Confessions

What Ramadan Taught Me About Letting Go For This Year

I always thought “letting go” meant something big. Like resigning from a job you hate. Ending a relationship that’s no longer good for you. Closing a chapter and starting over. I am starting to realise that sometimes, it’s about not obsessing over certain things and the outcomes. I am someone who likes being prepared. I like knowing I’ve done enough. If I give something – time, money, effort – I want to feel certain it was worth it. I want to feel safe in that decision. The beginning of this year felt heavier than usual. Several large expenses arrived almost at the same time, family obligations, unexpected repairs, practical things that couldn’t be postponed. My savings weren’t gone, but they were thinner, and that changed the way I approached everything that followed. When Ramadan approached, I knew this year would look different. Last year, giving felt easy. I transferred money early, added extra for my parents, contributed to a small community fundraiser without thinking twice. There was no tension behind it. This year, I did not have that luxury. I sat down and calculated first. Fixed expenses, rebuilding savings, and restoring what had quietly been used. After going through the numbers, I lowered the amount I planned to give. It was the responsible decision. Still, it didn’t sit comfortably. Ramadan has a way of slowing life down. The earlier mornings, the longer afternoons, the quiet minutes before breaking fast. In that slower rhythm, I began to notice the tightness underneath my planning. I wasn’t just adjusting numbers. I was trying to protect an image of myself – someone steady, someone who never seems affected by shifting circumstances. I caught myself reopening my banking app, rechecking balances I already knew. Not because anything had changed, but because I wanted reassurance. I wanted proof that everything was still fine. Then I followed through with what I had decided and distributed the money as planned. When I saw the people receiving it, they smiled and said thank you. No one measured it. No one compared it to last year. To them, it was help, and it mattered. That moment felt simple, but clarifying. The weight I had been carrying existed mostly in my own head. The meaning of giving had never depended on matching a previous version of myself. This Ramadan, I noticed how tightly I hold on to things. Not just money, but outcomes, expectations, and how people see me. Fasting carries its own lesson. You can’t force your body not to feel hunger. You acknowledge it, you sit with it, and you wait. There is something grounding about accepting a limit instead of fighting it. And maybe finances, move the same way. Some periods expand. Others rebuild. Not every year has to look bigger than the last. Gradually, I stopped recalculating the number each night. I accepted that this year’s capacity is simply different. Not worse, not a failure. Just different. Letting go, I realised, wasn’t about giving less or caring less. It was about loosening the grip on how I think things should look and allowing myself to move through a tighter season without turning it into a verdict on my worth. Ramadan didn’t change my bank balance overnight. It didn’t remove responsibility or uncertainty. But something inside me softened. I still plan, I still give, and I still care. I just don’t hold everything so tightly anymore, and that small shift feels lighter than I expected. This article is part of TSS Confessions, a weekly column where we delve into personal finance topics that are unscripted and genuine real accounts from people.