Along the Hifdh Journey Series: The Student Who Thinks She Is Behind

One of the conversations I find myself returning to repeatedly with Hifdhul Qur’an students rarely begins where it ends. A student may come wanting to discuss revision, retention, or a memorisation target she has not met. She may be concerned about the pace of her progress or frustrated by a surah that seems to be taking longer than expected. Yet if we talk long enough, the real concern usually emerges. Beneath the questions about memorisation is often a deeper feeling: the quiet conviction that everyone else seems to be moving forwards while she is somehow struggling to keep up.

Over the years, I have realised how many sincere students carry this burden. They sit in classes, attend circles, listen to recitations, and slowly begin measuring themselves against the people around them. They notice another student’s fluency and assume memorisation comes easily to her. They watch someone complete a juz and conclude that her journey must be smoother than their own. They observe the visible outcome and unconsciously construct a story around it, forgetting that every student carries a private reality that remains unseen.

The challenge, of course, is that we know our own struggles in intimate detail. We know the pages that refused to stay in our memory, the lessons that left us discouraged, the weeks when life felt too demanding, and the days when simply opening the mushaf required effort. We know every hesitation, every forgotten ayah, every moment of self-doubt. What we do not know is the full story of the student sitting beside us. We see her recitation, but not the revision that preceded it. We see her confidence, but not the moments she questioned herself. We see the progress, but not the sacrifices she made to reach it.

One of the privileges of teaching for many years is that you begin to see behind these assumptions. You sit with enough students to realise that the confident learner often battles insecurity, that the seemingly effortless student usually works much harder than anyone recognises, and that those who feel most disappointed in themselves are often the very people others admire.

I remember a student who spent much of a year convinced that she was failing. Every conversation seemed to return to what she had not achieved. She spoke about unfinished targets, delayed goals, and portions she had hoped to memorise by now. From her perspective, the evidence was overwhelming. She had not accomplished what she intended to accomplish.

As I listened, however, I found myself thinking about an entirely different story.

When we first met, she struggled enormously with setbacks. A difficult lesson could discourage her for days. A mistake in revision would leave her questioning her ability altogether. What I saw a year later was a woman who had learned how to remain steady through difficulty. She no longer allowed a disappointing lesson to define her week. She had developed the ability to begin again after frustration. Her relationship with the Qur’an felt less dependent on motivation and more rooted in commitment.

Whilst she was measuring pages, Allah was cultivating perseverance.

I think this is what many students fail to recognise. We tend to assume that progress arrives in obvious forms. We expect it to appear as completed surahs, stronger retention, and visible milestones. Yet some of the most meaningful growth takes place in ways that are much harder to measure. The Qur’an teaches patience long before it teaches mastery. It develops resilience through repetition and trust through struggle. It refines a person’s character in the very process of memorisation, often through the challenges she wishes she could avoid.

These lessons do not appear on a progress tracker. There is no column for increased tawakkul. No assessment records greater patience. No revision chart captures the moment a student learns to persevere despite disappointment. Yet those developments may ultimately shape her far more profoundly than the pace of her memorisation.

Perhaps that is why I have become increasingly cautious whenever a student tells me she is behind. Behind whom exactly? The woman revising between school runs is not living the same reality as the university student with uninterrupted study hours. The student caring for ageing parents is carrying responsibilities that her classmates may never fully understand. Even two learners sitting side by side in the same lesson can be travelling entirely different roads whilst carrying the same mushaf.

Allah has never asked us to walk somebody else’s journey.

The students who remain most vivid in my memory are not necessarily the fastest memorizers. What I remember are the women who continued. I remember the ones who returned after long interruptions, who restarted after discouragement, and who kept showing up despite feeling inadequate. I remember students who doubted themselves for years and yet remained connected to the Qur’an through every season of life. Looking back, their greatest achievement was not the speed of their progress but the consistency of their return.

The longer I teach, the more convinced I become that longevity matters far more than pace. A relationship with the Qur’an that deepens slowly over many years is far more valuable than rapid progress that cannot be sustained. The goal is not simply to move forwards. The goal is to remain connected.

So if you have found yourself feeling behind lately, perhaps it is worth pausing before accepting that judgement. Perhaps the pages are not accumulating as quickly as you hoped. Perhaps your circumstances look different from what they did a few years ago. Perhaps life has required things from you that you never planned for.

But before you conclude that you are failing, consider what else might be happening.

Consider the patience you are learning through repeated effort. Consider the resilience that is being developed every time you return after disappointment. Consider the sincerity that grows when nobody sees the struggle except Allah. Consider the possibility that whilst you have been focused on what remains unfinished, Allah has been nurturing qualities that will remain with you long after individual pages have been forgotten.

When I think back over the students I have taught, I rarely remember how quickly they moved through their memorisation. What stays with me is the person they became through the journey. I remember the woman who learned to trust Allah more deeply. I remember the student who discovered a strength she never knew she possessed. I remember those who carried the Qur’an through difficult seasons and, in the process, discovered that the Qur’an was carrying them too.

Reflection

This week, instead of asking yourself how many pages you have memorised, ask yourself a different question:

How has the Qur’an changed me during this season of my life?

For a few moments, set aside the targets, the trackers, and the comparisons. Reflect instead on what has been refined, strengthened, softened, or transformed within you through the process of carrying the words of Allah.

You may discover that whilst you were measuring memorisation, Allah was nurturing something far deeper.

If you are seeking personalised support in your Hifdh journey, I offer one-to-one mentorship and consultation sessions via WhatsApp voice call for women internationally. Together, we explore not only memorisation and revision strategies, but also the emotional, spiritual, and practical realities of building a meaningful and sustainable relationship with the Qur’an. To enquire about availability for early 2027, please email fq@theartofresonance.co.uk

BetawfeeqAllah,

R