My Week That Changed Everything - A Spiritual Journey at an Inspiring Event

As-salamu alaykum. I’m not great with social sites and this feels a bit clumsy, but I wanted to share this personal story to encourage others. I don’t gain anything from posting it - I just hope it connects with someone and maybe sparks a little courage. Last year something shifted for me at a big self-development event. During one exercise we proclaimed, “I am a force for good. I am a force for God!” and that line reached somewhere quiet inside me. It made me confront why I’d felt distant from Allah and what it might take to grow that relationship again. Strange, meaningful things happen when people gather with intent. After one session I met three strangers in line for a smoothie; we found out we all lived in the same city. I kept in touch with one of them, Daniel, who turned out to be a calm, faith-centered guy. He invited me to visit his mosque/church service - the first time I’d been to a place of worship in years. Hearing someone speak about letting go of the wheel and trusting God to guide the journey hit me hard. It felt like experiencing faith together rather than simply reading about it. Fast forward to 2025: I was driving down Florida’s east coast and stopped in Sebastian to visit a coworker who lives there. He’d trained as a skydiving instructor and settled near one of the most beautiful drop zones. I joked I might jump with him, but I had plans the next morning and figured it wouldn’t work out. Then, late that night, my morning plans were canceled. I thought: is this a sign? I could make an excuse and back out, or I could trust Allah and step out. When the plane climbed, I told myself to simply look out and appreciate the beauty of God’s creation. When it was time to jump, I put my faith in Allah’s protection. Stepping out of the plane, I felt a calm I hadn’t expected. That leap - literal and metaphorical - set the tone for the rest of the week. If the earlier event planted a seed of faith, this week was about nurturing it and learning to trust, appreciate, and feel God’s presence more fully. One exercise at the event asked us to revisit an early memory, see its impact, and reframe it with a more open heart. My regular partner had to leave, so I was paired with two very stoic, masculine men. I thought, great - this will be honest and raw. I shared a childhood memory: as a toddler I burst into my parents’ room when my older sibling was being forced to study. My dad yelled at me and told me to get out, calling me “garbage.” I didn’t understand the words then, but I understood the message: don’t make noise, don’t draw attention. That moment shaped how I learned to hold back my voice and my joy for years. I could write freely, but speaking up in public felt impossible. When I expected empathy or similar stories, the men’s responses were simple - one asked if the sibling passed the exam, another recalled riding a big wheel as a child, and the third shared a story about surviving a scary night canoe ride. At first I felt a bit deflated - I’d dug deep and heard short, different memories - but then something shifted. A woman I’d met earlier in the day came by, and it struck me that this small, unexpected group was exactly where I needed to be. They represented uncomplicated confidence and quiet resilience, the qualities I’d always admired. Sharing my story with them felt right. I spoke with my hands and voice, and for the first time in a long while I felt unbothered by judgment. I realized the toddler who barged in wanting to play had a spirit worth honoring, not hiding. Reflecting on it later, that contrast - my heavy, emotional memory next to simple childhood joys - helped me to fully release doubt and reclaim my voice. My stories, even the messy ones, are what built my capacity to love and to tell those stories. They’re the big wheel of my life. If you read this, thank you. If you have questions about the event, the process, or how I approached faith during all of this, I’m happy to share. May Allah guide us to courage and authenticity in our own journeys.