Lifestyle

Fasting: Finding Clarity, Discipline, and God in the Quiet Hours

By: Aliya Deshotel

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A word begins to echo through Catholic churches: fasting.

A word people cringe when they hear, and try to avoid. A word that some people think means skipping one breakfast a year. No one wants to make that sacrifice. It's too hard. I work too hard. Who has time for that?

It’s spoken from the pulpit, printed in bulletins, and woven into conversations about Lent and spiritual renewal. For many, fasting sounds intimidating - an ancient practice that feels out of place in a modern, fast-paced world. But fasting is not about deprivation for deprivation’s sake. It is about alignment: body, mind, and spirit coming into order.

I began fasting around this time last year. At the time, I was a kindergarten teacher- busy, overwhelmed, and constantly running on empty. I chose one day a week and committed to an eight-hour fast. It sounded manageable, but the reality was much harder. I was stressed, overworked, and being hungry only magnified everything. My patience was thinner. My emotions were louder. My body resisted.

Instead of quitting, I started researching why people fasted and how they approached it. I wanted to understand the purpose, not just physically, but spiritually and psychologically. That understanding changed everything.

A Biblical Foundation for Fasting

Fasting is deeply rooted in Scripture, not as punishment, but as preparation and clarity.

In Matthew 6:16 - 18, Jesus says:

16 "When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.
17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face,
18 so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."

Jesus doesn’t say if you fast, He says when. Fasting is assumed as part of spiritual life. But He also reframes it: fasting is not about outward suffering or spiritual performance. It is about an inward encounter with God.

In Isaiah 58:6, God explains the kind of fast He desires:

“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness… to let the oppressed go free?”

Fasting makes room in our lives. It helps us see what’s holding us back such as sin, distractions, stress, or reliance on comfort. When we give up food, these things come to the surface. The Bible shows that facing this discomfort is how we find freedom.

During my fasting, as someone who was insanely busy, when I started to feel hungry, and ready to throw in the towel, I stopped and prayed. Why am I doing this? Instead of scrolling on my phone, I spent a lot more time praying. I prayed more when I fasted than I usually do. That is why I am doing it.

Discipline That Leads to Clarity

As I continued fasting weekly, something unexpected happened. The hunger didn’t disappear, but my relationship with it changed. Each week, I added a few hours. What started as an eight-hour fast slowly stretched longer. And with that stretching came discipline. I wasn’t doing it to lose weight or skip meals. This was about drawing closer to God, and using fasting as a spiritual practice, not a diet.

Psychologically, fasting strengthens what researchers call executive function, the brain’s ability to regulate impulses, delay gratification, and stay focused. Every time you choose not to eat when you normally would, you practice self-control. That discipline doesn’t stay limited to food. It spills into how you manage stress, emotions, time, and even relationships.

I noticed mental clarity almost immediately. I felt clean, refreshed, and sharp-minded. My thoughts were less scattered. I was more intentional. In a strange way, fasting gave me the same “high” that running and working out gives me, the dopamine rush, the excitement, the eagerness to get things done and get back on track.

From a neurological standpoint, this makes sense. Short-term fasting can increase focus-enhancing chemicals like norepinephrine and dopamine (your brain’s happy chemicals).

Spiritually, it mirrors what Romans 12:1-2 calls us to do:

“Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice… Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.”

The body participates in spiritual renewal. When the body is disciplined, the mind follows.

Learning to Sit With Discomfort

One thing I like about fasting is the ability it has to teach us how to sit with discomfort instead of immediately escaping it.

We live in a culture of instant relief: snacks, scrolling, noise, constant stimulation. Fasting interrupts that cycle. Hunger stops feeling like a crisis and becomes a signal your body gives you. Stress becomes something you can observe instead of trying to escape or numb.

In Psalm 46:10, we are told:

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Fasting creates stillness. When food is removed, the silence gets louder. That’s often when God speaks, not in dramatic revelations, but in clarity, conviction, and peace.

Psychologically, this builds emotional resilience. You learn that discomfort is temporary. You learn that you can feel hungry, stressed, or unsettled and still function. Still pray. Still show up.

A Practice That Trains the Whole Person

Fasting is not about perfection or extremes. It is a training ground. Just as muscles are strengthened gradually, fasting works best when approached slowly and intentionally. Starting with an eight-hour fast was difficult, but increasing it weekly allowed my body and mind to adapt.

Spiritually, fasting realigns priorities. Physically, it resets habits. Mentally, it sharpens focus. Together, these effects explain why fasting has endured across centuries, cultures, and faith traditions.

As Joel 2:12 says:

“Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning.”

It’s in fasting that we reconnect with ourselves, with discipline, with God.

This time of year, as the word fasting begins to circulate again, it’s worth reconsidering it not as something to fear, but as an invitation. An invitation to quiet the noise, train the will, and rediscover clarity, one intentional hour at a time.