How I was able to Come Back from Prayer, and a Heart, that Felt Dead

As-salaamu alaikum,

In tonight’s video (link), I told you about the pre-med student who said prayer felt empty.

I didn’t tell you that I’ve been exactly where she is.

Let me tell you about the time when my prayer also felt dead, and what I did about it.

It was during my Emergency Medicine internship. I left Arizona after being accepted by a very respected EM residency in Ohio, but everyone knows that internship can be brutal. I was working 80-hour weeks in the ER. Night shifts that bled into days. Code blues at 3am while doing house officer duty, and a whole lot of drama in the apartment building where I lived (fun story I will have to share another time!).

And somewhere amidst all that exhaustion, my prayer life collapsed.

I still prayed—technically. I’d find a place in an empty patient room, the call room, or the stairwell. Go through the motions, and get back to work. But soon, it felt completely mechanical. Like checking a box. Like clocking in.

I remember one night, finishing Isha while doing a night shift, and thinking, “What happened? Why does my prayer now feel so distant? So … empty?”

That’s when I knew that my heart needed spiritual intensive care, possibly more than my patients needed an ICU bed. Not because I stopped praying. But because I felt like my heart was hardening, dying.

At that point, I didn’t know who to call, who to ask for help, beyond making du’a to Allah to heal my heart. So, I reached out to one of my teachers, one of my first Islamic studies teachers, an exceptional human being from Guyana who had studied in Madinah and always had the most unique way of approaching things. I told him everything.

I was afraid that he might be disappointed in me, that I should have done better.

But shame me, he didn’t (a little Yoda-speak for Star Wars fans).

Instead, he said: “Ali, you’re exhausted. Your body is exhausted. Your mind is exhausted. And you think your spiritual state isn’t also exhausted?”

Then he said something I’ve never forgotten:

“Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is take care of your body.”

He told me to sleep. To eat properly. To take a day off and do nothing.

He reminded me of the hadith, that we all somehow forget, wherein the Prophet ﷺ said to one of the Companions who was exhausting himself with fasting and night prayers:

I said, “Subhan Allah, totally get it. But what about my prayer?”

He said, “Keep praying. But stop judging the prayer. Stop expecting to feel something every time. Just be present as best you can. That’s all Allah asks when you’re in this state. Don’t forget that the prayer is about remembering Allah, and that everything you are doing, literally saving lives and bringing comfort to distressed and sick people all day, is that remembrance in action. Insha Allah, with rest, you will recover.”

The Neuroscience of Spiritual Dryness

Here’s something I learned later, when I studied the intersection of neuroscience and spirituality:

When you have a moment of intense connection in prayer—tears, presence, overwhelming gratitude—your brain is releasing dopamine, oxytocin, and activating the prefrontal cortex in ways that create that sense of transcendence.

But neurologically, you can’t stay there. Your brain returns to baseline. That’s not spiritual failure—it’s biological reality.

The scholars knew this. That’s why they distinguished between hal (spiritual state) and maqam (spiritual station).

Hal comes and goes. It’s a gift, not a goal. You can’t force it, and you can’t maintain it.

Maqam is what you build through consistency. It’s the prayer you do when you don’t feel anything. It’s showing up when showing up is hard.

That’s what lasts. That’s what shows sincerity to Allah. And, surprisingly, that’s what might grant you entry to Jannah.

Imam al-Ghazali on Spiritual Dryness

In Ihya Ulum al-Din, Imam al-Ghazali describes spiritual dryness as one of the inevitable stages of the spiritual path.

He says there are times when the heart is alive—when dhikr is sweet, when prayer is effortless, when you feel Allah’s presence in everything.

And there are times when the heart feels dead—when worship is difficult, when you feel distant, when nothing seems to connect.

But here’s his key point: The dry seasons are when you’re being tested.

Anyone can worship when it feels good. The question is: Will you worship when it feels like nothing?

That’s where your sincerity is proven. That’s where your resolve is built.

The dryness is preparation for growth you can’t see yet.

The Practical Tool (Email-Exclusive):

TONIGHT’S JOURNALING PROMPT:

Part 1: Name the emptiness

When did prayer start feeling empty for you? Can you remember a specific moment? Or did it fade gradually?

Part 2: What are you actually longing for?

When you say “I want to feel Allah again,” what does that mean? What feeling are you missing?

Be specific. Because different longings require different remedies.

Part 3: The consistency check

Are you still praying? Even when it feels empty?

If yes: You’re doing exactly what Allah asks. The feeling will return in His time.

If no: What’s one prayer you can commit to today—regardless of how it feels?

Part 4: The du’a

After your next salah, make this du’a from the Quran, the du’a of Ibrahim ﷺ:

رَبِّ ٱجْعَلْنِى مُقِيمَ ٱلصَّلَوٰةِ وَمِن ذُرِّيَّتِى ۚ رَبَّنَا وَتَقَبَّلْ دُعَآءِ

“My Lord! Make me and my descendants keep up prayer. My Lord! Accept my du’a.” [14: 40]

The Resource List (Email-Exclusive):

📖 Read: Inner Dimensions of Islamic Worship by Imam al-Ghazali (translated by Muhtar Holland) - Classical teaching on khushu' and spiritual states

🎧 Listen: “The Sweetness of Salah” by Mufti Menk (YouTube) - Practical advice on rekindling connection in prayer

🧠 Reflect: The Prophet ﷺ said there's “a time for this and a time for that.” What season are you in right now? And what is this season teaching you?

📝 Action: This week, learn the meaning of one surah you pray regularly. Read a tafsir. Understand what you’re saying. See how understanding changes the experience.

🌐 Advanced: Research the concept of qalb (heart) in Islamic spirituality. The heart has states—sometimes hard, sometimes soft, sometimes alive, sometimes dead. Understanding this helps you stop panicking when your heart feels distant.

The Personal Sign-Off:

Tomorrow, insha Allah: Is Depression a Lack of Faith? Because we need to separate mental health from spiritual state—and understand when you need a therapist, not only a prayer mat.

Until then: The prayer you do when you feel nothing is building you in ways you can’t see yet. Keep showing up.

Dr. Ali

P.S. - That residency year when I felt like my heart died? The emptiness lasted about six months. And when it lifted, alhamdulillah, my relationship with Allah was deeper than it had ever been. Not because of the high—but because I learned that showing up when you don’t feel anything is where real sincerity begins.

The dry season prepared me for the rain.

Hit reply if you’re in a dry season right now. You’re not alone in this.

Dr. Ali