Thirteen months since the war began, six months since I returned to work. Each day carries a renewed weight of challenge. Some days feel like the very first day back: mentally draining, your mind is there while your body isn’t, as if living in a parallel world. Other days are an exhausting struggle to keep moving forward despite everything.

A deferred decision

For nearly a year and a half, I thought about sharing my experience among a community of content and marketing professionals. Yet everything lost its compass after October 7th. Now, on my journey of returning once again, I chose to start.

I will write first about Gaza, war, and work: the mix that made ambition impossible, and writing about anything else almost meaningless.

A thought, and a piece of advice

There’s an essential rule in content writing: write about what you know. Better yet, write from your own lived experience, not just a story you never walked through yourself.

And for me, nothing feels truer now than writing about being Gazan, in a constant struggle to return, like a phoenix rising from the ashes no matter how many times it burns. Sometimes I wonder: perhaps myths should change, and the Gazan should be recognized as the true legend.

Giving life meaning again

The idea of striving again, despite everything, is like planting a small seed in barren soil. You realize it’s a new beginning, though you’ve walked the path many times. But your perspective shifts completely: suddenly it feels like laying the very first stone again.

Because striving is a form of worship, you decide to begin. You give life meaning again after it has lost its features. I find comfort in the Prophet’s saying: “If the Final Hour comes while you have a palm-cutting in your hands and it is possible to plant it before the Hour comes, you should plant it.”

The first step: Acceptance

Denial will not save you; it will only drown you further. Acceptance does not mean forgetting, it means facing reality so that striving becomes possible. To strip yourself of the refusal to acknowledge what has happened, to admit its existence. Yes, the war began and continues. Yes, Gazans lost almost everything. Yes, we are still resisting. And working is resistance too.

Through acceptance, your soul leaves space for your mind to start planning and focusing again.

Returning: Continuous attempts

The return is not easy. But intention and decision pave the way. I was away from work for seven months before I could finally come back. Others were gone longer. Some never had the luxury of stopping at all, forced to keep working under bombardment. Every attempt is its own journey, with challenges you would never imagine. Today, focus isn’t lost because of boredom, or multitasking, or small personal issues you wish would return.

Focus: You’re here

At the start, you will feel like you’re expending the same mental effort to return, as if everyday is the first day. The key is showing up consistently, and diving into the daily tasks as much as possible.

Restoring a routine is almost impossible, the same routine you once longed to escape or change. The familiar work environment has been erased. You are forced to adapt and to focus on the higher meaning instead.

I know people working in tents or streets, near any internet source. The routine isn’t what matters here. What matters is being present, working for a message and meaning. You are here now, in the work you built for years. You will not allow one year of war to destroy it too.

As much as possible

There is one thing you should know about Gazans: we never surrender. You will find us working as much as possible -the “possible” that may look impossible to anyone outside Gaza-. Perhaps it’s because we were born and raised in a place that forces us to adapt, to carve paths between walls that have no visible exit. And even if you leave, part of you will always remain here.

This is one of the rare skills only Gaza can teach you. It’s what pulls you up every morning to work.

A distorted beginning

This is not the beginning I dreamed of. But the memory that cannot be erased, and the wound that refuses to heal, deserve to be written about first.

I know we are many here, all trying to reclaim what we’ve lost. I remind you: nothing has truly passed you by. You’ve survived horrors that made everything else look like nothing. Striving amid crisis is a way to build new meaning. And the best choice is always to focus on what you can do, however small. You can reclaim control again. That’s what we were created to do.