ABC Radio National / By Lina for International Day of People With Disability Posted 17h ago

I sat quietly in the waiting room. The silence was deafening.

My right leg had a mind of its own and bounced a rhythm to every tick of the clock. With every bounce, the healing wounds on my thigh gave a painful ache that kept me grounded.

For the third time in five years, I was back in a pastel-coloured room. I was waiting for my first trauma therapy session with my third psychologist.

By the time I was 19, I had reached a very dangerous cliff and I was teetering precariously on its edge.

I had spent years convincing myself that I was fine. A couple of episodes of self-harm every month didn’t mean I was spiralling, right? It was a normal response to stress, I’d thought, and the thoughts of suicide were just me internally being an attention-seeker, I reasoned.

I believed, as I’d been told by so many people around me, that I simply wasn’t praying enough, that Allah was angry with me, or that I was a weak, ungrateful and un-Islamic person.

It’s taken me years to realise my mental health struggles have no connection with my worth as a Muslim.

The conversation we need to have

I have spent a significant amount of time in waiting rooms and in the offices of mental health professionals.

The guilt that often accompanied those visits was suffocating, tiring and in hindsight, plain unnecessary.

I’m speaking out because while there has been increased discussion of mental health in the Muslim community, we still struggle with the topic of suicide.

But, as Desmond Tutu once said: “There comes a point where we need to stop just pulling people out of the river. We need to go upstream and find out why they’re falling in.”

And from where I’m standing, we’ve been at that point for a very long time.

The first time a Muslim community member heard of my history with suicidal behaviour and self-harm, their immediate response was: “How is she going to be a good mother?”

The question was quickly followed by: “Doesn’t she know that this stuff isn’t real? Allah doesn’t burden a soul with more than they can bear”.

Those phrases were just the tip of the iceberg, and a devastating blow to my sense of worth as a Muslim.

What the Qur’an had meant to be a source of comfort — “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear” (Surah al-Baqarah, Verse 286) — became a tool to invalidate and ridicule my increasing mental health struggles.

‘Muslim’ and ‘mental health struggles’ aren’t incompatible

I’m grateful to live in a free country where I don’t spend every minute fearing for my safety or necessities. However, this privilege does not dictate whether someone is “eligible” for a disability.

But that’s not what I was taught growing up.International Day of People with DisabilityFind out how you can get involved this year on the IDPwD website.Read more

My worth as a Muslim, the sincerity of my spirituality and the authenticity of my relationship with Allah became a central focus for many Muslims around me.

It was incomprehensible that a young Muslim could have multiple mental health diagnoses.

Some people told me the more I insisted on getting professional help, the angrier Allah would become with me.

And, so, I bought into the incorrect belief that I could not be a “good” Muslim and simultaneously experience mental health struggles.

These beliefs hurt our community

Now, at nearly 22 years of age, I say proudly that I am a “good” Muslim who tries her best to better herself as a woman, as a Muslim and as a human being.

It is clear to me that spirituality is one of the most important aspects of my identity, and my struggle with suicidal behaviour and self-harm does not undermine this in any way.

What did undermine the significance of religion in my life was being told that there’s a special place in hell for people like me. It didn’t “cure” me and it definitely did not inspire me to be patient.

This way of thinking hinders our community. It makes mosques and spiritual spaces of learning less-welcoming to Muslim youth.

And that, in turn, has alienated some Muslim youth from the Muslim part of their identity.

I now wish, more than anything, that I had not lost my religion for a good four years of my life. I wish that I had been able to visit mosques and pray without the crushing belief that my faith and worship meant nothing because I had scars lining my thighs and two suicide attempts under my belt.

There is no shame in seeking medical help

The brain is an organ, and like any other organ, the brain can malfunction.

Recognising this has allowed me to talk about my experiences without the guilt I once felt.

I have accepted that, if any other organ in my body had undergone the trauma my brain had endured, seeking help from a specialist would have been the only logical choice.Generation Z has embraced neurodivergenceBeing a visibly neurodivergent child and teenager wasn’t easy. My classmates were told about my “situation”; it was a form of sympathy, and of othering. But in the gaps between what is and isn’t normal, acceptable, or possible, people are working to broaden the range. Read more

And, so, my decision to seek professional help from psychologists and psychiatrists is something I am extremely proud of. It in no way signifies that I have lost my faith in Allah’s plan for me.

Seeking help has provided me with the tools to adequately manage my mental health struggles.

This December, I will have officially been self-harm-free for a year, and it has been more than two years since my last suicide attempt.

It may surprise some, but therapy — and Allah’s unconditional love and guidance — encouraged me to dive back into Islam and re-learn it for it what really encompasses: compassion, mercy, guidance, fairness and love.

And though this story has a happy ending, the mission to destigmatise suicide, self-harm and other mental health struggles has just begun.

Before I go, I’d like to cite one of my favourite supplications that I turn to when discussing difficult topics. It is the supplication made by the Prophet Moses (pbuh) for confidence when he was on his way to address the Pharaoh:

“My Lord, expand for me my breast [with assurance]. And ease for me my task. And untie the knot from tongue, that they may understand my speech.”

May Peace Be Upon You.

source https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-12-08/idpwd-mental-health-and-islam/100643544