overachieving vs tawakkul

on what happens when perfectionism meets faith ♡

if there’s one thing i’ve always held onto, it’s structure. i love having my life planned out. every little detail, every backup plan, every possible scenario covered. i find comfort in knowing what’s coming next, in having everything mapped out neatly in my head. i’ve always said i’m not a spontaneous person, but recently, i’ve been asking myself:

at what point does that stop being a personality trait and start becoming a lack of trust in Allah?

something happened that made me really think about that question.

as most of you know, i’m a third-year psychology student. my plan — my perfect plan — was simple. i’d finish this year, move straight into fourth year as part of my integrated masters programme, spend that year gaining more research and voluntary experience, and then apply for jobs or training positions after. it made sense. it was safe. it gave me time. and honestly, i thought it was the smartest route for me.

but then i had a meeting with my personal tutor.

we talked about my aspirations of becoming an islamic psychologist, my work experience so far, my grades. and he was so kind, so encouraging, calling me well-spoken, thoughtful, put-together and an overall good student (alhamdulillah). he even said my interest in islamic psychology was my superpower. but then he looked at me with genuine confusion and asked,

“why are you doing the masters?”

and just like that, everything in my head kind of… froze. because if i’m being honest, it was the first time anyone had ever doubted MY plan.

he explained that the masters wouldn’t really align with my long-term goals. he said it would be a waste of a year when i could be using that time to work towards getting onto the doctorate in clinical psychology — the dclinpsy, which is what i ultimately want. and the thing is, i knew all of that already. deep down, i did. but i convinced myself that staying in education for another year would give me breathing room. a chance to gain more experience and not rush into the next step.

but hearing him say it out loud, with that tone of gentle honesty, made it all feel real.

i cried. right there in the meeting. not because he was harsh or dismissive — he was actually the opposite — but because it hit me how much i cling to plans. how much i rely on them to make me feel secure. the thought that maybe this path i’ve held onto so tightly wasn’t actually what Allah had written for me made me feel… untethered.

after the meeting, i spent the rest of the day spiralling. i spoke to almost everyone i could think of. anyone i laid my eyes on, really — friends, family, coworkers — trying to collect opinions like puzzle pieces, hoping one of them would give me clarity. everyone had something different to say, but two pieces of advice really stuck with me.

one of my closest friends said,

“you’re just staying in your comfort zone. you don’t understand how much you’re really capable of.”

another reminded me of the verse we’ve all heard countless times:

“and they plan, and Allah plans, and Allah is the best of planners.”

i’ve heard that verse so many times before, but this time it didn’t just sound like reassurance. it sounded like a reminder. like Allah was gently asking,

“do you really trust Me, or only when things go your way?”

the truth is, i already have so much on my plate. six roles, to be exact. some paid, some voluntary, all demanding. and i’ve taken them on willingly because i’ve always been that person. the one who does everything, the one who doesn’t slow down. part of it comes from passion, but part of it comes from fear too. fear that if i stop, if i take a breath, if i let go of control for even a moment, everything will fall apart.

but maybe the problem isn’t that i’m busy. maybe it’s that i’ve started to equate busyness with worth.

i’ve built my life around the idea that if i just plan well enough, work hard enough, and push myself far enough, things have to go right. i’ve convinced myself that perfectionism is a form of discipline, when really, sometimes it’s just anxiety in disguise. and maybe, without realising it, my obsession with having everything figured out has been my way of trying to control what only Allah can.

it’s not that i don’t trust Him. i do. but i think i’ve always trusted Him conditionally. like, “okay Allah, i trust You… as long as Your plan looks like mine.”

and that’s not real tawakkul.

real tawakkul is sitting in uncertainty and still saying alhamdulillah. it’s trusting that even when your plans crumble, His plan is still flawless. it’s letting go of the illusion of control, the one that convinces you that your worth depends on how perfectly you execute everything.

and that illusion is exhausting.

i’ve been running on that mindset for so long. the constant striving, the pressure to overachieve, the weight of always being “on.” i’ve carried this belief that i need to earn every good thing that comes my way, that rest or slowness is something to be guilty about. but i’m starting to realise that maybe Allah isn’t asking me to do more. maybe He’s just asking me to trust more.

it’s funny, because when i look back on my life, every time i’ve been forced to let go of control, it’s worked out in ways that were far better than anything i planned. my deen grew stronger. i found peace where i expected pain. doors opened that i didn’t even know existed. and yet, here i am again, trying to plan my way through something that was never mine to plan in the first place.

there’s a saying i keep thinking about:

“what is meant for you will reach you, even if it is beneath two mountains. and what is not meant for you will not reach you, even if it is between your two lips.”

every time i read that, i feel a mixture of relief and resistance. relief because it’s a reminder that nothing slips through the cracks of Allah’s decree. resistance because my human heart still wants to hold the pen. but maybe faith isn’t about never feeling anxious. maybe it’s about feeling the anxiety and choosing trust anyway.

it’s strange, isn’t it? how we convince ourselves that control equals safety, when really, it’s the thing that burns us out the most.

because control says, “i have to make this work.” trust says, “Allah will make this work, if it’s meant for me.”

control says, “i need to know the outcome now.” trust says, “i’ll take the next step and leave the outcome to Him.”

control says, “i’m behind.” trust says, “i’m exactly where i’m meant to be.”

i think i’ve spent so much of my life operating from the first mindset. and honestly, it’s draining. i’ve been so scared of making the wrong choice that i forget Allah can turn any choice into the right one if it’s part of His plan.

so maybe this whole situation — this confusion about my next step, this discomfort — is Allah’s way of teaching me that it’s okay not to know. that it’s okay to slow down. that it’s okay to say,

“Ya Allah, i don’t have this figured out, but You do.”

it’s weirdly humbling to realise how little control we actually have. we think we’re steering the ship, but the waves, the wind, the direction — all of it — belongs to Him.

and i think that’s what i’m learning right now. that being a perfectionist isn’t the problem, it’s when that perfectionism blinds me from the fact that Allah’s perfection already exists in His plan.

so where does that leave me now? somewhere in the middle, i think. trying to stay disciplined, but not obsessed. organised, but not controlling. ambitious, but not attached to a single outcome.

i still don’t know what i’ll do next year. whether i’ll continue with the masters, or take the leap and apply for jobs or research positions instead. but what i do know is that Allah knows. and that’s enough for now.

i’m trying to remind myself that maybe uncertainty isn’t a punishment. maybe it’s a pause. a pause to breathe, to reflect, to realign. a pause to let Allah’s plan unfold instead of forcing mine to fit.

and that’s the funny thing about surrender. it doesn’t always look peaceful at first. sometimes it looks like crying in your tutor’s office, or staying up late worrying about what’s next. but somewhere in that mess, there’s beauty too. because every time i loosen my grip, i make space for Allah to show me that He never needed my control, only my trust.

so maybe this is what growth looks like now. not more achievements, not another qualification, not another plan checked off the list. but more trust. more patience. more softness.

and maybe that’s what Allah has been trying to teach me all along.

love, imaan x

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