Water Your Plants

There's a plant in my room that's been dying for weeks. I keep meaning to water it. Keep walking past it, noticing the brown edges creeping across the leaves, the way the soil has pulled away from the sides of the pot, dry and cracked. And I keep thinking, tomorrow. I'll water it tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I'm scrolling through my phone looking at other people's thriving gardens. Thinking about what new plants I should buy. What seeds I should plant. What my space could look like if I just had the right things growing in it.

The plant that's already there, the one that's been there, the one I already committed to when I brought it home? That one can wait.

And today, I'd like to use that as an analogy, a kind of comparison. With ourselves. With our faith.

We have seeds already planted. Knowledge we've acquired but never applied. Potential we've recognized in ourselves but never developed. Faith we claimed, but never nurtured. And instead of watering what's already there, instead of tending to what we already have, we're looking elsewhere. At other people's growth. At new goals. At different versions of ourselves we think we should be chasing.

Meanwhile, what we already have is dying from neglect.

I just sat yesterday and really thought about it. About how easy it is to let things die while you're busy planning what you'll plant next. About how we treat ourselves like projects we'll get to eventually, like gardens we'll tend to when we have more time, more energy, more of whatever we think we're currently lacking.

But here's what I'm realizing: nobody owes you your own growth. Nobody's coming to water your plants for you. Not your parents, not your friends, not even Allah, because He's already given you the water. He's already given you everything you need. The Quran. The example of the Prophet ﷺ. The tools. The capacity. The time.

What you do with it? That's on you.

Your happiness isn't someone else's responsibility. Your fulfillment isn't going to fall into your lap. Your faith isn't going to stay strong just because you believed once, prayed once, felt connected once.

You have to actively tend to it. Constantly. Deliberately. Even when it feels monotonous. Especially when it feels monotonous.

Because life does get monotonous. That's not a flaw. That's just what life is. The same routines. The same struggles in different packaging. The same you waking up every day having to make the same choices about whether you're going to show up for yourself or just coast.

And coasting is so easy. So comfortable. You're not getting worse, you tell yourself. You're maintaining your stance. You're fine.

Except maintaining isn't enough when you're a living thing. Living things don't maintain. They either grow or they die. There's no neutral. There's no pause button where you stay exactly as you are.

That plant in my room isn't maintaining. It's dying. Slowly. And if I keep telling myself I'll water it tomorrow, eventually there won't be anything left to water.

I think about how many of us are walking around like dying plants. Not dramatically wilting. Just slowly browning at the edges. Slowly losing vitality. Slowly becoming less than what we could be because we're not actively investing in our own growth.

We prayed regularly once. Read Quran with intention once. Felt that connection with Allah once. And we think that's enough. Think that counts as watering. Think we can live off that one moment of hydration forever.

But faith isn't a one-time watering. It's daily. It's constant. It's showing up even when you don't feel like it, even when the routine feels boring, even when you'd rather be doing literally anything else.

Because the moment you stop actively nurturing it, it starts to die. Slowly. So slowly you might not notice at first. But it's happening.

Your relationship with Allah isn't different from that plant. You can't ignore it for weeks and expect it to thrive. You can't skip watering and then be surprised when your iman feels dry, cracked, pulling away from the edges.

And this isn't just about faith. This is about everything. Your mind. Your skills. Your dreams. Your potential.

You have things planted in you already. Talents you haven't developed. Knowledge you haven't applied. Dreams you haven't worked toward. Potential you acknowledged once and then left to sit there, hoping it would somehow grow on its own.

But potential doesn't actualize itself. Seeds don't water themselves either. You have to do the work.

And the work is often boring. It's repetitive. It's showing up day after day to do the same things. Water the same plants. Tend the same garden. Work on the same goals. Practice the same skills.

There's no viral moment in consistent watering. No one's impressed by you doing the basics every single day. No one's celebrating you for maintaining what you've already built.

But that's where growth actually happens. Not exactly in the dramatic moments. Nor in the new seeds you're always planning to plant. But in the daily, unglamorous work of tending to what's already there.

You want to grow? Water what you already have. You want your faith to strengthen? Do the basics consistently. You want to develop your potential? Stop planning and start practicing.

Because here's what I've learned: you can't plant new things if you can't even keep your current plants alive. You can't take on new goals if you haven't watered the ones you already committed to. You can't become a new version of yourself if you haven't taken care of the version you already are.

This isn't about settling. This isn't about accepting mediocrity. This is about understanding that growth requires a solid foundation. That you can't build up if your base is dying.

Dream wild, yes. Have ambitious goals. Want more from your life. But also water your plants. Tend to what you already have. Invest in who you already are.

Because the truth is, most of us already have everything we need. We have the knowledge. We have the capacity. We have the tools. We have access to the Quran, to prayer, to knowledge, to resources our ancestors would have sacrificed everything for.

We're just not using it. We're just not watering it. We're just letting it sit there while we scroll through other people's gardens thinking about what we wish we had instead of nurturing what we already do.

And then we wonder why we feel empty. Why our faith feels dry. Why we're not growing. Why we're stuck.

You're stuck because you're not watering your plants. You're spending all your energy looking at other gardens instead of tending your own.

Islam gave us the structure for this. Five daily prayers. Not weekly. Not when you feel like it. Daily. Because you need that constant reminder. That constant watering. That regular return to what matters.

Ramadan every year. Hajj once in a lifetime if you can. Zakat annually. These aren't arbitrary. They're built-in maintenance. Regular watering. Constant tending.

Because Allah knows how we are. Knows we get distracted. Knows life gets monotonous. Knows we need a structure to keep showing up for ourselves, for our faith, for our growth.

But even with all that structure, it still requires you to show up. To actually pray those prayers. To actually fast that month. To actually give that zakat. To actually engage instead of just going through the motions.

You can stand in prayer five times a day and still have a dying plant if you're not actually present. If you're just watering mechanically without attention, without intention, without actually caring whether it lives or dies.

Watering isn't just the action. It's the attention. The intention. The care.

It's noticing when the soil is dry. When the leaves are browning. When something needs more than just the routine you've been doing.

It's adjusting. Growing in your approach as you grow in your understanding. Not just repeating the same motions forever but actually engaging with what you're tending to.

And it's refusing to settle for mediocrity. For a plant that's barely surviving. For faith that's technically there but not thriving. For a life that's fine but not full.

You deserve more than fine. But you have to work for it. You have to water it. You have to tend to it. Every single day.

No one's coming to do it for you. Not your parents who raised you. Not your friends who remind you occasionally. Not even the knowledge you have sitting in your head unused.

It's your garden. Your plants. Your responsibility.

So water them. Today. Not tomorrow. Not when you feel more motivated. Not when life is less busy. Today.

Start with what you have. The faith you already claimed. The knowledge you already possess. The potential you already embody .The dreams you've already acknowledged.

Water those first. Tend to those. Make those thrive.

And then, if you have energy left, plant something new. Reach for something bigger. Stretch toward the next level.

But not before. Not while your current plants are dying. Not while your foundation is crumbling. Not while you're neglecting what you already have in pursuit of what you think you should want.

Because growth isn't about always adding more. Sometimes it's about deepening what's already there. Strengthening what's already planted. Making what you already have flourish before you reach for something new.

You have to show up. Daily. Consistently. Even when it's boring. Even when you don't feel like it. Even when you'd rather be doing anything else.

You have to water your plants.

So look around your life. Look at what you've planted. What you've started. What you've claimed matters to you.

And ask yourself honestly: when's the last time you actually watered it?

Because if the answer is "I can't remember," then you already know what you need to do.

Water your plants. Before they die. Before you lose what you already had. Before you're left with just dried soil and brown leaves wondering where it all went wrong.

Stop scrolling through other people's gardens and tend to your own.

Because nobody's coming to do it for you. And that's not a burden. That's a gift. That's the beautiful, terrifying freedom of being responsible for your own growth.