We Are Valuable

by Tanya Muneera Williams

I don’t really do well with introductions, I guess you can say I’m slightly awkward, the last time I was asked to introduce myself I think I said something really corny like ‘I’m just your sister a fellow human being and I am just really happy to be here amongst you’. But let’s try, my name is Tanya Muneera Williams, educator and learner, loves life, feeling, breathing, being human! Emcee, Poet, Thinker, Lover, writer soon to be comedian. 1\2 of Poetic Pilgrimage according to Twitter. Mental well being is important to me, hence why I am writing

Loathsome, disgusting, repulsive, dirty, stupid, ugly, prone, to rape, below, unclean, addicted, undeserving of all good and deserving of all negativity. That was the voice that followed me around daily as a child, so it’s no wonder in later life I developed complications with my self-worth, which got so bad that it compromised my mental wellbeing. If I am to reflect back from the age of about 7 I changed as a child. Not aware of what trauma was and with no knowledge of boundaries to be able to explain to the adults around me that my boundary had been crossed, 7 year old me carried on living in the way that a 7-year-old was expected to behave, I played, I laughed and did my chores, but the fact is I was too young to challenge the negative perceptions of me that had started growing so it became the norm, the dominant voice in my head.

Growing up I was a chunky child, the adults around me were sure that it was puppy fat and that it would go as soon as I hit puberty, so I too waited for this puppy fat to shed, this was the first time I became conscious of my body, aware that the way I looked was not ideal and that there was something more that I should strive for. I became analytical, terribly aware of every aspect of my body, the complexion of my skin, the shape of my nose, the texture of my hair, the straightness of my teeth, I would spend hours in the mirror thinking about if I was God, how I would have made me different.

I developed breasts at about the age of nine. As I was the first girl in my class to experience this I became the oddity, that was further fuelled by teachers using me as an example of change, which further solidified my freakish status. Soon the other girls started to develop so things started to balance out, but by that time I had already grown a disdain for my body.

‘the cool kids and their opinion of me’

The same thing which happened to me when I was 7 happened to me again when I was 13 under more or less the same circumstances. This time, however, there was a difference, I thought because of my body, I was unlovable and unattractive but despite the situation being uninvited and me attempting to safeguard my boundaries, I learnt there was something that someone could feel for me, something that for a split second made me feel warm and loved, and from that day I chased that warmth. Of course I negotiated my own terms, but terms of a 13-year-old who still hated her body yet at the same time realised that by giving up agency of that body there could exist a feeling of warmth and beauty all be it temporary, are not the healthiest of terms to negotiate with.

On many occasions, I found myself in dangerous and compromising situations and as a result, I was endangered and compromised. Around the same time, I was diagnosed with PCOS. This was a double blow, not only did I start to put on more weight, but I also started to notice facial hair. Kids are cruel, and although I was mouthy and able to hold my own, I was also sorely reminded that I was too hairy and too big to be among the real cool kids, so instead I played the unattractive sidekick, the funny girl who was either bullied by or best friends with the boys, and who existed to prop up the pretty girls. I know this painting looks really bleak, but there was a lot of happiness too, I fell in love with music and radio and become a DJ. I started meeting other friends, most of whom with the exception of one, felt just as insecure as me, although in my eyes, they were all way more beautiful than how they saw themselves.  Slowly I started to form this independent identity and crafted this personality that I was really proud of. I prided myself in being authentic and of good character, but not even this aspect of myself that I was now starting to love was able to challenge my body image issues and with it the length that I would go to in order to feel ‘warm’.

I started university late. I moved to London, the big city, where thought this idea of being ugly or being below all the pretty girls wouldn’t stalk me, but I soon discovered that what was haunting me was not the cool kids and their opinion of me, it was my opinion of myself. While my friends would go out, I stayed locked behind closed doors, because I thought I was too fat and too ugly and I would be the centre off attention for all the wrong reasons. It was at his point I had my real first bout of what I now know to be depression. Feelings of worthlessness combined with thoughts of not wanting to exist consumed me. I didn’t want to kill myself, I just didn’t want to be here.

‘someone had to be Jamaican’

I don’t even know how I came across it, I was not looking for it, it just manifested in my head a way to release the tension. Self-harm, I knew it was dangerous and I kept thinking what if something went wrong, but the freeing sensation that it caused, the sense of relief was so addictive it meant I was hooked, what do I do, a real catch 22, do I stop myself from doing this thing that could go horribly wrong, or walk in a constant state for depression. I chose the former, and between that and starting to gain confidence from the fruits of cultivating my art, meeting new people, and going to new places.

I celebrated internally, my worse days were over. Yeah I still had body image issues and a problem with my boundaries but I was able to maintain; at times I was even able to witness my shine and declare it at the top of my voice whenever I held a mic. I found myself, I was in my element and walked these South Tottenham Streets like I owned them. A spiritual Hip-Hop soldier, able to roll with the Rastas and the Buddhists, the road men and those from the hills. I saw myself as a true definition of a modern day mystic. So, of course, I never expected that less than a year later that real feeling of depression would grab a hold of me again. It was like she knew me better so she clung on harder, and this time she visited with her friend panic attacks which rendered me incapable of leaving the house at times. It’s funny when people think of depression so many things come to minds. One of the most common things I hear is ‘it is a state of mind something you can control’ or ‘back in the days people didn’t have depression’, and my answer to that is well, back in the days we didn’t have Aids, or so many variations of cancer, back in the days it was commonly accepted that a woman would likely die from giving birth, back in the days we didn’t have the Jubilee line or the Oyster card for that matter, but as if by magic here we are with all the above in existence.

From that point, the feeling visited me more frequently and rather than reliving that feeling, my conversion to Islam feed that feeling. I converted to Islam 3 weeks before the 7/7 London bombings. That time was a very difficult time for Muslims, especially those who were visible, so we were faced with hostilities. The constant distrust and resentment lead to more panic attacks and anxieties whilst at the same time dealing with losing friends and letting down family by way of my conversion also impacted on me. The most difficult thing, however, was who I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to think now that I was Muslim. First up in that realm of Muslim womanhood, there was no space for depression or sadness for you are now supposed to be the happiest woman in the world, not in your city, but in the world and there are a plethora of tool books to guide you to being so, allow me to summarise:

Tip 1) Be happy because you are wife
Tip 2) Be happy because you are a mother
Tip 3) Be happy because your parents gave you Islam

Ummmm, excuse me madam or sir (which I suspect you really are), none of these things are true of me, what about those of us who are not married, who have no children, and whose parents are not Muslim, although I love mine dearly.

Okay let’s try again, you are a terrorist, Biryani is now your national dish, don’t be sad, someone had to be Jamaican, you hate all the Jews and now that you wear a scarf, Black folks you knew before will no longer recognise you as Black.
The latter seemed true, but the rest, no, but these were some of the causes of conflict when I initially converted to Islam, that and apparently, my breast being too big.

‘the three most helpful things’

Wherever I went there was always ‘well intentioned’ sister to remind me that I was dressed inappropriately and I should consider some way to cover my chest, (frightened that I would take their husband no doubt). I called this ‘body shaming’; they called this ‘advice’. Another issue I encountered was people’s thoughts about depression in a religious context: ‘depression is a sign of lack of faith and ingratitude’. I wondered if the same is true for those with leukaemia or those with holes in their hearts. Granted depression in and of itself is not life threatening, but when you look at the fact that suicide is the leading cause of death among people aged 20-34 and 90% of suicides and suicide attempts have been found to be associated with a psychiatric disorder. The highest rates of which are associated with depressive disorders according to The Mental Health foundation, we should start to recognise this as more than ingratitude, and this is in reality a health epidemic. It seems silly that I have to say this, but depression is not sadness, (sadness is sadness), a feeling or an emotion, whereas depression is a condition that generally leads to people feeling sad. And even if it was the same thing, if sadness was taking lives, shouldn’t that be a good enough reason to look into it?

Depression and anxiety have never really left me, I still get bouts of both, the difference is, however, I am familiar with my triggers, and I have devised strategies for dealing with them when they come round.

First up, my eating is key, I don’t know if it is a trigger or symptom but eating predominately whole foods is not a trend for me, it is intrinsically linked to my well being. Sleep, exercise and meditation are all things that I have to safeguard. I talk to myself a lot more than I did to establish my feelings, I veg out on podcast, bullet journaling and positive affirmations around me all help.

Probably the three most helpful things have been practising a spiritual path within Islam, counselling, and a mini network of loved ones who allow me to be seen, heard and valued and are aware of my triggers even when I forget that I have them, for which I am truly grateful for.

A lot has changed, my religious community, cultural community and society as a whole  are becoming much more aware of the meaning of  mental well-being and mental health, there is still a long way to go, but every day more and more people like me are realising we are not an oddity, we are valuable and we are here.