Most people do not struggle because they lack sincerity. They struggle because their approach to change cannot survive ordinary life.

They begin with good intentions and genuine resolve, but they build their practice around ideal conditions — time, energy, focus. When life becomes busy, tiring, or unpredictable, the structure collapses. Guilt follows. Then discouragement. Often, withdrawal.

This approach may work briefly, but it rarely holds over time.

Change in Islam is not built on motivation, but on what can be maintained. The Prophetic way does not start with intensity. It starts with steadiness.

A Grounded life is not about dramatic transformation. It is about learning how to live faithfully within real life — with its limits, pressures, and interruptions — without burning out or slowly drifting away.

To do this, we need an approach that accounts for weakness, distraction, and inconsistency. We call this approach STEADY.

STEADY is a simple framework for beginning.
Not perfectly, but properly.

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A journey of a thousand miles begin with the first step. One of the clearest principles in the Prophetic way is that consistency matters more than intensity.

What is done regularly settles into the heart. What is done occasionally, no matter how impressive, does not.

The Prophet ﷺ stated this clearly:

أَحَبُّ الأَعْمَالِ إِلَى اللَّهِ أَدْوَمُهَا وَإِنْ قَلَّ

“The most beloved deeds to Allah are those that are consistent, even if they are few.”
— Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī (6465), Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim (783)

Many people fail not because they aim too low, but because they aim too high at the beginning. They take on routines that depend on ideal conditions. When those conditions disappear, the entire practice collapses.

Islam does not ask you to begin at your best.
It asks you to begin at what you can sustain.

The goal is not to do a lot.
The goal is to do something that survives.

Small enough to continue.
That is how steadiness is built.

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If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go with God.

No matter how good we prepare, we do not move forward by our own strength alone. What keeps a person steady over distance is not control, but connection.

Worship works best when it functions as a tether — something that allows movement while preventing complete drift. You may slow down, struggle, or lose momentum, but you remain connected.

At its core, this tether is tawakkul — reliance on Allah.

One of the subtle dangers on the spiritual path is forgetting this. Progress begins to feel self-generated. Discipline turns into pride. Practice becomes something we credit to ourselves.

Islam corrects this directly: every good deed is from Allah’s guidance and enabling power.

The Prophet ﷺ reminded his companions:

لَنْ يَدْخُلَ أَحَدٌ الْجَنَّةَ بِعَمَلِهِ

“No one will enter Paradise by his deeds alone.”
They asked, “Not even you, O Messenger of Allah?”
He replied:
“Not even me, unless Allah covers me with His mercy.”
— Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī (6463), Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim (2816)

This protects the heart.

It guards against arrogance when things go well, and against despair when things go poorly. It also prevents looking down on others. Someone who is not practising may simply not have been given what you were given — yet. The same power that guided you can guide them.

Reliance does not mean passivity. Tawakkul includes effort, but it does not mistake effort for control.

The Prophet ﷺ described this balance:

لَوْ أَنَّكُمْ تَتَوَكَّلُونَ عَلَى اللَّهِ حَقَّ تَوَكُّلِهِ…

“If you were to rely upon Allah with true reliance, He would provide for you as He provides for the birds: they leave hungry and return full.”
— Sunan al-Tirmidhī (2344)

They move. They act. They rely.

When practice weakens, the question is not, What is wrong with me?
It is, Have I shifted from reliance on Allah to reliance on myself?

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No one practises in isolation.

Whether we like it or not, the people we spend time with shape us. This is not a matter of intention or effort. It is simply how human beings work.

The Prophet ﷺ explained this with a concrete example.

He said:

مَثَلُ الْجَلِيسِ الصَّالِحِ وَجَلِيسِ السَّوْءِ كَحَامِلِ الْمِسْكِ وَنَافِخِ الْكِيرِ، فَحَامِلُ الْمِسْكِ إِمَّا أَنْ يُحْذِيَكَ، وَإِمَّا أَنْ تَبْتَاعَ مِنْهُ، وَإِمَّا أَنْ تَجِدَ مِنْهُ رِيحًا طَيِّبَةً، وَنَافِخُ الْكِيرِ إِمَّا أَنْ يُحْرِقَ ثِيَابَكَ، وَإِمَّا أَنْ تَجِدَ مِنْهُ رِيحًا خَبِيثَةً

“The example of a righteous companion and a bad companion is like that of a perfume seller and a blacksmith. As for the perfume seller, he may give you some perfume, or you may buy some from him, or at the very least you will enjoy a pleasant fragrance from him. As for the blacksmith, he may burn your clothes, or at the very least you will be affected by an unpleasant smell.”
— Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī (5534), Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim (2628)

The point is straightforward.

When you keep good company — like a perfume seller — you do not need to be actively seeking benefit to be affected. Even if you do not buy anything, the fragrance reaches you. Over time, their habits normalise discipline, their language shapes what you talk about, and their priorities quietly reset what you consider important.

The opposite is also true.

If you spend time with a blacksmith, even if you are not burned by the fire, you will still feel the heat. Exposure leaves a mark. What once felt uncomfortable begins to feel normal.

Spiritual state is contagious.

This is why the Prophet ﷺ also warned:

الْمَرْءُ عَلَى دِينِ خَلِيلِهِ

“A person follows the way of their closest companion.”
— Sunan Abī Dāwūd (4833)

This is not a call to judge others.

It is a call to clarity.

Keeping good company does not make you perfect, but it makes steadiness easier. It allows you to go stronger for longer.

This also does not mean cutting people off indiscriminately. There are times when a person is strong enough to be a positive influence — when their presence genuinely draws others closer to Allah rather than pulling them away.

But if a relationship consistently weakens your grounding, normalises distance from Allah, or erodes discipline, wisdom requires distance. Not hostility. Not arrogance. Just honesty.

Being Grounded  is not about being strong everywhere.
It is about being wise.

Your environment is shaping you — whether you acknowledge it or not.

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Difficulty is not a measure of sincerity.

Allah establishes this principle clearly:

يُرِيدُ اللَّهُ بِكُمُ الْيُسْرَ وَلَا يُرِيدُ بِكُمُ الْعُسْرَ

“Allah intends ease for you, and He does not intend hardship for you.”
— Qur’an 2:185

And He states elsewhere:

وَمَا جَعَلَ عَلَيْكُمْ فِي الدِّينِ مِنْ حَرَجٍ

“He has not placed upon you any hardship in the religion.”
— Qur’an 22:78

These verses are not saying that everything will feel easy. They are saying that what Allah has commanded is not meant to break us. His guidance is not opposed to human wellbeing. When practised properly, it leads to a better quality of life — even when it requires effort.

At the same time, we have already seen that many things which are good for us are not always immediately liked by the nafs. Discipline can feel heavy at first. Structure can feel restrictive. This resistance does not mean the path is wrong. It means the self resists change.

The solution is not to abandon good deeds, but to make them accessible.

This begins with environment, which we discussed in the previous section. When surroundings support practice, effort decreases. When they resist it, willpower is quickly exhausted.

From there, the next step is to reduce friction at the point of action.

Behavioural science helps explain why good intentions often fail to turn into action. The human brain does not like uncertainty. Starting something new requires attention, decision-making, and energy — all of which the brain tries to conserve. This resistance is not a flaw of character. It is how we are wired.

To work with this reality, rather than against it, we reduce friction.

We make the first step clear, simple, and easy to begin.

Consider the habit of reading Qur’an after Fajr.

If the Qur’an is kept on a high shelf, in another room, unmarked and unopened, the mind registers several steps before reading even begins. Each step creates hesitation. Even with good intention, the practice is easily delayed or skipped.

Now change the setup.

Place the Qur’an where you pray. Keep it within arm’s reach. Mark the page you intend to read. When prayer finishes, there is no decision to make. The next action is obvious.

The difference is not love for the Qur’an.
It is arrangement.

The same principle applies to daily dhikr.

Many people want to maintain regular remembrance, but rely on memory or mood. Dhikr then becomes something done occasionally, when time feels available, rather than something built into the day.

Now remove the friction.

Keep prayer beads nearby — in your pocket, on your desk, in your car, or beside your bed. Some people use a digital tasbih or counter for the same reason. The tool itself is not the point. Its function is.

It keeps remembrance visible and within reach.

When the hands touch the beads, the reminder is immediate. No planning. No searching. No internal negotiation.

Dhikr becomes easier not because resolve increased, but because access improved.

This is similar to how people use wearable technology today. Smartwatches and rings track steps, sleep, and movement — not because data alone creates health, but because constant feedback keeps the goal present. The device does not make you healthy. It reminds you to act.

Prayer beads function in the same way.

They do not create spirituality.
They keep remembrance in sight.

When dhikr becomes part of what you carry daily, it no longer competes with life. It runs alongside it.

Again, the difference is not sincerity. It is design.

A Grounded life does not depend on constant motivation. It depends on making the right actions easy to begin and easy to repeat.

Gradual growth is not weakness.
It is how growth actually happens.

A practice that fits into ordinary days — busy days, tired days, distracted days — is far more valuable than one that only survives ideal conditions.

Ease is not the opposite of seriousness.
Ease is what allows seriousness to last.

With this in mind, the task ahead becomes clear.

Rather than relying on bursts of motivation, we begin to design our lives so that being Grounded is the easy option. From prayer to charity, from dhikr to Qur’an, the aim is to arrange our days in a way that supports remembrance, discipline, and balance.

What follows is not about adding more, but about placing the right things in the right places — so that faith is not something we struggle to fit into life, but something life is quietly organised around.

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Repetition without meaning leads to fatigue. Consistency only works  if you know where you are heading.

Repeated actions always move a person in a direction, whether that direction is intentional or not. Direction answers two practical questions:
 • Where am I heading?
 • What keeps me moving when effort becomes difficult?

In a Grounded life, the destination is clear: Jannah, and ultimately the pleasure of Allah.

The problem is distance.

Jannah is too far for most minds to comprehend. It is too distant to regulate everyday decisions on its own. Long journeys require regular recalibration — points where direction is checked and motivation is renewed.

This is where rajāʾ and khawf operate. They are the internal forces that sustain effort when conditions are not ideal.

Rajāʾ and Khawf: What They Do
 • Rajāʾ or hope pulls a person forward when progress feels slow.
 • Khawf of fear holds a person in place when discipline weakens.

They become most important when:
 • motivation drops
 • fatigue sets in
 • results are not visible
 • temptation appears

Rajāʾ: Maintaining Forward Movement

Rajāʾ functions as positive reinforcement.

It links present effort to future outcome. It answers a practical question: Why continue when results are not immediately visible?

Most beneficial behaviours suffer from delayed reward. Exercise does not improve health immediately. Saving money does not feel rewarding at first. Spiritual practices are no different.

Without reinforcement, people stop.

Rajāʾ solves this problem.

Descriptions of Jannah in the Qur’an provide future-oriented feedback. They keep effort rational even when progress cannot be measured. Stories of the prophets, companions, and the righteous serve the same purpose. They show that delay does not mean failure.

From a behavioural standpoint, rajāʾ keeps effort sustainable across long timeframes.

Khawf: Preventing Negative Drift

While rajāʾ sustains effort, khawf prevents erosion.

Most failures are not the result of a single bad decision. They are the result of gradual relaxation of standards. Missed actions accumulate. Delays become habits. What was once non-negotiable becomes optional.

Khawf introduces cost.

It keeps consequences visible. It prevents small lapses from becoming normal. Reflection on verses of accountability and punishment serves as loss awareness, interrupting careless behaviour.

This is not about fear as emotion. It is about boundary enforcement.

Without khawf, ease becomes neglect.

Why the Balance Matters

Rajāʾ alone produces complacency.
Khawf alone produces burnout.

That is why the Qur’an pairs Jannah and Jahannam consistently. Reward and consequence are presented together to stabilise behaviour. One pulls forward. The other prevents collapse.

This balance keeps movement steady.

What Produces and Regulates Them

Rajāʾ and khawf are not sustained by willpower. They are sustained by exposure.

This is where the checkpoints come in.

1. Āyāt of Jannah and Jahannam
Regular exposure and refelction to Qur’anic descriptions of Jannah strengthens rajāʾ. It reminds the heart why restraint, consistency, and patience make sense.

Exposure to āyāt of accountability and punishment strengthens khawf. It keeps the cost of neglect visible, especially on days when discipline feels optional.

The Qur’an consistently pairs the two for a reason. One without the other produces imbalance.

2. Stories of the Prophets, Companions, and the Righteous
Stories function as proof of concept.

They show that:
• the path is long
• struggle is normal
• delay does not equal failure

These stories stabilise rajāʾ by normalising hardship, and stabilise khawf by showing the consequences of deviation.

They keep expectations realistic.

3. Environment and Company
Direction weakens in isolation.

Being around people who take discipline seriously reinforces both rajāʾ and khawf without direct instruction. Standards are maintained through proximity. Drift becomes harder when restraint is normal.

This is why environment is not optional. It is directional infrastructure.

Spiritual growth is not unlike physical growth.

Growth requires resistance, but only the right amount. Too little resistance, and nothing changes. Too much resistance, applied too quickly, leads to injury. The same body that grows stronger through training can be damaged by excess.

The same principle applies to the soul.

If a person takes on too much too soon — long routines, heavy disciplines, constant self-pressure — the result is often burnout, resentment, or quiet withdrawal. What was meant to bring closeness becomes a burden. On the other hand, if there is no resistance at all — no effort, no stretching, no discipline — there is no growth. Comfort settles in, and stagnation follows.

The challenge, then, is not effort versus ease.
It is finding the right measure.

This requires honesty with oneself. Not excuses, and not self-punishment — but a clear assessment of what can be carried now. What can be done consistently, even on tired days. What can survive distraction, work, family, and pressure.

This is why minimums matter.

Minimums create a stable base. They ensure that even when motivation is low, something remains intact. Obligations are protected. The core does not collapse. From that base, growth becomes possible.

Once a practice becomes easy — once it no longer requires attention or effort — that is often a sign that a small increase is appropriate. Not a dramatic jump, but a slight addition. A little more resistance.

Many scholars of Islamic spirituality observed that consistency over a period of time — often described as around forty days — allows a practice to settle and become part of a person’s rhythm. Whether the number is taken precisely or approximately, the wisdom behind it is sound: change needs time to root.

Growth, then, is gradual. You begin small. You remain consistent. When something becomes stable, you add slightly. And when life becomes heavy again, you return to the minimum without guilt.

Foundations come before additions.
Stability before expansion.

Growth comes later.
First comes grounding.

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Staying Steady

This framework is not about perfection.
It is about staying with the path, even when progress feels slow.

A Grounded life does not assume uninterrupted consistency. It assumes distraction, weakness, and uneven days — and plans for them. What matters is not how often you falter, but whether you know how to continue without abandoning the path altogether.

Spiritual growth is not a sprint.
It is a marathon.

Much of the frustration people experience comes from unrealistic expectations. We assume that sincere practice should quickly feel sweet or uplifting. When it does not, we begin to doubt the practice, or ourselves. Some stop altogether, convinced that something is wrong.

Our tradition reminds us that this difficulty is not accidental.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

حُفَّتِ الْجَنَّةُ بِالْمَكَارِهِ، وَحُفَّتِ النَّارُ بِالشَّهَوَاتِ

“Paradise is surrounded by things that are disliked, and Hellfire is surrounded by desires.”
— Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim (2822)

What leads to lasting good is often uncomfortable at the beginning. What feeds the nafs usually feels easier, more attractive, and immediately rewarding. The absence of sweetness in early practice is not a sign of failure. It is often a sign that the path is being walked correctly.

This is something we already recognise from everyday life.

Living a physically healthy life is rarely easy at the start. Eating well requires restraint. Exercise demands effort. It is almost always more appealing to eat ice cream, stay seated, and switch on a screen. Those choices feel pleasant in the moment — and over time, they quietly damage the body.

The alternatives feel demanding at first. They require planning, discipline, and discomfort. But with consistency, the body adapts. Strength builds. What once felt heavy becomes manageable, and eventually natural.

Spiritual practice follows a similar pattern.

With consistency, the rūḥ grows stronger and begins to lead. As it leads, the nafs is trained to follow rather than command. Resistance softens. What once felt heavy becomes lighter — and, over time, even sweet.

The pious before us understood this well.

Imām Sufyān al-Thawrī is reported to have said that he struggled with his nafs for twenty years before he tasted the sweetness of standing in prayer at night. The sweetness did not come first. The struggle did.

This reframes the journey.

Early practice is often dry, repetitive, and demanding. It asks for effort without immediate reward. That does not mean it is failing. It means the soul is being trained.

Steadiness, then, is not sustained by constant motivation, but by commitment to the process. You keep the minimum intact. You add gradually when capacity allows. And when life becomes heavy again, you return to what you can carry — without guilt.

A Grounded life understands this. It does not rush growth, and it does not abandon the path when sweetness is delayed. It stays long enough for change to take root.

With this foundation in place, we can now turn to the centre of the day — the Basecamp.

Beneath all goals is a single metric: the pleasure of Allah.

Human approval is unstable. Standards change. Praise and criticism fluctuate. They are poor regulators of behaviour.

Daily adhkār repeatedly reset this metric. When done with presence of heart and mind, they reinforce our sense of direction — Allah is our aim.

If Allah is pleased, external outcomes are secondary.
If Allah is displeased, no external success compensates.

This simplifies decision-making.

When direction is clear, consistency becomes easier — not because effort disappears, but because effort makes sense.

Direction does not remove difficulty.
It ensures difficulty is not wasted.

⸻

This framework is not about perfection.
It is about staying with the path, even when progress feels slow.

A Grounded life does not assume uninterrupted consistency. It assumes distraction, weakness, and uneven days — and plans for them. What matters is not how often you falter, but whether you know how to continue without abandoning the path altogether.

Spiritual growth is not a sprint.
It is a marathon.

Much of the frustration people experience comes from unrealistic expectations. We assume that sincere practice should quickly feel sweet or uplifting. When it does not, we begin to doubt the practice, or ourselves. Some stop altogether, convinced that something is wrong.

Our tradition reminds us that this difficulty is not accidental.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

حُفَّتِ الْجَنَّةُ بِالْمَكَارِهِ، وَحُفَّتِ النَّارُ بِالشَّهَوَاتِ

“Paradise is surrounded by things that are disliked, and Hellfire is surrounded by desires.”
— Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim (2822)

What leads to lasting good is often uncomfortable at the beginning. What feeds the nafs usually feels easier, more attractive, and immediately rewarding. The absence of sweetness in early practice is not a sign of failure. It is often a sign that the path is being walked correctly.

This is something we already recognise from everyday life.

Living a physically healthy life is rarely easy at the start. Eating well requires restraint. Exercise demands effort. It is almost always more appealing to eat ice cream, stay seated, and switch on a screen. Those choices feel pleasant in the moment — and over time, they quietly damage the body.

The alternatives feel demanding at first. They require planning, discipline, and discomfort. But with consistency, the body adapts. Strength builds. What once felt heavy becomes manageable, and eventually natural.

Spiritual practice follows a similar pattern.

With consistency, the rūḥ grows stronger and begins to lead. As it leads, the nafs is trained to follow rather than command. Resistance softens. What once felt heavy becomes lighter — and, over time, even sweet.

The pious before us understood this well.

Imām Sufyān al-Thawrī is reported to have said that he struggled with his nafs for twenty years before he tasted the sweetness of standing in prayer at night. The sweetness did not come first. The struggle did.

This reframes the journey.

Early practice is often dry, repetitive, and demanding. It asks for effort without immediate reward. That does not mean it is failing. It means the soul is being trained.

Steadiness, then, is not sustained by constant motivation, but by commitment to the process. You keep the minimum intact. You add gradually when capacity allows. And when life becomes heavy again, you return to what you can carry — without guilt.

A Grounded life understands this. It does not rush growth, and it does not abandon the path when sweetness is delayed. It stays long enough for change to take root.

With this foundation in place, we can now turn to the centre of the day — the Basecamp.

-
Azizi Khalid
www.azizikhalid.com