I learned the movements but not the meaning

I just finished reading "A Prayer Between Lessons" here and it landed like a small stone in a quiet pond. I learned the movements as a child in our living room in Conakry, my grandmother teaching me how to place my feet and cup my hands, but no one ever taught me how to actually mean them. Now I am a nurse, waking before fajr in a kitchen lit by a single bulb, praying between night shifts, hands cracked from washing, lips moving while my mind holds a list of patients and a text I left on read. I serve my parents with all my strength and find barakah in care, but when I stand to pray I feel quietly lost. Has anyone else felt this way, and what happened next for you?