Ramadan as a Mother: When Worship Feels Rushed, But Allah Still Sees You

Before motherhood, Ramadan felt different.

You used to hear the adhan for Maghrib and break your fast in silence, savouring the sweetness of dates and the coolness of water. You could take your time, making heartfelt duas before your meal, feeling the presence of Ramadan in every moment. Taraweeh was a spiritual retreat, a time to stand in long, unhurried prayer, absorbing every word of the Qur’an, letting its meaning sink deep into your heart.

But now? Now, Ramadan looks completely different.

Suhoor is no longer a peaceful moment of reflection before the day begins. Instead, it’s a rushed meal in the dark, eaten in between feeding a toddler who has woken up too early or soothing a baby back to sleep. Sometimes, you barely get to eat because little hands tug at you, needing comfort before you can even take a sip of water.

Fasting is not just hunger and thirst—it’s patience tested in ways you never imagined. It’s enduring tantrums when your energy is low, managing sibling fights when you can barely think straight, and finding the strength to cook an iftar meal that no one may even eat properly. By the time Maghrib arrives, you don’t get to sit down and break your fast in peace. Your first sip of water is often interrupted by a child spilling their drink, demanding another helping, or refusing to eat.

And prayer…

Prayer used to be peaceful. You would stand, hands raised, fully immersed in the words you were reciting. You could lose yourself in sujood, pouring your heart out to Allah, finding tranquillity in the moment.

Now? Salah is rushed, fragmented, interrupted a thousand times.

You begin takbeer, and within seconds, there’s a toddler climbing onto your back, laughing as if you’re a ride at the park. You go into sujood, and suddenly there’s a little head peeking under you, asking, “Mama, are you done?” You try to focus, but the demands keep coming—“Mama, I need water.” “Mama, I need to go to the loo.” “Mama, look at me!”

Some days, you barely finish your fardh prayers before someone needs you again. Sunnah prayers are left behind, Qur’an recitation is put on hold, and the deep moments of dua you used to love are now just whispered in between endless distractions.

It’s easy to feel like this Ramadan doesn’t count the same. Like you’re falling short. Like you should be doing more.

But here’s the beautiful truth, Mama: Allah sees every single struggle.

The exhaustion you feel? He sees it. The moments of patience when you want to break down? He knows them. The prayers you cut short, the Qur’an you long to read, the taraweeh you wish you could attend—Allah knows the sacrifices you’re making.

And in this season of life, your worship looks different, but it is no less valuable.

• The suhoor you prepare with love, even when you’re too tired to eat yourself—that’s worship.

• The iftar you serve, despite barely sitting down to enjoy it—that’s worship.

• The patience you hold onto when fasting feels overwhelming—that’s worship.

• The whispered dhikr as you nurse your baby, the du’as made while rocking a restless child—that’s worship.

  
  

Your Ramadan as a mother is not about perfection. It’s about sincerity. It’s about showing up for your children while still holding onto your faith, even when it feels messy and imperfect.

One day, they’ll grow up. The days of chaotic suhoors and interrupted salah will pass. You’ll find yourself standing in peaceful prayer again. And when that time comes, you’ll look back and realize that this season of motherhood was a Ramadan of pure sacrifice and love.

And Allah counted every moment of it.

So to every mother struggling through fasting, exhaustion, and endless demands—you are seen. You are enough. Your Ramadan is valuable.

Have you experienced the struggles of Ramadan as a mother? What part do you find most challenging? Share your reflections in the comments.