To fast or not to fast, no longer a question

Well… that didn’t take long. It happened.

I woke up in the middle of the night and my body was in severe stress. Systemic stress. Severe inflammation triggered by dehydration. As someone with Crohn’s, I already live in a heightened state of inflammation, and my body requires more care and fluids than most. I tried to be brave this year. I truly believed I could fast… but I couldn’t.

Now, I’m in bed with what can only be described as fever, headache, nausea, stomach pain, and cramping. It’s the kind of exhaustion that makes you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. My whole body is protesting. My head is pounding. My stomach is rebelling. Fatigue hits all at once. It’s overwhelming.

Last year this happened on day three. This year… day one. It’s a sign of just how intense the hidden inflammation in my body really is.

I won’t lie — I’m heartbroken. But I’ve had to accept that my health comes first. And that it doesn’t mean I cannot participate in Ramadan. Fasting is not just abstaining from food and water. Ramadan is about so much more — patience, reflection, discipline, gratitude, prayer, compassion, mindfulness, connection to Allah.

I’ve been reflecting on the fact that our bodies are a trust from Allah (Amanah). They are sacred vessels. We are commanded to nurture, protect, and care for them. When fasting causes my body stress — when it pushes me beyond what it can safely handle — I am not honoring that trust. I’m doing the opposite of what Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala has commanded.

And you know what? That’s okay.

When your body tells you it cannot fast, when it says “I need more care, more gentleness”, that is mercy from Allah. It’s a reminder to practice self-love and self-care. And yes — it’s okay to feel frustrated, even angry, at your own body. I know how soul-destroying it can feel when the very vessel meant to carry you through life becomes the barrier to your worship.

But here’s the truth: this is not defeat. It’s redirection. Allah has reminded me — gently, through my body — that taking care of myself is part of worship. Respecting the limits He has set for me is obedience. Nourishing myself when I am weak is devotion. Caring for my body, my mind, and my spirit is part of my connection to Him.

Some may clutch their pearls, thinking fasting is a simple pillar to uphold. But not everyone can. Nobody raises an eyebrow when someone cannot perform Hajj because of finances — so why judge someone whose body cannot fast without harm? For some of us, fasting can trigger real physical complications. And that is okay.

This Ramadan, my focus is on finding peace, seeking forgiveness, drawing closer to Allah, tracing the Quran, understanding it on a deeper level, and praying Salah five times a day without fail. It’s about embodying Islam — living it fully — not just carrying it as a title or wearing it visibly.

To anyone else feeling defeated because they cannot fast: take a deep breath. You are not failing. This is not defeat. This is redirection. There is so much more to Ramadan than abstaining from food and drink. Your connection with Allah, your prayers, your reflection, your intentions — these are the heart of Ramadan.

Your body is a trust. Honor it. Care for it. Love it. And know that in doing so, you are worshipping too.