Reframing Mental distress as a potential catalyst for positive change

You may remember our Muslim Pocket Book team member Sophia who shared her inspiring story of emergence last year. So much has happened since we started this publication process and both Sophia and our Rep Ayan decided that they’d like to share an update to show how transformation is not a linear process, but full of life’s challenges to overcome. You can read part one of Sophia’s journey via this link:

https://emergingproud.com/2020/02/10/sophia-had-to-learn-to-love-the-person-in-the-mirror-in-order-to-heal/

Here she shares the next stage of her painful journey of being forced to STOP, surrender and continue learning …

The journey of life is like a fast train, going in and out of tunnels: we and everyone around us has our own individual stop. For some of us we don’t get off the fast train until something forces us to stop. This heeding comes in different forms, whether it’s trauma, a physical illness, hiccups in life or an overwhelming sense of anxiety about life itself. I am sure there are many more reasons that others have experienced this, which I have not been able to mention. My personal force came in the form of the Pandemic: the dreaded lockdown, the anxiety of the uncertainty contained it in all, and the world coming to a halt.

COVID-19 trickled down its avalanche into the world causing so much devastation and loss. It hit hard, it almost brought me to my knees, and I had to redefine the ideas I had created in my head about life and my recovery. I lost all of my coping mechanisms and I felt stripped from everything I had worked so hard for during my therapy years. Even the self-help books that I had collected and invested in throughout the years were not helping me. My anxiety reached a record high level, a level that I’d never experienced before. I became scared of death. I feared losing my loved ones and I found myself crying almost every day and desperately watching the news and reading stories, hoping to have a sense of an end to the pandemic. Conversations around family became increasingly difficult, and I felt somewhat disconnected from everything, everyone and even myself.

During these days I would find myself crying about the loss of thousands of people dying from Covid-19. Then suddenly, I felt like I was grieving the death of my father all over again. This time my grief focused on how he’d died, the way he was killed. The murder itself, the individuals that were involved.

My heart was aching, I wanted and demanded answers. But there was no one I felt I could turn to, to answer all of the questions that were running through my head. Why did they kill him? I tried to bury everything I was feeling, and I became mute once again. Thoughts were racing through my head, but I did not dare to whisper a word to anyone.  I felt ashamed to still be grieving my father’s death as it was so many years ago, but the pause in our lives had forced me to face the pain that was simmering deep inside me. One of my addictions was to keep busy, working all of the time: if I was not working then I was studying something deep and intense. All this I now realise was to escape my feelings and the reality of my pain…

Father’s Day Poem

To him who I never got to know, or hug, or tell him how much he is missed every day!

This one day dedicated in your name cannot justify a daughter’s love for her absent father.

All the missed first days have become dried tears, my graduation, when mum said you would be proud, what about my wedding day where you never got to give me away?…

For all the daughters and sons, waking up with a heavy heart, for the fathers whose children do not value their worth, to my mother and all of the women who played my father’s role, you are so loved!

May Allah mend all, the broken hearts of absent love that never got to blossom…

I started re-visiting old habits of suffering in silence, but I had another battle to fight. I started experiencing severe symptoms of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (CTS). My hands felt like they were burning and hammered down. Electric shocks started from my shoulder and travelled all the way down to my fingertips. The symptoms began only at night, but then they started every minute of every day during the lockdown. One afternoon the pain was so unbearable that I started to think the worst. Doctors were not seeing patients, and everything was shut down. I felt trapped and suffered a range of emotions. Even after explaining to family and friends, no one around me knew what CTS was. For them my hands looked normal, no injury, no broken bones so they could not understand why I was in so much pain. It reminded me a lot of when we suffer mental distress and because it cannot be seen and sometimes not heard, our loved ones’ struggle to understand the impact it has on us.

Emotional Pain

Emotional Pain

Cannot be seen…

Cannot be heard…

Sometimes it is ignored

But it paralyses you

Comes to your silent hours

When the world sleeps, yours is awake…

Emotional pain

Lies deeper than the scars,

Deep beneath the seeping wounds,

Emotional Pain

Takes longer to heal

But it is worth beginning the process

Do not let your pain overwhelm your soul

When you are ready someone is waiting to take your hand and walk beside you through this emotional journey.

Once again, I started to hear the same advice I have heard before; “go to a spiritual healer, you are doomed if you do not, this must be the evil eye”. I felt suffocated, almost like I could not breath. I started to open up to my best friend and my sister, I started to express how I was feeling. The physical pain felt easier to describe. Still, I could not express my grief and how I was feeling about my father’s death.

 We started to read up about CTS and I was able to match all of the symptoms that I was reading about to the ones I was experiencing.

Then one day, my friend found me on the floor crying, I felt so overwhelmed. I started opening up about my father and the anger I was feeling. I started reading stories of other families whose loved ones had been killed. I started turning to Allah (God) and seeking guidance through my prayers. My sister suggested I try to go to a private treatment about my CTS, so I came across a consultant who was a specialist in CTS. This is how my journey of physical and emotional healing began.

I started therapy again and I knew that I could take my pain safely to my therapist. After every session I had a good cry and felt like something in me was starting to let go of all the negative emotions. I started talking about my father and I started to understand that I never really gave myself time to grieve and that grief itself came in so many different emotions. For me it was denial, I was still waiting for him to appear one day and that the news about his death had been mistaken identity. Not attending his funeral did not give me a chance to say goodbye and those feelings of never being able to meet him again paralyzed me. For me accepting the loss, my loss that Dad was gone, and in this life, I was never going to see him again. I started to accept this, and I started to let go, and I placed my hope in meeting him, one day, on the other side.

After months of being on the waiting list, I had surgery for my CTS. The first night I came back home from hospital I slept like a baby. The first sound sleep that I had in almost a year. It is amazing what sleep can do for the mind and body. I also recognised this because my CTS caused nerve pain: all those negative emotions that I was carrying around, buried deep inside, must have escalated the physical pain I had, and it was unbearable.

I found my stop on this fast train that I was on, and although the halt for me was the lockdown, it forced me to work on the underlining issues. The source of my pain, not just on the surface but on the inside too.

Alhamdulilah (thanks be to God) I sought His guidance and His help, and I was open to whatever form it came in. I was desperate to continue my healing and I know that I have some way to go, but I am back on the journey.

Reflection…

When I am in pain, I often think about…

What does Allah want me to learn from this?

When the pain is too deep… I supplicate…

Al-Jabbar -The Compleller, The Restorer

(Ya Jabbar mend my broken heart)

 “oh Allah, Al Aleem (The All-Knowing) teach me… “

We know that in everything good or bad, there is a lesson.

Read more about Muslims Emerging Proud through Mental Distress HERE

Sometimes it can be the most devastating circumstances that create the deepest bonds. Waheedah’s experience of losing one of her most loved family members twice almost broke her, but she’s back on the train of life and enjoying witnessing the growing bonds between her own daughter and father. Here Waheedah shares her story of love and loss for our next publication ‘Muslims Emerging Proud through Mental Distress‘ …

My Sister​​

My sister was my best friend and although we were four boys and two girls, the eldest three were like a triangle support for the siblings. We played, fought, argued, and loved each other tremendously. My father and mother brought us up to love, value and respect one another. We knew the importance of family and did everything together.

On December 2007 my sister got married and moved to England from Germany where we all lived. I was 12 years old and I did not realise what was happening. Not only because everything happened so fast, but also because I had an important soccer game on that day. I remember it like it was yesterday. The wedding was in my aunt’s beautiful garden, everyone was saying goodbye. We hugged, my sister entered the car and shut the door. As soon as we started waving, she began to cry. We also started crying. I still remember her driving away. At night I realised that she had gone for good when I noticed her side of the bedroom we shared was empty. Her cupboard was also empty, I felt her absence. She was already missing.

The first years after she left, we talked every day for hours. I told her about my school, I shared with her my fears, my hopes and my dreams; most importantly, I always asked her opinion about everything. She told me a little less about married life but seldom allowed me to do the talking.

When I heard my sister was pregnant it was so exciting, our first nephew or niece, my parents first grandchild. I kept imagining how much I would spoil them. As she got closer to her labour, my mum, brother and I booked a ticket from Germany to be with her in England. We packed baby clothes and everything we thought she was going to need; it was the first time I was going to see her since she had left. We got to the airport but were blocked from travelling because my mum did not have a visa. My dream had burst. I started crying. We came home, unpacked and told her the bad news. It was a difficult and sad conversation. She was upset. She felt lonely. She continued to miss our company.

Then in summer 2012 my elder brother and I were finally able to visit her. This was the first time I realised and accepted that she was married now with a new life, her own family. Although everything seemed to be going well when we visited my sister, I noticed that something was not right. She had lost a lot of weight. She’d started telling me about the diets she was trying and the slimming tablets she was taking. My heart sank and it hit me that she was going through an eating disorder. Flying back home, I felt so helpless even though I’d spent the days I had left with her telling her that she was perfect, that she did not need to lose any weight, she was convinced that she was overweight.

Two summers later, we were back in England to visit my sister as she had given birth to my beautiful niece. My niece was about 6 days old, my sister came home from the hospital and I noticed she had an obvious lump on her back. My sister was holding a letter in her hand and tears were rolling down her face. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me the lump on her back was cancer. The word cancer rang in my ears, I couldn’t believe it. When I called my mum and dad to tell them the news it was surreal, as if I were watching someone else’s life. I told my sister that it was okay, she would be fine, that so many people had healed from cancer and I honestly believed this. I kept telling myself it was not as if her cancer had spread, we could see the lump and all the surgeons had to do was to remove it. Everything sounded easy and manageable. It sounded like a story with a happy ending.

The following months were like a storm had hit my family and pulled us apart with pain and sorrow. We kept going backwards and forwards with misinformation on my sister’s condition. Then, when she came to stay with us again, I had my sister back for a few days. When she was back in England, after her first operation, she became incredibly sick, and we stopped hearing from her.

Whilst in Germany, one of my mum’s sisters called one day as she recalled a chilling dream, and because of my sister’s condition we did not want to take any chances. We packed our bags and headed back to England where my sister lived. We did not even know where my sister lived. We received some information from a relative and we frantically started knocking on doors and I listened for familiar sounds. I heard a voice moaning and I knew it was my sister. It sounded like she wanted to cry but at the same time was trying to be strong. It sounded like she wanted to scream but couldn’t, it sounded like she was suffering.

When we entered the room, it was exactly how my aunty had described in her dream. It was obvious she had been through difficult chemotherapy treatment. My sister looked at us and thought she was dreaming. She thought that it was the morphine that had made her hallucinate seeing us there. My mum squeezed her hand gently and told her she was not dreaming. We were speechless and shocked.

I did not recognize my sister, I felt like my family had failed and I had failed as a sister. My father suffered a lumbago, and he was diagnosed with internal bleeding. Finding my sister in that state broke my heart and for the first time since her cancer diagnosis, I realised she was going to die. I started questioning Allah. Why are we being tested like this? Why us? Why everything in one go? Why do you want to take my only sister away from me?

‘Do the people think that they will be left to say, “We believe” and they will not be tried? But We have certainly tried those before them, and Allah will surely make evident those who are truthful, and He will surely make evident those who are false.’ [Qur’an 29: 2-3]

After questioning everything I started seeing the whole situation from a different perspective. Allah tests us to purify us and wash away our sins. These tests are given to us to strengthen our Iman (faith). And most importantly: Allah tests a person He loves. I stopped thinking “why us?” and instead thought “Ya Rahman. The one who is most kind, loving and merciful. Allhamdullah, another test.”

The nurse who came to administer the morphine told us they were just giving her palliative care. Her wounds were seeping and refusing to heal from a recent surgery. Her only wish that day was to shop for Eid clothes for her children. My brother carried her in a wheel- chair and we took her shopping. Even when we were choosing clothes, she would fall asleep for a few minutes due to the morphine then wake up begging us to carry on. I admired the strength she carried, and I was ashamed for feeling so broken for her.

I wish I had told her how strong I thought she was, and how I admired her bravery that even when she cried, I knew she was in pain, but she would not want me to see her hurting. Cancer changes the body but not the soul. The soul is still the person you know and love.

On the journey back home, I could not take the image of my sister from my mind. Her last words to me were how much she loved me. I told my mum I could not go back and that she should stay with my sister and I would take care of my younger brothers and our family home.

The following days were so clear, each day weighed heavily on my shoulders, I was receiving one bad news after the other. My world had stopped, my family was in pieces. I found eating difficult, it was as if all the joys and all the laughter we shared had been sucked out of us. Her heart was still beating but it felt like she was gone; she could not really talk anymore; she couldn’t eat anymore. Her eyes were closed. We were all in this dark tunnel just waiting for the inevitable. As I took care of my younger brothers whilst my mum, dad, and eldest brother stayed in England with my sister, we felt that our world was shattering.

On Saturday the 16^th of August 2014 I could not eat, my heart and mind were with my sister. The following day I remember receiving the text message a few minutes before 9 am, that my beautiful sister had departed from this world.

I miss you

Nothing hurts like not seeing you

And no one understands what we went through

It was short. It was sweet. You died.

It feels like it was just recently,

Staying up all night telling each other stories secretly.

I Cannot describe how much I miss your company.

The biggest shock in my life was hearing that you have cancer,

A sickness that kills and tortures,

A sickness that not everyone defeats.

Seeing you suffering, crying, and fighting,

Seeing you trying, praying, and hoping,

Seeing the sickness killing you slowly,

Not seeing the real Aneesah – was killing me inside.

Sitting helplessly next to you,

Telling stories that we made,

Knowing that any breath could be your last one,

Hoping that the moment would never end.

It was time to leave,

Telling each other goodbye,

It didn’t feel like I would see you again,

Looking at you, while your eyes were closing and tears falling off my eyes. “I love you Waheedah.”, were your last words to me.

I miss you

Nothing hurts like not seeing you

And no one understands what we went through

It was short. It was sweet. You died.

May You Rest In Peace my sister. 17.08.2014-

I named my daughter Aneesah Liya….

Liya meaning – Most beautiful form of patience (Arabic) – lioness (Latin) as strong as Aneesah also meaning the highest level of sabr (patience).

I told our neighbors the news and so many guests came to visit. At first, I could not cry. Then the imam (spiritual leader) who had conducted my sister’s wedding came into the house limping due to a recent surgery, he was crying silently. That is when it dawned on me that my sister had passed on. I began to cry and everyone in the house was weeping, it was truly a sorrowful day. I did not leave my room for three or four hours. I stayed in the dark. I was broken and I desperately missed her so much.

My parents came back the following morning after my sister’s burial, the whole neighborhood gathered to give their condolences. I could not take my eyes off my father, my father was a tall strong man, but that day I could see that both my parents were enveloped by grief. For my parents, their eldest daughter dying from cancer at the tender age of only 27 years old was devasting. They say grief comes in stages, but I believe it is different for everyone. For me, it was when I was at the supermarket and saw sisters together. When my friends talked about their sisters my loss was heightened in volumes. I’d lost my best friend, my elder sister, and the light of our life. She was sweet, gentle, and had a heart of gold. It’s the little things I think we take for granted like that extra hug or just staying a little longer on the phone. My grief hit me harder when I got married and I was pregnant with my first daughter. Grief grips you by surprise, it can be something that she found funny, or her favorite food, or just childhood memories that overwhelm our family festive days.

My dad bought a Bonsai tree – which would be the same age as Aneesah, he said it was a symbol of her. He takes care of the tree, with the right balance, not too much water or too little, he keeps this tree in his room with a picture of Aneesah, even when he is sick, he must look after the Bonsai tree, my father would sit for hours just staring at the tree.

When I named my daughter Aneesah, I also wanted a name that could describe how Aneesah was, for me I wanted to hear my sister and then my daughter. My father held my daughter and he saw her, and he suddenly began to cry then he said, “I remember this is how I held Aneesah years ago and now she is just gone.” I can see that my father loves Aneesah so much, he is always telling her about her aunty Aneesah and showing her pictures which is so lovely. Even though my daughter has not replaced my sister, she has helped me put back a piece of the missing puzzle, not completely, but she is a beautiful addition to my family.

Even though we miss her, I see this as a journey.

This life is just a journey, we are all just passing through. It is like being on the train, whenever anyone is at the train station, we do not know who is leaving. It happens when it is your time. I guess my sister left because she was already at the door… some people leave who are younger, older, sick or healthy …

This painful experience has brought us together as a family.

The publication of Muslims Emerging Proud through Mental Distress will catalyse the birth of a new Peer not- for- profit service for Muslims who are ready to openly share about their personal challenges. The team are very excited and proud about this development – watch this space for more information over the coming months… ❤

Our first brave Muslim man to emerge proud for the next pocket book of hope and transformation, Imran, particularly knows how Muslim men are expected to provide and ‘be strong’ for their families and culture. And yet he also knows from the bottom of his heart and soul that “It is actually the strong who admit defeat, who admit when they are in pain“

Imran is a leading voice for his ancestors and his community, and we are so proud of him for speaking out about his struggles. Here is HIStory…

My Story

The lockdown was a challenging time for me and my family. I had been working in a job that I was happy with, I had a supportive team, and even some of them had become my friends. But I was not in the job I studied for, and it was not my field. This lay heavy on my shoulders, and so I kept applying for other jobs – I almost got used to receiving the endless rejection letters.

After two years of constant applications and failed interviews, one day I received an email informing me that I was successful. I went through 3 stages: an online test, a practical exercise, and a zoom Q&A interview. I had successfully passed all 3 stages and was offered the job. It was my dream come true, the duaa (prayer) that I had been making for two years, had finally been accepted by Allah (God). This was the best news I had received since leaving university. I gave my notice in at work, my family, friends and everyone were incredibly happy for me. The job offer was with a big company, it came with a big pay package and staff benefits that could help me and my family get far in life. My previous workplace threw me a massive farewell party and the messages of congratulations were overwhelmingly supportive.

The first few days of my new workplace were challenging. I was given my first task with a deadline. I spent hours on the task, but I did not understand what I was supposed to do. My position was a junior member of staff in the company and during my interview I was reassured that I would be eased into my position. This task did not feel junior at all. After spending hours on end trying to complete the task, I contacted a friend who was in a similar role. He took his time out from his job to help me and even he was surprised at the lack of support I was given and the task that I was instructed to complete. Unfortunately, he could not always give me a hand as he had his own job to get on with.

I finally, plucked up the courage and I asked my manager and the person who appointed me to support me. I contacted my manager as the role was online, but he informed me that he was too busy. When I finally got a chance, he gave me about 15 minutes of his time then he would need to go again. His explanations about the task were brief, rushed and caused me further confusion.

Within a week, I started to experience what is known as ‘imposter syndrome’. This is when a person who is fully qualified for a position feels like they are unqualified and do not deserve to be there. This started affecting my mental health and I became frustrated with myself and stress started to impact on my sleep and eating. I spent early mornings, late evenings and weekends just trying to work out my task. I began to feel that I could not continue with this role; the pressure was mounting but I promised myself I would not give up and I would keep going until I succeeded.

After two and a half weeks my manager organised a meeting with me. It was named a progress meeting. I was preparing myself to inform the company of the struggles I was having. My meeting lasted what felt like a few minutes. I was told that I was not up to the expectations they needed, it was not working out for them, so they had to release me and let me go. I was so shocked that the only thing that I could say was “okay”, “okay” and that was it. I had lost my dream job in a few minutes. I felt a sigh of relief, then feelings of shame and anger started pouring in. I had no strength to fight the decision, I was frozen, confused, hurt. I sat numbly at my work desk at home and everything around me was blurred. How was I going to tell my family? I still had “congratulations on your new job” messages from my previous workplace, which every time I read felt like a bullet of failure hitting me; a voice inside of me said “Imran, you’re an embarrassment” I felt so worthless, and I kept calling myself “stupid”.

For three weeks, I woke up and sat at my work desk. I could not bring myself to tell anyone what had happened, not even my close friends. No one knew that I woke up every morning and got ready for a job that I had lost. The hours I spent pretending to still have a job were painful: feelings of unworthiness, not being good enough and I just felt like I had lost everything. I started to question Allah (God), why would he give me something and just take it away?” Maybe this was what I deserved, maybe this was it. One of the main struggles I felt was that my prayers were not going anywhere.

Then one day, I lost the will to pretend anymore. I just did not get up for work that day. My family were concerned and questioned me, and I finally told them the bad news that “I had lost my job”. I felt like I’d let myself, my family, and my friends down. I started becoming anxious when I saw job adverts in my field, and I felt that I would never ever be able to apply again.

My depression hit a very low point during those months. I was jobless and struggling to find work as it was during the peak of Covid-19. I hit rock bottom. I could not provide for myself, nor my family. “I have failed in my role as a man”, is what I kept telling myself.

I always painted a picture of happiness and smiles to everyone around me but inside I was filled with sadness and pain. I did not want to show or share how I felt because I felt that as a man, I should be ‘tough’ and be able to get through this. I often found writing was a means to relieve myself of any of my problems. This was one of the many poems that I had written during those times:

Take a look and see life through my eyes,

Maybe you will understand the way that I feel inside,

Maybe you will realise that deep down I’m broken,

and the blood flowing through me is now frozen,

became accustomed to the pain and disappointment,

happiness is now a language that’s not spoken,

with every joy comes a rain full of problems,

now I realise why my smile is just a wash away…

Looking back now with hindsight I feel like my manager set me up to fail. After finally speaking to a few of my friends they highlighted the fact that I had received no induction, I did not shadow anyone, and the one person appointed to support me was always unavailable. I had been expected to hit the ground running. That feeling of relief that I had first felt when I lost my job had been my intuition, telling me that probably it was not the right place for me to work. Sometimes I question myself why I did not call the meeting myself and be confident enough to say, “you are not supporting me” that actually, although it was my dream job “it was not working out for me either”.

Sometimes we put so much emphasis on where we should be. Where we should be going. We forget to live in the present…

I did learn some lessons, although some were painful, I also learnt a lot about myself. It is so difficult for men to always look strong and have everything under control. It is actually the strong who admit defeat, who admit when they are in pain. Defeat is not failure; it is to surrender and accept that the situation is not suited to you. It is allowing ourselves to pause and reflect. No job, no amount of money, is ever worth your mental health.

One of Allah’s names is Ar Razzaq- which means: The Provider, The Sustainer, The Bestower of Sustenance. Indeed, He Ar-Razaaq did grant me another job where I was able to provide for my family. Though not my dream job yet, I believe when the time is right that job will come with the right support.

Who am I?

Three powerful words that unlock a story, filled with a thousand chapters, dated back to a time when man still lit fire with sticks.

A question that forces the past to merge with the present. That drags the roots from every tree welded deep within the ground.

That traces my D.N.A, in the soil, well beyond a million miles: who am I?

I… couldn’t answer that alone, not without the voices of my ancestors echoing over me.

I am a master puzzle piece, pieced together from every nation and tribe, herb and spice.

But what you see is only a form of clay, like when a caterpillar breaks open to become a butterfly.

So, believe me when I tell you, there is more to me on the inside.

Who am I? … I need to look beyond the reflection of every eyeball that stares at me.

Beyond the racial slurs and hatred words that try to portray me, that try to tell me who I am, without even asking me.

Well, it’s a good thing they don’t.

Because when they finally do.

I’ll have to reply with a thousand chapters, dated back to a time when man still lit fire with sticks.

Imran

Our 6th Pocket Book of Hope ‘Muslims Emerging Proud through Mental Distress’ will be published later this year, see more information HERE

“Never underestimate the power of a woman, the love of a mother for her baby or the ability of a woman who has suffered to support other women”

Diane Flores

My Lived Experience with OCD, bulimia, anxiety and postnatal depression, before, during and after my perinatal period:

Today I stand in myself reconnected and whole and yet I am fully aware that my recovery is not a final destination, it will remain an ongoing journey. I would never have imagined that married life was going to take me on a profound journey of losing myself, re-discovering myself and developing a deeper level of self-awareness and spiritual connection to Allah through the whole process. Because of those enriching experiences I now use them to offer other women my hand of hope to help them in their moments of crisis through the perinatal mental health services and by working closely with Approachable Parenting; a community-based organisation that works locally and nationally with families.

I have always been an introspective person as far back as I can remember, very connected to myself; my hopes, my dreams, my values and what is my purpose in life. I grew up with a lot of questions and was never happy to just accept answers that made no sense. These questions were driven by a sense of not belonging. I am the past, present and the future of my existence and I carry the experiences of my parents who escaped from a war-torn country back in the late 60’s, early 70’s. I did not “belong” to my own community because I did not “look” like them and behave like them. I could not fit into the large south Asian community of largely Pakistani people because I was looked down upon because of my Bangladeshi heritage. I have always been a neat, orderly, fastidious person but not someone who had OCD. I was drawn to harmony, balance and the aesthetic details that stood out from the ordinary.

Condensing down 13 years of struggling undiagnosed with OCD, intrusive thoughts, anxiety, postnatal depression and now recently I have started to talk about my challenging battles with my past addictions around shopping and bulimia around and after my perinatal period. Struggling with mental health crowded my heart, it ate away all my energy and my ability to think and imagine a different life whilst it chronically imposed upon my peace. There are many reasons why I struggled; guilt, not feeling good enough, fear and judgment from others, my child being taken off me and the lack of information of support services available.  And with no diagnosis and no help I continued to silently struggle for many years. For me, the most significant thing was becoming alienated from myself and my own feelings.

After 13 years of silently struggling I suddenly lost my Mother due to ill health. Grief and loss were imposing and demanded to be felt. And for the first time something as drastic as loss rendered me choice-less, I HAD to face my life no matter how painful it was to look.  The dark place that I was caught up in opened up to me as a cul-de-sac to my life; that perhaps I could turn around and face a different direction. I started to look at the possibility of “what if I reframe and learn to tell a different story?” and “is it possible to live rather than to just exist?” These possibilities opened my mind and I started to listen to podcasts and learnt new ideas and concepts that gave me hope. Despite my grief, I kept persevering to unlearn the “faulty thinking” that got me to the place I was in. My recovery was like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces lost along the way and the more I searched, the more I kept finding the pieces, the bigger picture started to form. Mindfulness or ‘khushoo’ as I prefer, helped me connect to myself again. The process of change meant radically accepting who I am, my truth, my voice and to face my life and be comfortably still in myself without wanting to run away and hide from the pain. Practicing mindfulness gave me permission to just start again. Finding my ‘way’ in recovery led to my freedom. Running gave me time to get out and create distance between me and my anxieties. From it I learnt to think about the possibilities of volunteering and helping others. I made a lasting network of new friends who are family to me.

My experiences have taught me to step away from anything extreme and anything that disturbs my peace. I watch and observe potential triggers like, I will not weigh, measure or count calories because that will activate those past familiar obsessions. Where once I was trying to find balance and aesthetics in what I consumed and how I looked, I try and live a lifestyle that FEELS GOOD, balanced, permanent and concrete instead of quick fixes that encourage haste and impatience. I have learnt who I am today and I embrace the good and the not so good aspects of all my life. Turning 40 means getting old enough to look back and join the dots and realise that it was not about finding the jigsaw pieces “out there”, it was about taking a difficult journey inward and connecting it all up together to form My Story today. This is why for me it is non-negotiable when it comes to my peace of mind and my sound heart and not letting anything or anyone disturb it.

Our 6th Pocket Book of Hope ‘Muslims Emerging Proud through Mental Distress’ will be published later this year, see more information HERE

My name is David Barton and I am a doctoral research student at the University of Central Lancashire. In my view more people need to listen and learn from those individuals who have had unusual experiences and still created a life for themselves that they describe as successful. I am looking for people who would like to do some interviews through the secure Microsoft Teams app. My research title is: “Subjective experiences in adults’ successful inner development beyond distressing anomalous states” (but the word anomalous just refers to strange and unusual experiences.).

This research is for those who would like a different place in which to express what matters to them about their journey and to help develop the understanding of a wider audience.
 

I have had strange and unusual experiences myself and have written about these in the Winter 2019 and Spring 2020 editions of Asylum magazine.

If becoming a participant for this research looks interesting, I would be pleased to send you more detail and the formal application papers. My email address is: djbarton1@uclan.ac.uk

Cheers

Dave

Statement from Researcher:

My name is Fay Brinicombe-Hughes, I am a student on the MSc Psychology Conversion course at the University of Central Lancashire. I am looking for research participants for my dissertation, which involves a qualitative research project.

If you are a Clinical Psychologist with experience working with individuals with a diagnosis of C-PTSD, I would like to invite you to participate in the study, which aims to explore Clinical Psychologist’s perceptions of the concept of ‘recovery’ for individuals with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress experiences, and opinions as to effective treatment models used, and decision making associated with these choices.

Participation will involve an interview over Microsoft Teams lasting approximately 45 minutes, or however long you are able to offer.

If you are interested, please contact the Fay [Lead Researcher; FSBrinicombe-Hughes@uclan.ac.uk] or Dr. Hannah Butler-Coyne [Research Supervisor; HButler-Coyne@uclan.ac.uk] to request more information.

Thank you

12th May 2021 will see our 5th #Emerging Proud birthday…

For the first time I haven’t had it in me to plan anything, and that’s okay. It’s been a crazy tough year for us all.

This year we lost one of our beloved community to suicide because she was too sensitive to bare the pain of the world as it is… radical self care is the only way forwards this year my lovelies.

Those of us who struggle with the world the way it currently operates – devoid of emotion – often identify as being labelled with a mental ‘illness’, Highly Sensitive or Autistic…

There is absolutely nothing ‘wrong’ with us, we can purely feel so deeply that the world doesn’t work the way it currently is and we harbour a deep longing for it to be different, more sensitive and compassionate.

We often feel that it’s our duty to bring about this change, but this can cause our downfall – oh the paradoxes of life.

We need rest. We need radical Self Care right now… saving ourselves is our ONLY task.

If you’re struggling right now you’re not alone, I promise.

Please take 12th May as a day for unapologetic radical Self- Care and I will too.

I’m holding my hands out into the darkness in solidarity with you my sensitive tribe – we can get through this, and the world will become a better place purely by us learning to save ourselves ❤

Sometimes beautiful books need a bit of a plug and this is one of them…

A useful and heartfelt tool for any parent of an autistic child, mum and Author Kaira says;

A short, simple explanation of autism for young children, to help them understand their autistic sibling. I originally made this book as I was struggling to find an age appropriate explanation of autism for my youngest son Leon who was just about to turn three years old and was starting to have questions about his brother. Sidney is autistic, non-verbal and has learning disabilities. Leon was starting to notice that his brother behaved differently from himself and other children, and we needed to find a way of explaining why we do things a certain way with Sidney but have different expectations from Leon, in terms a preschool aged child can understand. You can use this book to talk to your children about how they are similar, how they differ, how they behave, and how autism affects them. There is a section at the back that’s all about you.

CLICK HERE TO BUY AUTISM AND US

This book also contains beautiful illustrations and is an accompaniment to Kiara’s live blog;

CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW LIFE WITH NO WORDS BLOG