a love letter to the girl i used to be
from imaan, age 20: reflections on the forty rules of love (part three)
sometimes, i think pain is the only thing honest enough to reach us when nothing else can. it arrives out of nowhere and it rearranges everything you thought you knew about life. everything you were once comfortable with. but looking back, it’s only ever been through these moments that i got closest to myself. and even closer to Allah.
it’s okay to grieve when you realise how much you’ve outgrown. not just people or places, but mindsets. old versions of yourself. ways you used to love. ways you used to settle. ways you used to abandon your own softness in the name of survival. i’ve started to grieve the parts of me i held onto out of fear: the control, the overthinking, the need to be chosen. and slowly, i’m learning that maybe losing those parts isn’t a loss at all.
maybe it's a homecoming.
because somewhere in the middle of all this unlearning, i’ve realised a multitude of things. i’ve realised that i don’t want to be hard anymore, regardless of how many times shaytaan tries to make me so. that i don’t want to carry what isn’t mine, what never will be mine. that i want to be loved without having to earn it. and most importantly, that i want to feel close to Allah even when i don’t feel close to myself.
and that’s what this season of life has been teaching me. i’ve learnt to choose the unseen over the urgent. depth over performance. i’ve learnt to choose truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. especially then.
so yes, i’m still figuring it out. i don’t have all the answers. i doubt i ever will.
i’m still praying. still peeling back the layers. but if there’s one thing i’m sure of, it’s this:
healing doesn’t always look like becoming someone new. sometimes, it looks like finally returning to the woman you were always meant to be. the one that Allah never stopped seeing, even when you did.
this is just a fragment of the thoughts that came to mind whilst reflecting on rules 11–15. i only ever look at the rules when it’s time to write about them, to keep the reflections as raw and authentic as possible. and honestly, these rules felt like direct comfort from Allah SWT. they spoke to me more deeply than any of the others have before.
in saying that, i’d like to think of this part of the series as a warm hug from me to me. and if you happen to find solace in these words too, then alhamdulillah. even better.
bismillah…
rule 11: “the quest for love changes the seeker. there is no seeker among those who search for love who has not matured on the way. the moment you start looking for love, you start to change within and without.”
this one hit me harder than i thought it would. maybe because i used to believe that love was something you stumbled into, not something that shaped you from the inside out. but the truth is, the very moment i started looking for love—really looking for it, not in a needy way, but in a way that hoped to be chosen, seen, understood—i unknowingly began a process of internal growth.
nobody tells you that searching for love will strip you raw. that it’s not all soft violins and butterflies in your stomach. sometimes, love finds you as you are and gently nudges you to grow, and other times, it shakes your entire identity loose. i used to think i knew what love was. i thought love was about finding someone who made your heart race, who saw your soul and still chose to stay. and yes, love can be that. but real love, the kind worth seeking, is also a mirror. it holds your deepest fears and unhealed wounds up to your face. it calls you out. it transforms you.
i don’t want to talk directly about him—the one who taught me this rule by just being in my life for a while. but i will say this: i was never the same after i met him. and i don’t mean that in the way we romanticise people who leave. i mean that in the sense that i had to meet him to meet me.
the process of loving someone, or even attempting to love them, forced me to look at my inner world. my wounds. my expectations. my fear of abandonment. my desire to be enough. it forced me to reflect on the places in myself i hadn’t yet nurtured. the love didn’t last, but the growth did.
and that’s the point, isn’t it? love, when approached with sincerity, is never wasted. because whether it leads to forever or not, it matures you. it deepens your understanding of your own heart. it introduces you to the versions of yourself that you didn’t know you were becoming. the seeker is never the same once they start the search.
when i reflect on the love i lost—the one i thought was going to be my forever—it’s painful. but it’s also humbling. i realise now that what i was really chasing wasn’t just a person. i was chasing the idea of being seen. being chosen. and that quest broke me open in ways i never expected. i grew in that heartbreak. the silence between us taught me more than the words ever did. the ache made space for healing. and somewhere along the way, i found myself becoming softer, more introspective, more aligned with Allah.
the person i was before i loved and lost is gone. she had walls. she had expectations. she was scared. now? now i’m still scared, but i have faith that every version of me that breaks is only making room for a version closer to who Allah wants me to become. that’s the thing about love, it refines you. it’s less about the other person and more about the evolution it calls forth in you. real love demands that you become. and i’m becoming.
and if i ever love again, i want to love from this new version of myself. the one who knows that even the ache has purpose.
rule 12: “there are more fake gurus and false teachers in this world than the number of stars in the visible universe. don’t confuse power-driven, self-centered people with true mentors. a genuine spiritual master will not direct your attention to himself or herself and will not expect absolute obedience or utter admiration from you, but instead will help you to appreciate and admire your inner self. true mentors are as transparent as glass. they let the light of God pass through them.”
this one made me want to sigh out loud. social media has turned spiritual seeking into an aesthetic. everyone’s a coach now. everyone’s an influencer. everyone’s got the blueprint to healing, to love, to success, and all you have to do is follow their 3 step plan or pay £19.99 for their webinar. it’s exhausting. and disorienting. because when you’re searching for answers, you’re vulnerable. and vulnerability in a capitalist society is a goldmine.
so many of us, especially women, are craving guidance, healing, sisterhood, purpose—and instead, we’re sold hustle culture disguised as empowerment. that’s what inspired my newsletter the ‘it girl’ epidemic. because what even is an “it girl”? is it someone who’s healed? or just someone who looks healed? there’s a difference. a big one. the sad reality is, too many of these influencers position themselves as mentors, as beacons of light, when really they’re just mirrors for their own egos. they don’t want to lead you back to yourself or to God. they want you to orbit them. their lifestyle. their brand. their version of truth.
and in the process of following these people, we’ve forgotten how to simply be. we follow people who offer aesthetic affirmations but leave us emptier than before. we confuse curated confidence for self-worth, and spiritual language for spiritual integrity. we’re constantly consuming advice from strangers who are no more rooted than we are. just louder, just better at branding. they speak in buzzwords and algorithms, not from sincerity. and often, not from lived experience.
it’s scary how easy it is to be deceived when you’re looking for healing. when your heart is tired, when you’re desperate for hope, you start clinging to anyone who speaks online with aesthetic thumbnails and pretty fonts. but real guidance will humble you. it won’t demand your likes or praise, instead it will demand your reflection. it will make you still. it will make you wonder about your own connection to Allah. it will point you inward, not outward.
what i’ve learned is that a real teacher doesn’t seek followers. a real guide doesn’t need a spotlight. instead, they speak, and their words shift something in you, not because they’re viral, but because they’re anchored in sincerity. transparency. tawakkul. presence. and that’s who i aspire to be, too—not someone with all the answers, but someone who reminds others to return to their own. to return to Allah. and maybe we can stop chasing the light in others, and start uncovering the nur already within.
so, learn to trust your own fitrah. your own soul knows what is real. the light of Allah doesn’t need filters. and the people who carry it don’t manufacture influence, they embody truth. they don’t sell healing. they live it. you can see it in their actions and in their humility. and that is the kind of light we should seek.
rule 13: “try not to resist the changes which come your way. instead let life live through you. and do not worry that your life is turning upside down. how do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?”
this one is personal. so personal that i want to cry a little just reading it.
because i resisted change with every cell in my body. i held on so tightly to what was, to who i thought i needed to be, to who i thought i was losing. i feared change the way some people fear death, because it felt like a death. i clung to the way things were—the comfort of what i knew, even if it was hurting me. i think most of us do that. we convince ourselves that staying where we are is safer than trusting the unknown.
but here’s the thing: sometimes, something in you has to die so something else can be born.
i look back now and laugh. because if Allah had given me what i wanted, exactly when i wanted it, i would’ve missed out on so much goodness. i didn’t know back then that when my health deteriorated, my long-term friendships ended, the man who i thought was my forever left me… all of it was protection. all of it was a redirection. my life didn’t fall apart. it fell into place, just not the place i expected. and i’m finally learning to surrender to that. to let life unfold. to trust that Allah sees the full picture even when i only see a corner.
one of the hardest lessons i’ve had to learn is that not getting what you want is sometimes the greatest blessing. i used to pray for specific outcomes, now i just pray for what’s best, even if i don’t understand it yet. there’s so much freedom in that shift. in realising that change isn’t your enemy. it’s your best friend.
i’m still learning, still shifting. but i’ve seen too many full circle moments not to believe in Allah’s timing. i’ve watched the pieces rearrange themselves after seasons of confusion. and now, i handle situations with much more grace. i breathe deeper. i try to let life live through me.
i’ve learnt that things falling apart are often things falling into place. that Allah is always rearranging my life to align me with something greater. that the version of me who cried for months on end and begged for things to stay the same would barely recognise the woman i’m becoming now.
and she would be proud. not because i have it all together. but because i finally understand that i don’t need to.
and when shams said "do not worry that your life is turning upside down." subhanallah, it felt like that line was written for me. because everything did turn upside down. and now, i see that maybe i was standing on the wrong side all along. maybe what felt like an ending was actually a divine reorientation.
and when things feel uncertain, i remind myself: Allah plans, and we plan, and He is the best of planners. i know this verse by heart now. i repeat it like a lifeline. because when things don’t go according to my script, i remember that His script is better. wiser. full of mercy. i’m not saying it’s easy. but i am saying it’s worth it.
rule 14: “God is busy with the completion of your work, both outwardly and inwardly. He is fully occupied with you. every human being is a work in progress that is slowly but inexorably moving toward perfection. we are each an unfinished work of art both waiting and striving to be completed. God deals with each of us separately because humanity is fine art of skilled penmanship where every single dot is equally important for the entire picture.”
i think sometimes i blame myself for not being ‘healed’. i forget that i’m not supposed to have it all figured out. that maybe it’s okay i’m still learning how to be soft, how to forgive, how to trust again. so i really needed to hear this rule. and i need to hear it often. especially on days when i feel like a mess.
because sometimes, i make myself believe i have to do more to be worthy of His nearness. pray more. read more. be more put together. but now i’m realising: even when i am unfinished work, i am still His work. still worthy. still in progress. still seen.
i used to compare my pace to others. i used to wonder why i wasn’t “there” yet—wherever “there” was. but now i try to honour the pace Allah has written for me. maybe my journey is slower because He’s doing deeper work in me. maybe the detours are where i meet Him most intimately.
this reminds me that my growth isn’t linear. some days i feel like i’ve taken 10 steps forward. other days, i feel like i’ve collapsed backwards into old patterns. but every step, even the messy, flawed ones, is accounted for. nothing is wasted. nothing is ignored.
so, i’m learning to be patient with my own unfolding. to see myself as Allah sees me: not as broken, but becoming. not as failing, but forming. there’s something deeply comforting in the idea that i’m a divine work in progress. that i’m being shaped, carved, tenderly perfected, one layer at a time.
the idea that God deals with each of us separately is beautiful to me. because it means i don’t have to compare my path to anyone else’s. my timeline is my own. my healing is my own. my becoming is deeply intimate and uniquely mine.
and this truth comforts me deeply. it reminds me that even in the moments i feel unseen, untouched, or unworthy, Allah is intimately involved with me: not just in the big, defining moments, but in the shifts of my thoughts, the slow healing of old wounds, and the gentle ways i show up for myself on hard days. every heartbreak. every delay. every unanswered prayer. it’s not punishment, it’s precision. Allah is intentional with His pen. i am a dot in His masterpiece. and even if i can’t see the final image yet, i trust that it’s beautiful—because He is the Artist, and He never makes mistakes.
rule 15: “it’s easy to love a perfect God, unblemished and infallible that He is. what is far more difficult is to love fellow human being with all their imperfections and defects. remember, one can only know what one is capable of loving. there is no wisdom without love. unless we learn to love God’s creation, we can neither truly love nor truly know God.”
this one gutted me.
i’ve always found it easier to love God than to love people. not because He’s distant, but because He’s perfect. He doesn’t disappoint. people do. people leave. people break things they promised to protect. so i thought loving Him would be enough. but this rule humbled me: real love isn’t just about loving the easy ones. it’s about choosing compassion even when it hurts. even when it’s undeserved.
i think about the people who have hurt me. the ones i judged. the ones i gave up on. and i wonder—did i ever truly love them? or did i just love who i wanted them to be? who they were when they were kind and predictable? when they didn’t threaten the soft parts of me? but to love God’s creation is to see the human in each soul. it’s to recognise that we’re all trying. failing. breaking. healing. it’s to understand that the same grace i beg from Allah, i am commanded to extend to others.
love is wisdom. and wisdom is love. not the kind wrapped in conditions or expectations. but the kind that sees another’s flaws and still chooses goodness for them. and no, it’s not always beautiful. sometimes, it’s just staying soft when you want to turn cold. sometimes, it’s choosing mercy when you have every right not to.
it’s easy to romanticise love when it’s distant. when it lives in books and daydreams. but real love? the messy kind? it’s a mirror. it reflects your own wounds. it demands patience. forgiveness. mercy. and that’s the test. that’s the reward. because for so long, i only knew how to love with conditions. i loved people when they fit into my idea of who they should be. i pulled back when they didn’t.
but love is not about control. it’s about surrender. surrendering the idea that people are meant to be perfect. surrendering your ego long enough to see theirs. and there’s a strange freedom in that. in loving people as they are. not as projects. not as versions of someone else. just… them. whole and flawed.
yes, they will disappoint you. they may leave. but maybe love isn’t about safety. maybe it’s about sincerity. maybe the hardest people to love are the very ones meant to teach you how. and maybe every act of compassion—every time you choose to forgive someone who hurt you—is a step closer to Allah. because He is Love. and every time you reflect even an ounce of His mercy, you know Him more.
that’s the kind of love i want to cultivate. one that doesn’t just reach the people i cherish, but even those who challenge me. especially them. because in loving them, i am not just loving creation, i’m learning how to truly love the Creator.
so, there we have it. reflections on rules 11–15. this newsletter is probably my favourite from the series so far, simply because of the fact that these rules have made me feel held. they’ve reached into my soul, the parts i often try to keep hidden, and in doing so, they gave me permission to stop running from myself.
if there’s one thing these five rules have taught me, it’s that the journey inward is never linear. you don’t just heal once. you don’t just let go and move on. you don’t just find God and stay found. it’s a constant dance between remembering and forgetting. between holding on and surrendering. between who you thought you were and who you're becoming.
each rule was a mirror. and i won’t pretend i liked everything i saw. but i needed to see it. i needed to realise how often i block my own growth by trying to control the narrative, how often i fight change even when i claim to trust Allah’s plan, how often i say i want love, but still build walls around the most vulnerable parts of myself.
i’m still learning. still unlearning. still softening. still letting go of everything that was never meant to stay. but if there’s anything i’ve come to know in this journey of reflections, it’s this: everything truly meaningful — love, wisdom, peace, connection, tawakkul — begins on the inside. and once it’s cultivated there, it starts to spill into everything around you.
the world will keep spinning. people will keep talking. life will keep shifting. but i want to be the kind of person who carries God in her heart, even when the storm comes.
so if you’re reading this, and you feel cracked open by life: take heart. the cracks are how the light gets in.
and maybe, just maybe, this is the start of everything coming together.
love, imaan x
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Thank you so much for sharing your reflections dear. I can’t believe this was written by a 20 year old. Mashallah!!! 🤍
Am new here and am inspired to voice to the world the person I had never met me. Your amazing