For young Muslim women struggling with eating disorders, Ramadan can be the worst time ever. I know this firsthand.
As a teen girl, I would intermittently starve myself and vigorously work out. I would eat 500 calories a day–no carbs, no sugar.
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I remember as a little girl, learning the meaning of Ramadan from my parents. The month that the Qur’an was revealed…the idea of the month enthralled me. “Every day was Ramadan.” My mother said this and she and my father laughed…but I know they were speaking the truth.
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“You really shouldn’t fast,” an Indian hematologist in Bahrain warned me after I had been fasting for eleven years. She cautioned me that my iron levels were alarmingly low. “I’m concerned with your liquid intake more than the food. Your stomach isn’t big enough to accommodate both.”
“So water isn’t allowed during Ramadan, but sushi is?” my boss asked me with a bemused look on his face just as I was about to pop a spicy tuna roll in my mouth.
For the past three weeks, thanks to the sighting of the crescent moon of Ramadan, I had become a one-woman dawah center at my office. Even more than donning the hijab, there’s something about fasting that suddenly transforms every Muslim into a mufti at the work place.
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Over the last fifteen years I have collected dozens of books on Islam: Tariq Ramadan, Al-Ghazali, Ingrid Mattson and Martin Lings, along with many other authors, share the bookshelf. My passion for collecting Islamic literature quickly outpaced my ability to read the books I bought and many still languish on the shelf with unopened bindings. Every Ramadan I make an effort to make my way through two or three books in hopes of slowly shrinking the “To Read” section which far outnumbers the “Read” section.
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During Ramadan, everything turns upside down. You eat breakfast before dawn; the first signs of anger and temptation suddenly also become the first reminders of restraint; and your experiences of community, if they involve communal prayer, involve more silence than chatter.
And for some of us, your nights become your days.
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Ramadan is undoubtedly the most special time of year for Muslims around the world. Even more so for Muslims in America because we grow up surrounded by a plethora of religious holidays but without one of our own. So when Ramadan finally rolls around, it feels like it’s our turn. Our turn to skip school, feast with our families and celebrate. Eager to showcase our religious enthusiasm in the form of lights and colors, my sisters and I tried to decorate the house for Ramadan/Eid. Failed attempts include:
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It’s a time for reflection for everyone, including the altMuslimah staff. Join us in reflecting upon our memories and traditions during the month of Ramadan. From family time escapades to the gift of solace, we each have something we would like to share with our readers.
In my fifteen years of fasting, I was mostly going through the motions. Sure, I knew that Ramadan was a time for increased God-consciousness, but last month I learned the difference between knowing something and feeling something. This Ramadan, I felt it.
Reaching a level of spirituality at which I felt a connection to my Creator in my bones required preparation. Just as we begin each fast with a niyaat (or intention), I also commenced this year’s Ramadan with a niyaat.
For many of us residing in the northern hemisphere, Ramadan began begrudgingly. Starting last Tuesday or Wednesday or even Thursday, in some cases. We wake up at or stay up until dawn —around 3:30am —and struggle to adequately hydrate and nourish ourselves for the anticipated seventeen to nineteen hour fast in melt-your-face-off heat. We then open our fast with a quick meal before rushing to and through prayer so we can catch a few hours of sleep, only to get up and do it all over again.
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