Ramadan always arrives with this deep longing in my heart.
I picture myself fully immersed in the beauty of it, praying with the congregation at the mosque, feeling the quiet stillness of the night as I turn the pages of the Quran, waking up before dawn not just to cook but to truly embrace sahur with reflection and gratitude.
But then reality sets in.
The first morning of Ramadan starts with me stumbling out of bed, rushing to the kitchen before the baby wakes, mentally checking off what’s left in the fridge.
There’s barely time to sit and eat before I’m already cleaning up, nursing the little one, and preparing for the day ahead.
And just like that, the hours slip away – school runs, house chores, deadlines and endless snack requests from the little ones who aren’t fasting, and before I know it, it’s iftar time, and I haven’t even had a moment to breathe.
By the time Maghrib arrives, I watch my family eat with satisfied smiles, and all I can do is sit there, feeling utterly drained.
Where is my Ramadan?
Where is that spiritual renewal, that peace, that connection I had hoped for?
The Silent Worship of Mummies
There was a time when this feeling of Ramadan slipping through my fingers used to weigh heavily on me.
I would hear about others going to the mosque for tarawih, completing the Quran, feeling the full beauty of Ramadan – and all I could do was keep running on autopilot, making sure everyone else got to experience that sense of devotion.
Then I read something that changed my entire perspective – caring for your family is an act of worship too.
It’s not just about the prayers you manage to squeeze in between bedtime routines and meal preps.
It’s about the unseen sacrifices, the love poured into making sure your family is well-fed and the patience it takes to soothe a fussy toddler while running on an empty stomach.
I realised then that worship isn’t just the moments of stillness in prayer – it’s also the movement, the service, the daily sacrifice.
Mothers aren’t just preparing meals but they’re offering sustenance to their families with love.
They’re not just managing tantrums but they’re teaching patience and kindness.
They’re not just ensuring everything runs smoothly but they’re embodying sacrifice, selflessness, and devotion.
The Juggle: Faith, Family, and Everything In Between
Some days, I feel like I never stop moving.
As a working stay-at-home mummy, it feels like my to-do list never ends – except during Ramadan, everything somehow triples in intensity.
There’s the work deadlines, the ones that don’t pause just because I’m fasting.
Work that still needs finishing, and yet, there’s that gnawing lack of coffee exhaustion that makes my brain feel sluggish by mid-afternoon.
There’s the home management, because even though I tell myself Ramadan is a time to simplify, I still find myself stressing about making sure we have enough groceries for the week, making iftar feel ‘special’ for the kids, and balancing the constant cleaning and tidying that comes with little ones in the house.
And then there’s the mothering – the school runs, the non-fasting kids who still expect their three meals and a hundred snacks, the endless reminders to ‘be patient, we’re all hungry’ and the bedtime routines that stretch on for what feels like an eternity.
Somewhere in between, I try to fit in my own worship.
I squeeze in a prayer between emails, try to read even a single verse of the Quran before my eyes blur from exhaustion.
And some nights, when I think I might finally get a moment for tarawih, I hear a child call out for me or I fall into the most exhausted sleep to mankind – and I sigh, knowing that yet again, my plans will have to wait.
Finding Time for Personal Worship
One thing I’ve learnt in this journey is that Ramadan as a mother will never look the way it did before children – but that doesn’t mean it’s any less meaningful.
I may not get to pray at the mosque, but I can still feel the beauty of Ramadan through the warmth of my children’s giggles at iftar.
I may not be able to finish the Quran cover to cover, but I can listen to its recitation while cooking or driving.
I may not get long moments of stillness, but I can whisper istighfar and dua while breastfeeding, while folding clothes, while washing dishes.
This is my Ramadan now.
For the longest time, I thought I was missing out.
That because my acts of worship weren’t visible, weren’t as structured or peaceful as they once were, they weren’t enough.
But I now realise that the hidden worship of mothers are seen – the quiet sacrifices, the moments of patience, the love poured into caring for a family while fasting.
A Mummy’s Ramadan: More Than Just Sacrifice
There are still days where I feel overwhelmed, exhausted, and stretched thin.
Days where I long for just one uninterrupted moment to fully feel Ramadan the way I used to.
But in those moments, I remind myself – this, too, is worship.
Ramadan for mummies isn’t just about fasting and prayer.
It’s about service, love, and devotion in the most unseen of ways.
But that doesn’t mean we should lose ourselves in the process.
This year, I’m reminding myself that I deserve to feel Ramadan too.
That it’s okay to let the kids watch a little extra TV so I can complete my prayer in peace.
That it’s okay to go to the bazaar for iftar meals so I don’t have to start preparing food from 3 p.m. onward.
Because beyond the exhaustion, beyond the endless to-do lists, there is still a woman who deserves to experience the holy month in all its glory.
And this Ramadan, perhaps the greatest act of worship I can do is to make space for myself, too.
Disclaimer: The information provided in this article is for informational purposes only and should not be considered as medical advice from Motherhood. For any health-related concerns, it is advisable to consult with a qualified healthcare professional or medical practitioner.
For more insightful stories and fun recipes, stay tuned to Motherhood Story!