blog.

They revealed something much deeper.

I had grown up with the belief that life is difficult.

That everything requires struggle.

And without realizing it, I had been recreating that belief in everything I approached.

Including this.

This time, it clicked. I realized I was trying to navigate a platform with too many options—something that, with my perfectionist tendencies, would freeze me and require me to upskill technically, when all I truly wanted was to write.

I used to see technical upskilling as a challenge to take on, until I felt Allah guiding me: not everything needs to be a challenge. Choose what is easier, and what keeps your fire alive.

It was not that building a blog was difficult.
It was that I believed it had to be.

And this is a GREAT lesson for me, and I hope for you as well. Allah does not want to burden us!

Where have we learned that in order to earn His love and pleasure we need to feel burdened?

Quran 4:28

يُرِيدُ ٱللَّهُ أَن يُخَفِّفَ عَنكُمْ ۚ وَخُلِقَ ٱلْإِنسَـٰنُ ضَعِيفًۭا ٢٨

And it is Allah’s Will to lighten your burdens, for humankind was created weak.

And so, I became aware that I was choosing complexity. I was choosing struggle. I was choosing resistance—without even realizing it.

I used to believe I had simply been given a life of struggle, and perhaps that was true up to a certain point. But then Allah asks us to become conscious of the beliefs we have inherited, and to choose what aligns with Islam—not necessarily with the perceptions of those around us.

This blog, for me, became an exercise of trust in Allah.

Trusting the process of unfolding patience.
Trusting that frustration has messages for us.
Trusting that what is done with sincerity does not need to be perfect.

And so, this is a beginning.

Not a perfect one, but a real one.

Of course, the voice of perfectionism still comes—even now. As I commit to making this blog public, the voice that has lived with me for years whispers: Are you sure? It’s not perfect. You could improve it. You could say it better.

Before, I was ruled by that voice. As a child, every time I was made to feel that I was not enough, the pain was unbearable—and unless we face it, that pain follows us into adulthood.

Alhamdulillah, I asked Allah to heal that wound, and I now feel my trust expand enough to respond to that voice and say: Allah is not asking me for perfection—He is asking me to act with trust in Him.

The goal is not to reach many people.

It is already a gift that Allah has allowed these words to exist beyond my private notes.

And I trust that whoever is meant to find this… will.