Last year, for the first time in my entire life, I went to therapy.
Unfortunately, as well-meaning as my therapist was, our backgrounds had very little in common and I felt she couldn’t understand many of the struggles I experienced as a hijabi Muslim woman.
When it comes to mental health, race, religion, gender and class play an enormous role. It’s terrifying having to not only be vulnerable but to also explain your identity and culture whilst seeking help.
Mental health is a difficult topic to talk about in the Muslim community and I’ve found there is little space for conversations to be openly had. I know many are still afraid of speaking out for fear that they will be told that they are weak in their faith, they should fast more, that they are possessed by something supernatural or, for some women, told if they dressed more modestly they would magically be fine.
It feels that these conversations become tied into our religiosity and how good or bad we are as Muslims. I’ve been in conversations which have eventually turned into: ‘You should pray more’. As well meaning as these people are, and as much as I believe in praying, mental health issues can’t be prayed away.
The way stigma in the community gags us, eventually means that we suffer even further by not asking for – or even knowing where to go for help. It’s a vicious cycle.
In Jamile Hekmoun’s essay It’s Not About the Burqa, she talks about being advised to take medication for anxiety by her doctor. People in the community often believe that anti-anxiety medication signals that you are insane, or that it’s impermissible in Islam to take tablets to help with mental illness.
Because of this, Heckmoun felt confused about what to do, so she spoke to her local imam. He replied: ‘If I were in physical pain, there would be no question about taking medication to get better, so why should that be any different with a mental illness?’.
Reading this almost two years ago, I felt relieved. I’d been dealing with mental health issues since I was a teen, but never really knew how to speak up or wanted to.
Even now, as I have this discussion online, I am attempting to create boundaries for what I’m willing to share. So maybe that makes me part of the problem too. We all have a lot of unlearning to do.
In my journey I felt like there wasn’t a space within my community I could reach out to and say: ‘Hey, I’m struggling’
Islam doesn’t encourage us to abuse ourselves or be in pain, so why is it that the stigma around mental health in our communities can be so toxic?
This is not about blame and I think the taboo has surfaced as a result of lots of different factors. There’s a lack of understanding in our communities, for one, which is due to a lack of resources and conversations around mental health. It just so happens that the lack of understanding and the decisions not to talk about it mutually reinforce each other.
I understand why people have chosen not to speak up before now too. Those before us had to just shut up and put up, regardless of their mental health, because they were providing and building a life for their families. They didn’t have the privilege to be mentally unwell or have a breakdown.
But I also believe this is why many of the elders in our communities don’t understand the idea of seeking help. In my journey I felt like there wasn’t a space within my community I could reach out to and say: ‘Hey, I’m struggling.’ While many mosques try to make space for Muslim women, mine doesn’t really so I didn’t know where to turn.
I wish more of the teachings of Islam and faith in our communities were taught out of love not out of fear.
If anything, I have felt peace in my faith, in the mercy of Islam. Reflecting on my faith and learning more about it allowed me to feel the mercy Allah extends to me as a Muslim.
To me, Islam encourages self-love, practicing gratitude and the idea of not living in fear of making mistakes, but to be a conscious individual in this world – to ask for mercy, forgiveness and help when I need it.
This isn’t something I was taught growing up or by my local mosque or community and I wish I had been, because my entire journey in my faith would be so different now – so much stronger.
MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS WEEK
During Mental Health Awareness Week (18-24 May 2020), we are sharing personal experience stories from people living with mental health conditions on how to cope during difficult times.
For more information about this year’s theme – kindness – visit the Mental Health Foundation. If you are struggling and need help, you can call the Samaritans 24-hour helpline on 116 123, email jo@samaritans.org or go to the Samaritans website.
Do you have a story that you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing claie.wilson@metro.co.uk
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