The Practice of Returning

By Laila

Neville Goddard’s philosophy centers on the idea that your imagination creates your reality. He taught that your inner world—your thoughts, assumptions, feelings, and beliefs—shapes the experiences of your outer world.

I believe my relationship with the Universe is like water; it flows from me and returns to me. As a Muslim, I believe God tests us from time to time, which means I am not always sure how much control I truly have. But these past few months have been hard for me.

Negative thoughts whisper, and lately they have grown louder.

Breathwork and meditation have long been daily rituals of mine.

They were the first things to leave as darkness found its way to me.

Instead of gratitude, I began questioning God and His plans for me. I grew closer to Him through prayer and conversation, yet often felt as though I was the only one speaking.

My energy changed.

The darkness began to feel like a void, and there I was, being consumed by it. It crept in slowly, starting at my feet before making its way up my legs, through my torso, into my arms, and around my neck. Eventually, it reached my head.

What frightened me most was not how suddenly it arrived, but how quietly. I barely noticed it at first. It settled into the spaces where gratitude once lived and replaced certainty with doubt, presence with fear, and hope with exhaustion.

I could not understand how much of me felt unlike myself.

But it did.

As a practitioner, I knew why. My rituals were slipping through my hands, and I was allowing them to.

Life moves in waves. Sometimes what returns to you is bliss, and other times it is something much harder. As a believer, I know the best defense against it all is to become a rock in the water.

As the waves crash and rumble toward the shore, remain still. Remain open.

Sitting in the darkness made me want to give up.

But how can I, if I am a believer?

Faith is not tested when the sea is calm. It is tested when the water rises around you and you choose, again and again, not to drown in it.

For me, the hardest part of loving God is that you cannot hear His voice. Yet His mercy is that He gives you nudges.

Small inner knowings.

Gentle whispers that guide you toward something.

These past couple of days, I have felt called to go inward—to return to my mind, to return to my heart.

And I have never been one to ignore those inner callings.

I have been returning to breathwork and listening to affirmations, gently guiding my inner compass toward softer thoughts.

And something wonderful has been happening.

Gentleness has begun to replace the shadows of darkness.

Hope is finding its way back into my reality, reopening possibilities I had forgotten existed.

I think this is why my soul has been urging me to write this post for the person who may need to hear it:

“Your light is not proved by never feeling darkness. Your light is proved by returning again and again.

— Louise Hay

I do not believe we possess the will of the Universe; that power belongs to God alone. But I do believe we influence the possibilities before us by surrendering to the feelings we carry most often.

Perhaps that is why parts of my practice resonate with Neville Goddard’s teachings. Not because I believe I control reality, but because I understand the power of assuming goodness, holding faith, and living as though hope still has a place within me.

Sometimes the journey back to yourself begins with a single thought:

Maybe everything is going to be okay after all.

When I was younger, I used to drive myself crazy with the concept of the Law of Attraction.

I shamed and blamed myself whenever the water became muddy.

Lately, I have been learning to forgive myself for carrying things so heavily.

To hold knowledge is to keep your palms open and allow it to rest there for as long as it is meant to. 

Some lessons stay. Others drift away.

A beautiful mantra for forgiveness, both of others and of yourself, is the Hawaiian practice of Ho’oponopono:

I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.

Simple words, yet each one softens the grip we hold on our mistakes, our fears, and the stories we tell ourselves about who we should have been.

Healing is not about becoming someone new. It is about returning, again and again, to surrender to oneself. 

I’ve seen a lot of discourse around self-concept.

And it is true: the way you see yourself influences what you experience. If you believe you are worthy, loved, capable, and enough, your life begins to reflect those assumptions.

But self-concept is not about becoming someone else.

It is about surrendering to the knowledge that you already possess these qualities.

So much of my life has been spent trying to earn things that were never meant to be earned in the first place.

Love.

Worthiness.

Belonging.

Peace.

Perhaps the real work is not in building a new self, but in peeling away everything that convinced you that you were lacking.

Maybe that is what God has been teaching me through this season.

Not how to become more.

But how to remember what has always been there.

And when I return to my breath, my faith, and the quiet voice within, I find the same truth waiting for me every time:

I was never lost.

I was only forgetting.

So if you find yourself in a season where your rituals have slipped away, where hope feels distant, and where the darkness seems louder than your own voice, know this:

You do not have to become someone new.

You do not have to force yourself back into the light.

Sometimes all you need to do is take one gentle step inward.

The rest will meet you there.

With Love,

Laila 🕊️