Last night I was told not to sleep on either side because both my upper left and right teeth had been extracted. So the only “approved position” was on my back. Interestingly, I can sleep on my back. Comfortably. Usually.
But last night? My brain suddenly developed an attachment to both sides. Left and right became like a forbidden fruit and therefore irresistible.
That’s when it hit me.
Temptation doesn’t become powerful because it is good.
It becomes powerful because it is restricted due to boundaries.
We often imagine temptation as some external monster attacking us. Frequently our own nafs rebelling against boundaries, yes against the same very boundaries that are designed for our healing, for precautions, and for our protection.
We know certain things are harmful.
We know they delay recovery.
We know they reopen wounds.
We know they are dangerous.
Yet the moment a boundary is placed, something inside us whispers otherwise.
Resistance means learning to trust the wisdom of restraint, even when our nafs throws a tantrum.
…And perhaps one of the quietest blessings in this recovery mode was being forced into mute mode, eating softly, moving slower. Not being able to talk freely wasn’t just an inconvenience.
It became a pause button.
A rare chance to sit with thoughts.
To listen inward.
To reflect before reacting.
To realize that even smiling without having pain is a blessing,
To be grateful for the blessings around us, family, friends, and even the simple mercy of swallowing a sip of clean water without pain.
It is good to pause, retreat into your quiet cave, and be still.
Sometimes silence is not absence.
It is alignment.
It is recalibration.
It is mercy disguised as restriction.
Healing doesn’t just mend tissue.
It rearranges perspective.
…And in the middle of all this, another thought humbled me.
I was numbed with proper anesthesia.
Sterile room.
Clean instruments.
Painkillers waiting.
Still, I was highly uncomfortable.
And then I remembered our brothers and sisters in Gaza, Sudan, and so many other oppressed lands, enduring surgeries without anesthesia, without proper equipment, without any certainty they will even survive the night. No post-operative care. No pain relief. Often not even family left to look after them, because their families are either already suffering… or gone from this dunya.
Their wounds are not metaphors.
Their pain is not temporary.
Their patience is not theoretical.
My discomfort was mild.
Their endurance is monumental.
It put things into sharp perspective.
Sometimes what we call “hard” is simply “unfamiliar comfort.”
And sometimes what we call “patience” is only a fraction of what true sabr actually looks like. May Allah Al-A’dl bless them with justice and peace.
And enable us to use our privileges responsibly, for they will be our accountabilities.
Ameen ya Al-Mujeeb.