In our last reflection, we spoke about rebellion against the self, how sometimes our own impulses work against our flourishing. Today’s verse from Sura Baqara takes us one step deeper.
وَهُوَ كُرْهٌ لَّكُمْ وَعَسَى أَن تَكْرَهُواْ شَيْئًا وَهُوَ خَيْرٌ لَّكُمْ وَعَسَى أَن تُحِبُّواْ شَيْئًا وَهُوَ شَرٌّ لَّكُمْ وَاللّهُ يَعْلَمُ وَأَنتُمْ لاَ تَعْلَمُونَ
and it may be that you dislike a thing while it is good for you, and it may be that you love a thing while it is evil for you, and Allah knows, while you do not know.
In this verse, Allah [swt] reminds us of a profound truth: human perception is limited and our internal preferences are not always trustworthy. We may detest something that holds hidden benefits or long for something that harms us. This verse from Surah Al-Baqarah is an invitation: to trust, to surrender, and to cultivate a mindset of growth by embracing discomfort.
This realization, deeply embedded in Islamic teachings, is also supported by psychological research and contemporary discussions on resilience and discomfort.
This verse expands on that idea by reminding us that our instincts about what is "good" or "bad" for us are often shortsighted. We love staying in bed for example, when our wellbeing lies in going for a walk, going to work etc. Human beings love comfort and those that succeed in life recognize that this love of comfort cannot stand in the way of functioning and achievement.
So in order to pursue true wellbeing, we need a willingness to embrace discomfort.
This year, we’ve been reflecting on the idea that Allah has proportioned the soul and inspired it with its moral direction (91:7–8). We’ve talked about the inner compass — the fitrah — that points us toward what is right.
But here’s the thing: often the compass points us toward something that feels hard in the moment. Here are some examples of what we do not feel like doing [speaking for myself]
We don’t feel like getting up.
We don’t feel like apologizing.
We don’t feel like exercising.
We don’t feel like having that honest conversation.
We don’t feel like being patient.
Turns out that our nafs prefers comfort over growth even though that is the prime directive to our soul. Stephen Covey’s words haunt me: success is not about mind over matter but rather mind over mattress.
Modern psychology confirms something the Qur’an stated centuries ago: we are terrible at predicting what will truly make us happy.
Researchers call it affective forecasting error which means we overestimate how good certain pleasures will feel and underestimate how meaningful disciplined effort will be.
In The Comfort Crisis, Michael Easter argues that modern life has removed the very struggles humans evolved to handle. We have optimized for convenience: temperature control, instant entertainment, food delivery, endless scrolling and yet rates of anxiety, depression, and dissatisfaction have soared.
Similarly, in Sitting Kills, Moving Heals, Joan Vernikos explains how something that feels pleasant in the moment such as sitting for long periods harms the body over time. Our biology was designed for movement. While stillness may feel easy, it is movement that builds health.
This is exactly what 2:216 is teaching: Your immediate liking is not a reliable guide to your long-term good.
Much of what we call “following our heart” is often just following immediate relief.
Sleeping in feels good.
Avoiding conflict feels easier.
Indulging feels soothing.
Procrastinating reduces anxiety [but only temporarily]
But the Quranic worldview invites us to ask a deeper question: Are my preferences and actions aligned with who I am meant to become?
Sometimes what we resist is exactly what we need and what extends our capacity.
An athlete pushes through training discomfort.
A student persists through mental strain.
A believer prays when distracted.
A parent stays calm when triggered.
The soul expands through what the body or ego resists.
Ramadan is perhaps the clearest lived example of this verse. Abstaining from food, drink, and desires seems difficult, yet it cultivates discipline, gratitude, and spiritual elevation. It forces us to challenge our assumptions about what we "need" and teaches us that true fulfillment does not come from indulgence but from self-control and devotion.
When we experience hunger, we might momentarily think, "I hate this." But by the time we break our fast, we [inshallah] realize how much stronger we have become.
Ramadan itself is proof that what seems difficult can be deeply nourishing for the soul. In line with what we have been discussing, this month recalibrates our internal GPS. It teaches us that urges are not commands. Discomfort is not danger. Or like one of my health coaches said once: Hunger is not an emergency and does not demand a response!
Ramadan reminds us that even though we have been indulging the nafs the whole year, it can be retrained. Embracing temporary discomfort turns out to be a gateway to profound ease.
So how can we learn to love what is good for us rather than submit to momentary pleasures and comforts?
When we rebel against our higher self by repeatedly choosing what is easy over what is right, we slowly dull the compass. And when we begin to take baby steps to choose what aligns with growth, we recalibrate it.
Over time, something beautiful happens and those who are committed to working out have experienced this:
We begin to love what is good for us.
The early morning prayer becomes cherished.
Movement becomes energizing.
Honest conversations become relieving.
Self-control becomes empowering.
The discomfort shrinks as we begin to experience the fruits of discipline.
May this Ramadan help us not just endure what is good for us but to learn to love it. As He says at the end: Allah knows [including what is good for us] and you do not know.
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