Depression Archives - The Muslim Observer | Muslim News | Muslim in America

Over the past few decades, the stigma surrounding mental illness has certainly improved with increased access to care and increased advocacy for treatment. However, the intersectional framework of care received and given to Muslims, and minorities, not only varies in degree but also in ‘kind.’

Muslims hail from a tribal ancestry—a close-knit family unit with similar cultures and traditions. And this holds true today, where the notion that ‘one person’s happiness equals the tribe’s happiness’ or ‘one person’s shame equals the tribe’s shame.’ Although in certain aspects this notion leads to a stronger family unit, it may also be destructive, especially in cases of mental illness.

As a culture, Muslims tend to have a higher degree of stigma towards the advocacy and treatment of mental illness. Studies have shown that few individuals in the Muslim community would consider socializing with a person with mental illness and few, if not none, would consider marriage with such a person [Tabassum, Macaskill, & Ahmad, 2000]. Even if there are Muslims who stand up for the treatment of mental illness, the backlash that they and their families face is considered ‘shameful.’

I can tell you about this from a personal perspective. One year ago, I was suffering from major depression and anxiety. After years of telling my parents that ‘something was wrong and I needed help,’ they finally agreed because my symptoms had spiraled out of control. After treatment, I decided to come out to my friends and family through a Facebook post in the hopes of helping anyone else suffering from mental illness. Around 10 minutes after posting that article, my sisters called me and told me to take it down immediately. Then my mother called me and basically said that there was no reason I had to parade around the fact that I was suffering from depression and that if anyone else found out, I would never get married.

Why is it so incredibly shameful to have a mental illness? In our culture, there really is no word for depression or anxiety or schizophrenia. You’re either seen as ‘crazy,’ ‘pagal’ or ‘majnoon.’ There’s no spectrum and if you show any of these symptoms, you’re labeled as the most extreme of these cases. If we add religion into the mix, it’s seen as a lack of faith or possession by jinn. Of course, as a monotheistic religion, we place our trust in Allah; and what He wills, will be done. But sometimes prayer is not enough. There ARE incredibly religious, orthodox individuals who suffer from mental illness as well. And what I can tell you is that this isn’t because an individual is not praying enough or giving enough charity or doesn’t have a close relationship with God. It is a mix of bio-psycho-socio-spiritual factors.

The biological aspect is a decrease in serotonin, which is a chemical in your brain. (Much like the decrease in insulin in diabetes; however, it is culturally and socially acceptable to take exogenous insulin to bring back the proper levels in your body— yet, it’s not okay to do the same with antidepressants.)

The psychiatric part of it is how an individual copes with stressors in their lives. It is a mix of their resilience and outlook that may play a factor in contributing to mental illness. The sociological factor relates to your family, friends, peers, environment, work, and home. The spiritual factor relates to either religion or one’s spirituality. If a person is depressed, of course, prayer or meditation can definitely help and should be encouraged. There are individuals who find solace in doing so. However, it is important to note that it’s not the only factor contributing to their symptoms.

As a culture, we need to be more open and inviting to those who are suffering from mental illness. We need to be advocates and we need to let them know that they will not become outcasts in our society. Breaking relationships, rejecting individuals for marriage, judging their level of faith, judging their past lives as a punishment for their current state and shaming them for something that is not in their control—Islam has no such teachings. As a faith and as an ummah, we must believe that “There is no disease that Allah has sent down except that He also has sent down its treatment” [Sahih al-Bukhari 5678]. And whether that disease may seem ‘invisible’, it still exists. And it requires treatment. That is Islam. That is our faith and believing that would be the true sign of a Muslim.

by Rabia Toor

It’s been three weeks since I graduated from medical school. I’m officially an M.D.! But the 25 years leading up to me becoming the first physician in my family was a long and difficult road, to say the least.

I remember when I was in the second grade and had an assignment where I had to draw what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was obsessed with Britney Spears at the time so naturally, I drew a singer with a bedazzled microphone in her hand singing in front of a huge audience. My mother, who had recently emigrated from Pakistan a few years prior, saw the drawing and asked me, “What is this? Draw a doctor.” And so, at the tender age of seven, the journey to medical school began.

My mother and father emigrated from Pakistan to Canada with my sisters and me in 1998. They’re pretty typical in terms of first generation parents. My father was an engineer, who rightfully so, never let us forget his struggles of studying under a street lamp for his exams in his village, and my mother was a stay at home mom, dedicated to maintaining a happy family with full bellies.

As long as I can remember, my father used to tell us stories of their struggles of coming to a better country for the sake of their kids. He wanted to be a doctor back in Pakistan; he even received admission to a Military Medical School but failed the physical exam because his eyesight was too weak due to his diabetes. My mother, on the other hand, felt like she had to prove something to her family back home. She bore three girls compared to all her siblings and relatives who had at least one son. This did build some sort of insecurity within her because she wanted us to ‘do something with our lives’ and by ‘doing something’ I mean becoming a doctor, engineer or lawyer.

I always knew in the back of my mind that I would have to become a doctor. This profession, at least back in the day, meant financial stability and true intellect. So, not only were you the brightest person in the room, but also the wealthiest. And with these two factors being mixed in with cultural norms, meant pride, reputation, and status. I know, I know, it sounds pretty archaic. That’s because it is.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn’t want to pursue medicine as a career. I was an incredibly creative person; I knit and crochet, scrapbook, and bake! So my plan after graduating university was to take a culinary course in patisserie and open up the bakery of my dreams. But, whenever I plead my case to my parents, it would always be met with, “Sure, you can become a pastry chef. After you become a doctor.” There was simply no way I could change my betrothed profession. I reluctantly applied to medical school, but at the same time applied to culinary school in Ottawa. And a week before receiving my acceptance from medical school, I got my acceptance to the George Brown School of Culinary Arts. I didn’t tell my parents about my acceptance to chef school. And the next month, I was on a flight to the Caribbeans to start my first semester of medical school.

I hated it. I hated it so much because I felt so much pressure from my parents. I hated the fact that it was all for status, money, and pride. I struggled with major depression and anxiety because I became extremely unhappy with where my life was headed. I was drinking; I was smoking and deteriorating as a person. And my sisters took notice. They tried to tell my mother that I was struggling but all she had to say was, “Do what you have to do. But you can’t quit. You have to finish medical school.”

I was in complete shock. My mother was completely fine with me going against my religion, simply so I would have an M.D. degree. Every few phone calls; I would beg to quit medical school. But it was never an option.

It wasn’t until the end of my third year of medical school where I made a complete 180. I finally ended up having a breakthrough with my parents and got treated for my depression (despite the cultural taboo…but that’s a different story for another time). And shortly after, I began my psychiatry rotation. I saw individuals like me and I felt like I could give them something that I couldn’t before. I had been in their shoes. And I wanted to help. I finally had that feeling of wanting to be of service to others, that feeling I saw everyone around me having since my first semester of medical school classes. I FINALLY wasn’t pursuing medicine for my parents. I found my passion! I found my own niche and it opened up a whole new world for me.

I used to think that a lot of things, from my personality to all of my interests had to be mutually exclusive. I thought that if I became a doctor, there is no way I could still like baking. It’s just NOT what doctors do. If I became a doctor, I had to become the stereotyped professional, graceful, classy individual that doctors are known to be. I couldn’t be my hilarious, laughs-way-too-much goofy self, and that lead to increasing my self-doubt, fear, and anxiety. But once I figured out how to integrate my passions INTO medicine, that is where I found my true happiness.

Going through my own depression as a Pakistani Muslim female medical student, it helped me understand the need for psychiatric services for minorities, for Muslims, for Pakistanis, for females and also for physicians. I fit all four of those minorities and in each of these categories, talking about depression or psychiatric illness is still a taboo. And seeking treatment for it, well forget about that. It’s just not going to happen. However, through my own journey, I became an advocate for the treatment of mental illness and medicine has been a direct path to me being able to help others in that position.

Initially, my career path was chosen for me. But now, I am the one that chooses to continue working in the field of medicine, in my own, unique way. I was able to find my own happiness, myself.

Fighting the Stigma of Mental Illness in the Muslim Community

Over the past few decades, the stigma surrounding mental illness has certainly improved with increased access to care and increased advocacy for treatment. However, the intersectional framework of care received and given to Muslims, and minorities, not only varies in degree but also in ‘kind.’

Betrothed to Medicine: Learning to Embrace My Profession

It’s been three weeks since I graduated from medical school. I’m officially an M.D.! But the 25 years leading up to me becoming the first physician in my family was a long and difficult road, to say the least.

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Over the past few decades, the stigma surrounding mental illness has certainly improved with increased access to care and increased advocacy for treatment. However, the intersectional framework of care received and given to Muslims, and minorities, not only varies in degree but also in ‘kind.’

It’s been three weeks since I graduated from medical school. I’m officially an M.D.! But the 25 years leading up to me becoming the first physician in my family was a long and difficult road, to say the least.