Healing doesn’t arrive one morning and announce, you’re fine now.
It creeps in quietly: a little light after a long night, a little calm in a familiar storm. For me, recovery was never about returning to who I was. It was about learning to live with what I had become.
A long road home
After the diagnosis, I began a journey that would last years. I trusted the process. I took the medication prescribed. I listened to my doctors. And I prayed: sometimes with words, often with tears. I learned that faith and science are not opposites; they are two wings that help you rise.
There were good days when I felt almost whole, and hard days when I felt myself slipping back into the shadows. But even then, I was never truly alone. My wife, my children, my families, and my friends stood beside me: quietly, faithfully, patiently.
“Healing begins when love shows up, again and again, without needing to be asked.”
The relapse
There was a time, long after I had come off medication, when the darkness returned. A relapse, as doctors call it. For nearly a year, I felt the same old fog descend again. It was disheartening: to think that after all the effort, I was back where I started.
But I wasn’t. This time, I knew what it was. I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I knew where to turn. And I had learned one truth: never be too sure of your strength and never be ashamed of your need for help.
Finding purpose again
When I began to see Dr. Arif, something shifted. I found not only care, but clarity. I realized that depression was not a verdict: it was a teacher. It had stripped me down to the essentials of life: faith, love, and meaning.
Slowly, I started to do what I loved again: writing, teaching, bbuilding spaces of happiness. I began to focus less on the violence and suffering in this world, and more on nurturing the seeds of hope that could still grow within it. That shift became my life’s work: building a happiness ecosystem rooted in compassion and belonging.
“I stopped trying to fix the world’s pain and started planting small gardens of joy.”
My circle of light
Through every stage, I was held by a circle of kindness. My families, my mentor Abdulla Salih, my friends who checked in on me regularly – especially Fazu (later FL Fazna Ahmed) and Faisal (later VP Faisla Naseem), and my dear Villijoali – my anchor of hope and light. I cannot name everyone, but their presence made all the difference. They are my living reminder that recovery is never a solo act.
Today, when I speak about happiness, I know what it costs to lose it: and what it takes to rebuild it.
Faith, again
Depression once made me question my worth. Faith reminded me that my worth was never mine to lose.
Every breath, every dawn, every small act of kindness is a mercy from Allah. I have learned to live with my condition: not as a weakness, but as a reminder of His compassion.
It is He who sent people my way when I couldn’t walk alone. It is He who gave meaning to the pain. And it is He who still teaches me, every day, that healing is an act of gratitude.
A message from the other side
To anyone walking through their own darkness: please know this: you are not alone. There is help. There is healing. Reach out. Trust the process. Let the people who love you walk beside you. And never mistake your pain for the absence of faith.
Faith does not always silence the storm: sometimes, it helps you breathe through it.
Be kind
As I look back, I carry no bitterness, only gratitude. Depression taught me to be gentler with people. To understand that everyone is fighting a battle I cannot see. If there is one message I could leave on World Mental Health Day, it is this: Be kind.
Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Be kind: because kindness, more than anything, heals.
End of Series – When the Sky Fell
May our stories remind someone that even when the sky falls, light still finds a way through.
Smile and Let Smile 