Blog 3:

Have you ever noticed how sometimes what we want (or what we think we want) feels like an overpowering desire, and we can’t always understand why? It’s confusing, and often makes us feel guilty for wanting what we can’t have. This leads to frustration, and often isolation, because we feel “bad” or “evil” for wanting what we think others don’t. It feels like we’re the only ones going through this tunnel of despair, and we’re often ashamed to talk about it.

That’s the experience I tried to capture when I coined the term Restless Nafs Syndrome.

Like Restless Legs Syndrome, which causes involuntary movements and discomfort and doesn’t always have a cure, Restless Nafs Syndrome is an internal struggle, a restlessness within the soul that isn’t easily understood. It’s a cluster of feelings and symptoms that show up in different ways for different people: irritability, withdrawal, anxiety, disconnection, or even depression.

But what if I told you that what you want is often just a surface symptom of something much deeper?

The word syndrome is important here. It reminds us that this restlessness is not a single issue, but a complex pattern of feelings and experiences that occur together. Think of it as a signpost pointing toward underlying emotions, unresolved grief, unmet needs, or spiritual questions that require us to dig deep.

No two people’s journeys with Restless Nafs are the same. Our circumstances, our histories, and our imaan shape the way this syndrome expresses itself. And that means there is no one-size-fits-all solution.

But here’s the thing: even though our individual paths differ, the types of tests we face show similarities. If I could sum it up in one sentence, I would say it’s the struggle to balance faith with human weakness.

Whether it’s the challenge of maintaining connection in marriage when our hearts feel distant, the battles with our own human needs and halaal ways to quiet them, or even feeling feelings we don’t understand and lashing out because of the inability to communicate effectively, we are all on this journey together. Instead of shying away and allowing the Nafs al-Ammārah (and shaitaan) to win, let's try to figure it out together.

This is not about exposing our sins or confessionals. Our sins are private between us and Allah and should never be exposed (ideally). It’s about recognising the messy, complicated emotions that come with being human. It means moving away from judgment and toward empathy (for ourselves, and for those around us) and trying to find a way forward.

I’m here to tell you that restlessness is real. It is valid. And it’s part of the human condition.

In my book, Restless Nafs Syndrome, I tell the story of Hafsah and Khalid.

At first, Hafsah assumes it’s desire she feels, and that brings guilt and confusion. She believes her longings are simple, but beneath them lies a turbulent wave of undealt-with emotions. Had Hafsah acted on instinct alone, she would have fractured the very foundation of her home and family.

Her story is about the courage to look deeper, to face uncomfortable truths, to wrestle with the unseen battles within, and to keep moving forward with faith.

Khalid’s restless nafs festered silently for years, buried under the responsibility of providing and not knowing how to communicate them. His inability to confront his inner battles created walls of distance that made the restlessness all the more painful for them both.

On my website, I explore what Restless Nafs Syndrome really means — how it shapes us, tests us, and forces us to grow. I don’t pretend to have all the answers. But I hope that by naming this syndrome, and by recognising the shared nature of the struggle, we can begin to offer each other the kindness and understanding we all need.

If you feel restless today, know you are not alone.