Your Peace Is Worth Protecting


Seven days into 2026, and I’ve already had to practice the reminders I write about.


Writing this book doesn’t make me immune to chaos. Life doesn’t suddenly soften because words were published. The world still presses. People still pull. The noise still shows up. If anything, writing forces me to notice sooner when my peace is being tested.


And I’m grateful for that awareness.


Peace isn’t something I’m willing to sacrifice anymore. That sounds cliché, but it’s the truth. Once you learn how to return to that inner place—once you know the path back—you realize how valuable it really is. Not because life becomes easy, but because you no longer lose yourself when it isn’t.


I don’t claim to be an expert. I’m not. I’m learning like everyone else. I write because writing helps me think, and if it helps someone else along the way, alhamdulillah. What I do know is that peace is something I’ve learned how to return to—and the path back matters just as much as the destination. If the path is blocked, you don’t arrive.


For me, that path is a lifestyle of worship. And no—I’m not holier than anyone. Quite the opposite. Most people are better than me in many ways. I’m just someone who tries. And tries again.


Before becoming Muslim, I didn’t understand this, but Islam is a way of living that protects peace. Not a peace that avoids life—but a peace that steadies the soul while life unfolds. When I say peace is the destination, I mean the state of the soul, not the absence of struggle.


The soul was created to be nourished by its Creator. From my own experience, there’s nothing I can do on my own to feed it—except make the intention and take the step toward the One who gives it life. The nourishment itself doesn’t come from me.


Once you experience the sweetness of Islam, nothing else compares. Nothing in this world reaches that depth. Nothing else produces that kind of steadiness. Living with intentional submission changes how everything feels on the inside.


Before I became Muslim, I read the opening chapter of the Qur’an in English, and something in me recognized the truth immediately. No human mind—and certainly nothing dark—could produce something like that. But because I was enjoying life as it was, I delayed coming home. I avoided learning more because I knew that knowledge would leave me no choice but to accept it.


And once I crossed that line, there was no turning back—only more learning, more clarity, and a peace that continues to deepen the more I understand.


Some people in my own family have called me crazy for this choice. They mock what they don’t know. But what I’ve gained is far more valuable than anything I left behind.


My life now is quieter. More solitary. Less distracted. And if there’s one thing I fear, it’s losing the sweetness of the peace Islam gave me. I never want to return to chaos. Ever.


I’m not preaching. I don’t know enough for that. I’m still learning. Still growing. What I do have is lived comparison—a life that once felt dark, and a life now anchored in peace, even when the world is loud.


And that peace is worth protecting.


Continue the Reflection


This entry is part of Peace in the Chaos — a body of work exploring steadiness, restraint, and faith in an unsteady world.


Back to blog

Leave a comment