Reflections During Ramadan on Burnout, Perseverance, and the Silent Importance of Looking After Yourself in Tech
There’s a certain paradox that comes with chasing your dreams—especially in tech. On one hand, you’re encouraged to give it your all, to hustle, to stay on the grind. On the other hand, no one really teaches you how to take care of yourself while you’re sprinting toward a moving goalpost. And sometimes, you don’t even realize how far you’ve neglected yourself until you’re in too deep.
This month, Ramadan, brought a lot into focus. It’s a time meant for reflection, discipline, gratitude, and piety. A spiritual reset for many. But for me, this year, it also became a harsh mirror. I found myself confronting an exhaustion that no amount of sleep cure. A persistent, creeping fog that dulled everything around me.
And I realized… it was me. Not in a self-blaming way, but in a way that forced me to look at the full picture: I hadn’t been taking care of myself at all. Not physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Not in the way I deserved.
When Job-Hunting Feels Like Passive Self-Harm
To be blunt, it’s been an ordeal trying to get a job.
There’s this perception that tech is a land of endless opportunities, and maybe it is—for the right people, in the right place, with the right timing and credentials. But for someone like me, navigating a tough job market post-bootcamp, without industry connections or a conventional résumé, it hasn’t been so kind.
What I didn’t expect was how this journey—this waiting—would wear me down.
You see, I wasn’t hurting myself, technically. I wasn’t doing anything drastic. But over time, the neglect added up: skipping meals, pushing through fatigue, applying to jobs at 3AM, ignoring the dust building up in my room, letting my thoughts spiral unchecked because “there’s no time to feel.”
That’s passive self-harm. Not a dramatic breakdown. But a quiet erasure of your own needs for the sake of being productive, or rather, appearing to be.
At some point, I wasn’t even living. I was just surviving—with the singular hope that something would finally break through: a job offer, a callback, something. I took the lowest common denominator of work, sacrificing my sleep and health, while silently hoping that maybe this was all temporary. That I was paying my dues. That this would be worth it.
Risking It All, Then Crumbling
For the first time in my life, I took a real risk. I stepped away from stability—not recklessly, but because I had a dream and I wanted to chase it before I lost the chance. I wanted to be something. Not just a cog. Not just a cleaner. But a creator. A developer. A writer. A maker of things.
But risk comes at a price. And the thing about risking it all is that you can’t afford to break down.
Except I did.
Silently, mostly. Even though everyone around me can tell I was burning out. They were worried. I brushed them off. I told myself this was just the price of ambition.
But it wasn’t ambition that was breaking me. It was the lack of balance.
Ramadan as a Wake-Up Call
Ramadan has a way of slowing things down. Of forcing you to be mindful.
You can’t rush through the day when you’re fasting. You can’t ignore your body when it’s reminding you, every hour, that it’s empty and tired. You can’t lie to yourself in the quiet stillness before iftar. And for me, those still moments—hungry and humbled—forced me to face the truth.
I had known I wasn’t okay. I just hadn’t done anything about it. And that’s what hurt the most.
But strangely enough, I didn’t cry. Even when I wanted to. Even when everything inside me was exhausted, hollow, and yearning for relief. I just… carried on.
And maybe, that’s strength. Maybe, that’s what perseverance actually looks like. Not loud, not cinematic. Just quiet survival.
Tech Isn’t Just Code—It’s Humanity
This post isn’t about pity. It’s not about failure. It’s about understanding.
In tech, we talk a lot about optimization, performance, pushing updates. But we rarely talk about downtime. About what happens when the human behind the GitHub profile can’t keep running at 100%.
So let me be clear: Self-care is not optional. It’s not indulgent. It’s foundational. You can’t build your future on a crumbling present.
You want to be a developer? A writer? A creator? Take care of the machine—you—that powers all of it.
Clean your room. Take a walk. Sit in silence. Talk to someone. Hydrate. Reflect. Stop punishing yourself for not being where you want to be yet.
To Those in the Same Boat
If you’re reading this and you’ve felt the same—felt stuck, drained, burnt out while trying to “make it” in tech—I see you.
This space can be isolating. It’s easy to feel like you’re falling behind, especially when timelines and goals slip through your fingers like sand. But you’re not a failure. You’re human.
The journey’s still ongoing. There’s still time. There’s still space to grow. But growth doesn’t happen in survival mode. It happens when you make room to breathe, to live, to rest.
This Ramadan, I’ve realized the real test wasn’t just patience or hunger—it was in reclaiming myself from the grind. In slowing down, even when everything tells me to speed up. In practicing faith that my path will unfold—not through suffering, but through balance.
Final Thoughts
I don’t have all the answers. I’m still looking for that job. Still figuring things out. But I’m no longer willing to break myself in the process. I want to be here to enjoy the reward when it finally arrives.
And when it does, I want to look back and know that I didn’t lose myself to get it.
So to you reading this: Take care. Take breaks. Keep pushing—but not at the cost of your soul.
Because the dream is real. But so are you.
And you matter more than the goal.