Guilt-shaming for simply being born into today’s world feels like the national sport of an average Muslim family. Everything wrong with the world gets traced back, somehow, to the actions of Muslims. It’s as though just existing is enough to doom us. And before you know it, this guilt spirals into a black hole—a suffocating void with no light, no escape. It’s as if being a Muslim means you’re destined to live in the dark, and eventually, you’ll be thrown into the deepest pits of the Fire. Because there’s no way out, right?
Except there is.
The way out isn’t about escaping the Fire (because, well, you don’t get to decide what happens in the Akhirah). It’s about escaping this—this crushing, self-inflicted mentality. The real escape begins when a believer realizes one thing: you were created exclusively by Allah. For Allah. And in His infinite wisdom, He designed every single one of us differently. My fingerprints aren’t like yours. My deeds won’t be judged like yours.
It’s humbling, really. And maybe that’s the point. You’re not in some grand race against “better” Muslims. Just because you don’t have a mountain of knowledge or a PhD doesn’t mean you’re unqualified to give Dawah. It doesn’t mean your efforts don’t count.
لَا يُكَلِّفُ ٱللَّهُ نَفْسًا إِلَّا وُسْعَهَا ۚ لَهَا مَا كَسَبَتْ وَعَلَيْهَا مَا ٱكْتَسَبَتْ ۗ
Allah does not require of any soul more than what it can afford. All good will be for its own benefit, and all evil will be to its own loss.
The final ayah of Surah Baqarah spells it out so clearly: every soul will be held accountable only for what it can bear. Each soul has its own threshold, its own capacity for good. Your Dawah might be as simple as reflecting on half an ayah from the Quran, while someone else’s might be backed up by libraries of fiqh and hadith. But that doesn’t make yours any less valuable. Your ability to invite people to Deen doesn’t come with a prerequisite of high standards set by others.
The spiral into the black hole—though is tricky. And the more you let yourself sink into it, the more impossible everything feels. The more you convince yourself that making an effort is pointless because, surely, that’s only for scholars and extraordinary people. Not someone like you. But here’s the thing: this Muslim culture of labeling ourselves as doomed in Allah’s eyes—calling it “humility” (an interesting theory, to say the least)—didn’t even start with Islam. It comes from Christianity, from the belief that Adam and Eve were sent to Earth as a curse, as punishment.
But the Quran? It offers something completely different. Something more logical. Something more beautiful.
۞ وَلَقَدْ كَرَّمْنَا بَنِىٓ ءَادَمَ وَحَمَلْنَـٰهُمْ فِى ٱلْبَرِّ وَٱلْبَحْرِ وَرَزَقْنَـٰهُم مِّنَ ٱلطَّيِّبَـٰتِ وَفَضَّلْنَـٰهُمْ عَلَىٰ كَثِيرٍۢ مِّمَّنْ خَلَقْنَا تَفْضِيلًۭا
Indeed, We have dignified the children of Adam, carried them on land and sea, granted them good and lawful provisions, and privileged them far above many of Our creatures.
Think about it. If Muslims were nothing more than the byproducts of Hazrat Adam (AS)’s mistake, why would Al-Wudood—the Ultimate Source of Love—create opportunities for us to seek His pleasure? If the highest form of worship was reserved for the first Muslims, the Sabiqoon, why would the world continue after them? Why would the Quran be timeless, meant for every generation to come?
Why would Al-Rahman even plant the idea of an escape from the black hole if there wasn't a way out of it?
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