Quranic verses and Hadith often serve as a soothing balm for the soul, providing the resilience needed to face life's challenges. For instance, God teaches us, "And never give up hope of Allah's soothing Mercy: truly no one despairs of Allah's soothing Mercy, except those who have no faith." (12:87). Additionally, "And for those who fear Allah, He always prepares a way out, and He provides for him from sources he never could imagine. And if anyone puts his trust in Allah, sufficient is Allah for him. For Allah will surely accomplish His purpose: verily, for all things has Allah appointed a due proportion." (65:2-3). These verses remind us of the unwavering hope and trust we must place in Allah’s mercy and provision. Hope, as understood in psychology, has the power to activate your inner agency and refocus your life pathways. It flourishes when anchored in a determination oriented towards achieving specific goals, fueled by self-motivation. Hope is essentially the blueprint of your goal-directed thinking, aspirations for the future, and life vision. It illuminates the reasons and ways you should strive to achieve these goals for yourself. Hope maintains us on a positive track, but the journey to harnessing this hope, especially amidst trials and tribulations (Ibtila), can seem daunting.

Moreover, existential psychology introduces the concept of transcendent hope—a state of hopefulness not tied to specific outcomes or goals but rooted in the belief that something good can happen. This transcendent hope includes Patient Hope, Generalized Hope, and Universal Hope, each offering a defense against despair and fostering a general belief in the future.Hope often becomes the sole force that drives us to pray, persist in our dua, rise each morning, remain in relationships, continue moving forward, and invest in our projects and dreams. It is an essential yet seemingly unattainable remedy when we find ourselves depressed and lost in the midst of Ibtila. Reconnecting with own hope, especially when distanced from it by the burdens of life , on top of another luggage we carry in a form of ibtila. 

Reconnecting with hope, particularly when life's burdens make it feel distant, is a journey I'm familiar with, both personally and professionally. My training has equipped me with effective strategies to combat hopelessness. By reassessing my intentions and exploring alternative paths to achieve my aspirations, I've learned to distance myself from pain and find the strength to persevere, embodying the realisation that, despite everything, "I’m still here, aren't I?". This realisation has become my shield against discrimination and the silencing of minority mental health issues by mainstream entities and establishments in the psychology field. I've found myself repeatedly revisiting my purpose, my intentions, my responsibilities, my dreams, until I realised I was alone in my practice, yet safe and successful. This solitude in my professional journey underscored a full denial and a lack of ethical responsibility, or at least attempts to initiate change, within the broader field. The polish metaphor of fighting with windmills, evoking the image of Don Quixote's iconic battles, aptly describes my efforts within the mental health field—a seemingly relentless struggle against formidable yet intangible adversaries. This imagery not only captures the essence of my challenges but also underscores my unique position to advocate for meaningful change within mental health care, particularly for marginalised communities, including Muslims.

I had been willingly trained to help others in need and serve them in therapeutic professions, but I increasingly found that I could not be congruent. Most likely, I would always be in direct opposition to the westernized, white, and middle-class research findings that are considered standard in counselling, due to the differences in dynamics between me and Muslim clients versus non-Muslim clients. This was compounded by internal dilemmas I experienced and the reservations my clients faced seeing me wearing a hijab. I learned to use my empirical experience and compared it to other Muslim and Islamic therapists' clinical results, labelling it a scientific phenomenon to justify my professional choices. This led me to research (MSc in Psychology), develop my own framework (AJS Therapy), and publish a book titled “Islamically Inspired Self Development.” I was proud to give a voice to therapists and clients experiencing Islamic therapy. I was satisfied that, when sitting with a Muslim client, I no longer just thought, but knew what would work for them. What I do makes a difference and is safe, clinically proven, halal, tayyib, and tawhid-centred. Sadly, this was not the end of my conquests in therapeutic world. I was yet to face a professional dilemma bonded with vicarious trauma effect after 7th of October.

As it always is a case with Ibtila -  I had not seen this coming neither was I prepared for what my soul is going to demand of me.  Very slowly I had  been able to observe how professional dilemmas are going to extend from client to counsellor, or counsellor to trainer platforms.I found myself in a new therapeutic dilemma, and given my path so far, I understand that it is not just personal, political, or spiritual – it also affects my professional self.  I found my self perplex observing counselling world of associations supporting Ukraine and condemning Russia yet silencing Gazan genocide. I found civilian responsibility to question my associative bodies about their hypocrisy,  only to find out that they are not going to take into consideration any of my suggestions, petitions and appeals to their consciousness. I reflected further on the benefits of belonging to mainstream association ,other than obvious - employability and reputation. In fact I was able to admit that  over time, I lost the zest and habit of following articles and academic findings – they just did not, and sadly still do not, represent me, my work, my voice, or my clients' reality. I often remind myself, "What were you expecting? You knew from the moment you took shahada that this is what your life would look like." The saying, "Islam began as something strange and will return to being strange as it began, so give glad tidings to the strangers" (Muslim), resonates with me as a psychologist and counsellor too . Most of the time, it helps to see the world as 'us and them,' keep my head down, and do heartfelt work for my type of people, balancing my life and becoming more of a private figure. However, sometimes it is not enough, and there comes a time where enough is simply enough. One needs to look back and realise that their situation is the direct outcome of their own choices. As the Quran states, "Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves" ( 13:11).

The growing unpopularity of being Muslim affected me, leading to a gradual desensitisation to indirect discrimination. Unfortunately, this forgiving attitude made me lose hope in building bridges, finding common ground, and integrating. I felt unable to be myself, speak my mind, or stand up for myself openly. Yet, this doesn’t mean it doesn’t impact  or imply impartiality in the therapy room. It still hurts. The price of silent suffering is becoming globally impactful, and both my clients and I can't escape the guilt. We wonder if our silence contributed to the conflict in Palestine. For over a decade, I've listened to my Muslim clients discuss how indirect discrimination and marginalization affect their self-esteem, career paths, relationships, mental health, and the level of NHS help they receive. Now, I hear how the war in Palestine makes them feel unworthy of God’s love, filled with guilt, self-blame, and spiritual despair. Today, I decided that our tears will no longer go unnoticed. We hurt, we need support, we need a break, and just like Palestine needs justice, so are we, so we can all emerge from invisibility and unmute ourselves. As it is said, “The believers in their mutual kindness, compassion, and sympathy are just like one body. When any part of the body suffers, the whole body feels pain, whether it is awake or asleep” (Bukhari). So it came to this - I finally found the strength to say, "I Condemn My Silence." Sadly, it's too late, as the victims of the Palestinian war have been accumulating for the past 75 years. As a consequence, I am taking a month off from client work. I can no longer sit back and watch. From today, I am angry, upset, frustrated, and done with silence. My dilemma is not just internal; it is shared by Muslim speakers, religious figures, influencers, and, regrettably, not enough Muslim leaders – because can I truly count on global justice?  As always, this deep and profound experience of vicarious trauma and catharsis has turned into poetry for me:

They are in no need of me. God has chosen  other voices.
  Silence is no longer an option. Truth has been lifted.
  But it wasn't me. It wasn’t Us.
  Uselessness is my punishment.
  Embarrassment became the price.
  Fear returns to haunt me.
  As oppression is destined for everyone.
  'Forgive me' is no longer good enough.

Here I was, becoming a book example of vicarious trauma. On my own eyes I had been part of the human extermination, collapse of humanity and disgust with own inability to do anything about it. Here I was, feeling a hypocrite working with clients experiencing exactly the same situation in exactly the same way. Vicarious trauma refers to the deep and lasting changes in therapists' thoughts, feelings, and behaviours resulting from closely working with clients' traumatic experiences. It has different names and can ber referred to as “secondary traumatic stress,” “compassion fatigue,” and traumatic countertransference. It happens due to therapists' empathic connection with clients, especially when exposed to graphic details of trauma and human cruelty, or when therapists become part of trauma reenactments during therapy sessions. This type of trauma can alter a therapist's spirituality, worldview, and self-identity, and can disrupt their beliefs about trust, intimacy, safety, power, and control. Therapists experiencing vicarious trauma may also show symptoms similar to PTSD, such as intrusive thoughts or avoidance behaviours, but also infections ranging from terror, rage, suspicious ness, anxiety, depression/sadness and anguish.

 When therapists face vicarious traumatization, they may feel anxious, ashamed, and incompetent, leading them to avoid seeking necessary supervision and support. Well I had nowhere to go as my circle closed the door on my face, and decided to silence me.  If not addressed, vicarious traumatization can cause therapists to become emotionally detached, losing their ability to connect empathetically and warmly with clients, which can ultimately lead to burnout. I was a great example of this phenomenon. Yes, it felt like a struggle to go to work and listen to the pain of my clients while trying to block out flashbacks and horrific images, voices, and tears of victims in Palestine. It felt like I'm losing congruence and authenticity, especially when I’m conscious that  I switch off during sessions with clients who are not affected by the current affairs in Palestine. It felt surreal to see them engulfed in their own struggles against the backdrop of genocide. It’s challenging not to discuss Palestine with clients who are aware and vocal about their depression related to it. Small things trigger them, and even the fact that they have the luxury of therapy sessions with me adds to the burden (for both of us). The profound desperation that they, and I, feel about not doing enough to support the needy in Gaza is thoroughly explored in the therapy room, fostering stronger connections between us.

In therapy sessions, we pray and quote hadiths and the Quran to instil hope and trust that the sacrifices are not in vain. “The martyr (shahid) has seven blessings from Allah: he is forgiven from the moment his blood is first shed; he will be shown his place in Paradise; he will be spared the trial of the grave; and he will be secure on the Day of the Day of Judgement; there will be placed on his head a crown of dignity, one ruby of which is better than this world and all that is in it; he will be married to seventy-two of al-hur al-‘iyn; and he will be permitted to intercede for seventy of his relatives” (al-Tirmidhi). However, no matter how many sessions we have on this theme, it doesn’t seem to make it better. Interestingly, some of my clients, traumatised by war themselves, admit that they have never been as deeply affected by their own struggles as they are by what is going on in Gaza. It feels impossible to look at our family in the same light, respect political and societal norms, or turn a blind eye to the global conspiracy of silencing the truth about the suffering.

  It has become increasingly embarrassing to hear non-Muslim voices articulating what we, as Muslims, feel deep down. A turning point for me was Panny Mordaunto's speech after the events of October 7th: "Stand up and fight for the freedoms we have won. Have courage and conviction, because when you do, you move our countrymen, our communities, and capitals. Because when you stand up and fight, the person beside you will fight, and when our party stands up and fights, the nation stands up and fights, and when our nation stands up and fights, all the nations stand up and fight, and they stand up and fight upon things which, for the progress of the whole humanity, depends. Stand up and Fight …" This speech left me convinced that Palestine is special to God now more than ever before,  and from now on would have been seen in its true colours by humanitarians. My intuition was right. The shift in media and human consciousness is heartwarming and overwhelming to Muslims worldwide. In the therapy room, I now see clients reflecting on things we couldn't before, due to the Palestinian symbol of resistance no longer being seen as terrorism. As a community of activists and Muslim therapists, we rose to the challenge. We have been running free webinars, offering free therapeutic and group sessions to Muslims globally to support their trauma-induced mental health issues. We didn't wait for mainstream therapists to back us up or even notice us. We did it the Palestinian way, organising ourselves, donating our time and skills, and we continue to do so. Someone has to resist silencing. We know it's our responsibility, our Amanah. As the Hadith says, “Whosoever of you sees an evil, let him change it with his hand; and if he is not able to do so, then [let him change it] with his tongue; and if he is not able to do so, then with his heart — and that is the weakest of faith” (Muslim).

We've learned that the only hope we can rely on is our own, that the only ears listening are our own, and that the only provision we can count on is what we provide for ourselves. “Sufficient for me is Allah; there is no deity except Him. On Him I have relied, and He is the Lord of the Great Throne” (Abu Dawood). While we have been donating to Palestine all this time, we are now turning our focus to our clients. The question arises: what have we gained in the past 75 years of apartheid occupation by the Israeli regime in Palestine, apart from flags, slogans, posts, protests, the complete disowning by Muslim leaders, betrayal by our religious leaders, the media, and the political correctness surrounding antisemitism, leading to desensitisation? How can one detach from this ‘failure to freedom’ experience and view therapy and our place in the world through a lens of equality? It seems impossible. I am no longer supporting self-inflicted silencing or a survivor mentality; the cost is too high.

 I've risked my social media marketing being shut down, as I daily become the voice for those who are silenced. I create discomfort by displaying Palestinian flags in my front yard and on my car with Palestinian stickers, drawing attention from fellow drivers. Palestine has always been a symbol of silenced oppression for me, but this time, my actions are less personal and more aligned with my beliefs. For the first time, I am openly showing my emotions to my neighbours when discussing Palestine. I talk about spiritual coping mechanisms for dealing with injustice, and for the first time in my Muslim journey, I feel normal discussing resistance without the fear of being labelled a jihadist or extremist. In therapy, I am focusing on psycho-Islamic resilience as a necessity in times of fitnah as a therapeutic tool for clients feeling worthless and helpless. I am implementing hope-based interventions and connecting them with tawakkul as a necessary element of faith and relationship with God. In a strange way, I feel relief amidst this distress. It feels like an era has ended for me as a therapist. This is not maybe  evidenced by my voice being published in Therapy Today,  BACP treating me seriously,  but at least I had cleared my chest, at least I had published the effect of civarous trauma and survivor guilt. 

Reflecting on how my journey aligns with positive psychology's research on hope, I realized that we often feel most hopeful when our goals are within reach yet retain a hint of uncertainty. This isn't paradoxical; rather, it mirrors my own experiences. I had to accept that my hope for Akhera (the hereafter) encompassed embracing both positive and negative outcomes. My endeavors in this Dunya (world) for the sake of Akhera include standing up for justice. Acknowledging that we inhabit a corrupted world, I shouldn't be taken aback by the spiritual choices I make; instead, I should be prepared for the consequences, even those beyond my imagination. Unexpectedly, this realisation led to my liberation.

The true battle isn't fought on a physical battlefield but within oneself—against procrastination and complacency. The fight begins with the acknowledgment that your current environment doesn't support or represent you, nor does it intend to. The moment you're ready to say, "I don't need this," and decide to walk away, is when the fight truly starts. And so, I took that step. My identity isn't tied to the fear of unemployment at the expense  of silenced  Palestinians. That's not who I am. If being unassociated or unrecognised by the standardised establishment in the therapeutic world means people won't employ me, then that's a blessing in disguise. Allah SWT will provide for me, as my sustenance (rizq) is already decreed.

The fight is when you tap into your inner Ghaira (honor), pride, and fearlessness. In my experience, fighting was deeply intertwined with the spiritual experience of hope and led to clinically evidenced outcomes such as enhanced self-esteem, acknowledgment of my worth, increased levels of energy (Ruh’ani), internal satisfaction, confidence, improved psychological functioning, and notably, reduced symptoms of distress. Achieving a higher degree of positive therapeutic outcomes wasn't my initial expectation; I simply knew I had to rise to the challenge and stand up for my values. Fighting is winning the battle with your own fears. The fight never ends—it shouldn't, as you are alway in a state of  evolvement.

Start your own healing Journey with AJ!

Here is a quick checklist to get you started with free therapy session. Remember imperfect action beats inaction, get started and keep re investing in your growth for Khair!

• Create your vision board

• Reflect on things which you know Must Go in order for your life to change

• Start planning your therapy sessions topics by Identifying what resonates with your Heart.

• Create an outline the list of your Eternal Life goals.

• Write down the conversations you normally have with your self, like if you were telling a story to a friend

• Pick the most disturbing sentences and connect them with emotions you feeling when you hear them

• Perform several Ibadah types consciously (taddabur, dua, prayers, sadaka, fasting) and Honestly reflect on what is it you experiencing and what is it that you were hoping to experience

• Write down reasons why some of your relationships broke down and be clear on your ways about it as well

• Have a courage to name things you appreciate about your self, or are proud of - or ask you family and friends to remind you

• Take 10 minutes to edit your list and BOOK A CALL WITH AJ !