A Muslim Client & A White Therapist

I was a Muslim client seeing a white therapist.

Being a practitioner who is a person of colour from a minority background in a majority white field, creating and offering therapeutic spaces to people of colour is an intention I'm mindful of.

At different stages of my life, I knew to seek the help and expertise of those in the mental health field. But - none of them looked like me or came from a similar cultural, spiritual, social or political understanding.

My experiences with these psychologists weren't necessarily negative, but the experiential divide between us - how differently we both moved through the world- meant they weren't always well-fitting or at ease. The anxiety I had from fear of judgement meant I needed to work through more layers on top of the actual issues that needed addressing. Plus, switching psychologists was energy consuming and costly.

I didn't want to self-censor because I worried I'd be affirming some racist stereotype of my cultural background.
I didn't want to have to explain that my family viewed things differently but that it didn't make them inferior or 'less than'.
I didn't want the burden of regurgitating defences against my religious upbringing because I needed to be some good-vibes ambassador to the faith and to the 1.7 billion Muslims around the world.
I didn't want to have to prove that I had a right to a complex, multi-dimensional, individual way of being that is easily granted to any white person who sits here.

And neither should you.

Finding a therapist you can connect with can be hard to find. And this isn't to say you will only feel comfortable with a therapist who shares your background - because heck that too can come with it's own set of pressures. But if you can, find someone who you can have a good and dignified experience with regardless. Someone willing to do the work towards creating that 'safe' space by questioning and educating themselves - on their own time. As a practitioner, I'm hoping to be that too.

Receiving Touch

To find and to receive touch as a form of nourishment against the mindlessness, the carelessness and the neglect we impose on our body is no ordinary find.

I neglected my body. I ignored my body. I was careless with my body.
I tried to fit it into the narrowness that I was made to believe about myself. The contours of my body altered as it was caving in. I held so much within me, yet my body was hollow.

I always had what it took to offer my body to others - in service, in love, in work, in presence. But I didn't have it in me to offer it what it needed. 'I can't nourish you at this moment' was a dialog that lasted for months.

And yet, something in me knew I needed to seek touch. A kind other than what I was allowing it. Something to trigger the senses back into connection. Something to remind me, to confront myself, to make me fall back into this being as a whole, and not as severed parts.

A vigorous massage.
A bloodied piercing - even pain can feel glorious to a numbed-out body.
A friend quietly finding possibility within the wounds through henna.

Your whole body is voice. Find someone who can find that voice in the moments you can't.