I’m not perfect but I’m trying.

in which I talk about my journey so far

I’m not a perfect Muslim. I’m not even sure I’m a good one. It’s only recently that I’ve truly started my journey to become one, even though I’ve been Muslim all 19 years of my life.

I had an incident that made me realise I needed to get serious about my life and my deen before it was too late. I couldn’t keep living the way I was living — something had to change, and fast. I just wish someone had told me how hard and confusing this journey would be.

I used to live life like I had all the time in the world. My mindset was, “Oh, I’ll just repent later.” I still felt guilty for my actions, but I convinced myself that I could do what I wanted now and make up for it over the years. What a dangerous mindset to have.

That one day completely changed my life. Allah truly showed me why certain things have been made haram — not to restrict us, but to protect us. I was faced with the consequences of my own actions. And nine months later, I’m still feeling the ripple effects of that one choice. Oh, how I wish I could go back and never leave my house. I wish I had just said no. But I didn’t. And now there’s no way to push the clock back. There’s no alternate outcome.

That day, I decided I was going to take my life and my deen more seriously. There was no way I could continue on with my old ways. I refuse to die like that and risk my afterlife. But it hasn’t been as easy as I thought it would be.

That day left me with so much anxiety. My life turned upside down. I couldn’t even leave the house for a long time.

Only recently have I started going out by myself again, and it’s been challenging — but Alhamdulillah, I’m managing to push through.

This journey is just beginning, but already I feel lost. I mourn the person I used to be—not because she was perfect, but because she was familiar. Some parts of her held me back, yes, but others grounded me. She carried pieces of me that I still need, even now, as I try to become someone new.

It feels like I’ve had to completely wipe the slate clean, and there’s so many things I miss. Although I know I’m doing this for the sake of Allah, I can’t help but grieve for my old self.

There are many things I miss about the way I was before. I only started wearing the hijab seven months ago, and while I know deep down that it was the right decision for me, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the way I used to look before I covered. Sometimes I catch myself looking at old pictures or catching a glimpse in the mirror before I put it on, and a small part of me aches for the version of me that felt pretty in a different way. It’s not that I don’t love the hijab — I do, and I’m grateful for the strength Allah gave me to wear it — but I’m still learning to see myself through new eyes.

It feels weird having to relearn, to adjust, to transform into a completely different person. I don’t know who I am anymore, and it scares me. I look in the mirror and sometimes don’t recognise the girl staring back. Not just because of the hijab, but because so much inside me has shifted. The way I think, the things I care about, the things I no longer find funny or entertaining — it all feels like a shedding of my old self. And as much as that growth is good, it’s also isolating.

It doesn’t help that I’ve also been dealing with major anxiety throughout this journey. I’ve been isolated, both figuratively and literally. Until last Friday, I hadn’t met up with any of my friends for eight months. I couldn’t leave the house. The anxiety was so overwhelming that I felt like a prisoner in my own mind and body. So many sleepless nights. Missed meals. Days where I could barely look after myself. It’s like I was stuck between who I used to be and who I was trying to become, and in that in-between, I felt completely lost.

I started my journey with fear. Every day, I was terrified that Allah would take me before I had the chance to redeem myself. I couldn’t sleep at night because I was scared the angel of death would come for me in my sleep. I would keep my wudu all day, and I made sure I did wudu before going to bed. If I broke it somehow — even slightly — I’d get up and do it again. Sometimes multiple times.

I know that probably sounds like a good thing, and in some ways it was, it showed how serious I was about changing. But it got to the point where I was obsessed. My fear wasn’t rooted in love or hope; it was just fear. Heavy, constant fear. And no one told me that trying to become better could feel like drowning sometimes, even when you’re doing “the right things.”

The anxiety brought along obsessive tendencies. My mind started creating patterns, convincing me that if I did, or didn’t do, certain things, I would somehow trigger the events that would lead to my death. It sounds irrational when I try to explain it, but it felt so real.

I’ve also been dealing with derealisation, which only made everything worse. At times, I felt like I wasn’t even in my own body. Like nothing around me was real. It became hard to eat — not just because of stress, but because I truly believed that eating might somehow cause my death. I went days without food.

Certain objects couldn’t be in the “wrong” place. If they were, I’d have to set them right or hide them completely just to feel safe again. I bought myself an electric toothbrush and only used it once — because my mind told me something bad would happen if I used it again.

My family didn’t understand. They thought I was overreacting. But I wasn’t trying to be dramatic. I was just trying to survive.

Alhamdulillah, it got better. Slowly. The thoughts still come up sometimes — they haven’t completely gone away — but they don’t control me the way they used to. And the biggest change of all? My journey is no longer just about fear. It’s become more about trusting Allah.

There are days when I feel strong, when I’m doing so much to improve and grow and get closer to Him. And there are other days when I can barely get through the basics, and that doesn’t make me any less of a Muslim. I’m learning that Allah sees effort, not perfection. That mercy is always greater than fear. That some days, surviving is an act of worship too.

A few weeks ago, I posted that I didn’t know who I was anymore. A wise person reminded me that not knowing is actually a beautiful place to begin — a blank page to write the story of who I want to become. And now, I feel like I’m slowly becoming that person. The journey is only just beginning, but for the first time in a while, I’m starting to feel hope. I’m beginning to piece together a vision of who I want Halima to be. I just pray that this plan is right for me, and that my Lord is guiding every step of the way.

This whole journey has taught me that you’re never going to be a perfect Muslim — or a perfect person. And that’s okay. What matters most is striving. Trying. Improving. Doing your best, even if your best looks different each day. Don’t compare yourself to others. Compare yourself to who you were yesterday, last month, or last year. Aim to be the best version of you. That’s more than enough.

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thank you for reading the tides between 🌊 ! I wrote this to show that the journey to becoming a better muslim or a better person is not easy, nor is it linear. it takes time, patience and compassion. as long as you try to do your best, that is enough. this newsletter is currently free however please consider subscribing or buying me a bubble tea 🫶🏻 your support allows me to continue writing and i would really appreciate it. even the smallest contribution helps!