08/06/2026
Bismillāh ir-Raḥmān ir-Raḥīm 🌙
No one really talks about what it feels like to be in your late 30s or early 40s and suddenly not understand what is happening to your own body.
One day, you are active. Present. Involved. Running errands, taking care of kids, showing up for your family, trying to build something meaningful, trying to be the kind of mother, wife, daughter, Muslim, and woman you want to be.
And then suddenly, your body starts saying no.
Not a cute little “maybe slow down” no. A full-body, lights-out, sit-down-before-I-make-you no. And that is where I have been lately.
I have been dealing with chronic health issues for a while now, but one of the biggest things affecting me has been anemia and extremely low ferritin, which is the stored iron your body depends on. And when that number gets too low, it is not just “being tired.”
It is your body struggling to function.
It is walking across the room and feeling like you ran a marathon. It is wanting to be present with your kids but barely having the energy to sit upright. It is brain fog, weakness, dizziness, migraines, emotional overwhelm, and this deep exhaustion that sleep does not fix.
And after a while, your body stops negotiating.
It says: enough.
You have pushed too hard for too long. You have carried too much. You have fought through pain, stress, trauma, motherhood, appointments, responsibilities, and survival mode like you were made of steel.
But even steel bends under enough pressure.
So yes, for lack of a better word, I have been pretty much couch-bound/bedridden at times. Not because I am lazy. Not because I stopped caring. Not because I do not want to write, teach, post, or finish what I started.
But because my body is tired.
And I am finally trying to listen before it screams louder.
The hard part is that getting better is expensive. Especially here in the United States, where healing often comes with invoices, prescription costs, specialists, insurance nonsense, lab work, copays, supplements, infusions, appointments, gas money, and time you do not always have.
Some people can afford to keep chasing answers.
Some people cannot.
Some people get the medicine, the specialist, the treatment plan, and the support. Some people are left trying to piece together their health between grocery budgets and overdue bills.
And that reality is heavy.
I wish I could snap my fingers and not have iron deficiency anymore. I wish I could make my body absorb what it needs, store what it needs, and function the way I need it to. But that is not the body I was given. This has been part of my life for a long time, and it may always be something I have to manage.
So I am trying to stop treating my body like an enemy.
I am trying to stop shaming myself for needing rest. I am trying to remember that even healing can be ʿibādah (worship) when it is done with intention.
Rest can be obedience when your body is an amānah (trust) from Allah. Taking medicine can be tawakkul (trust in Allah), because trusting Allah does not mean pretending we do not need treatment. It means using the means He provides while knowing the healing still belongs to Him.
So, to anyone who has been waiting for posts, the Karbala series, Arbaʿīn reflections, revert content, or anything else from me: I am sorry I have been quiet.
I am still here.
I am still writing.
I am still learning.
I am still returning.
In shāʾ Allah, I will finish the Karbala series. We will talk about Arbaʿīn. We will keep building this space for reverts, neurodivergent Muslims, mothers, truth-seekers, and anyone trying to find their way back to Allah without pretending they have it all figured out.
Just stick with me.
I promise, in shāʾ Allah, it is worth it.
For now, I am letting my body heal, letting Allah teach me through the stillness, and reminding myself that needing rest does not mean I have failed.
Sometimes the body gives out because it is not abandoning you.
It is trying to bring you back to yourself.
And maybe, back to Allah too.
With endless duʿāʾ and gratitude,
RebekahAnn 🌿
The NeuroSpicy Revert 🌙
