Ruminations: Grief, Mentor Matrix, + Therapy
“When are you going to write again?” was the final question my therapist asked me, and I knew he got me. He picked up on a very small point I mentioned earlier in our session, about not having creative energy and falling out of the writing habit for a while, and saved it for the perfect time. “I don’t know man, I need to start soon though. I may also just be being lazy at this point,” I responded vaguely. He rebutted directly with, “How about this week?” He had me cornered, and I had no more excuses. “I will start writing this week,” I said with a big smile on my face.
That session actually had nothing to do with writing; it was focused on grief. I specifically asked him if we could talk about that emotion because it's one I know so well, yet don’t know at all.
Every time we go through difficulties, it feels like the worst we have ever experienced. Still, the last twelve months (really twenty-four) have been the most emotionally tumultuous I have experienced in my life. I wrote about it a little in Ruminations: 2024 and some other places too. Khawatir was intended to serve others by writing about things that impact the community, but what I realized in Ramadan was that there is no separating the artist from his art. It serves me too, but I typically don’t address my problems head-on; I just lean forward and keep on grinding. Moreover, I have learned to mask it with a smile to the point that most people would never notice, whether in writing or person.
Resilience is a learned skill that often serves as a coping mechanism for managing difficult circumstances. But, if we’re not careful, it can lead to figuratively brushing things under the rug, and that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t processing my feelings and was just masterfully compartmentalizing things for short-term optimal performance. Particularly grief.
Grief
Grief is a complex emotion for me. It’s much easier for me to discuss it vicariously than to address my own. It feels like profound sadness and anger wrestling for space in my heart; with each round of life, they vie to win and come to the fore. Then, if I double-click and zoom into the emotion, searching for the deeper impetus behind my most painful feelings of grief, it’s a longing for what could or should have been.
My therapist once told me, “All feelings are valid, but not all feelings need to be validated.” I can’t dismiss how I’m feeling, but I have to interrogate where those feelings are coming from and if they are worth the weight of what I’m feeling. That’s a hard pill to swallow. It requires honestly and humbly looking into the figurative mirror and asking, “Why do I feel the way I do?” In my situation, even if we take Stephen Wilson Jr.'s perspective that “Grief is only love,” it doesn’t mean that the love I’m searching for is justified or possible. Furthermore, are my feelings in harmony with my theological beliefs and spiritual aspirations? Sultan Al-Awliya (Sultan of the Saints), Sh. Abdul-Qadir Al-Jilani (d. 561/1166) said,
“The servant does not experience love until he becomes a seeker, and he does not become a seeker until his commitment to the search is absolute. His commitment to the search does not become absolute, until the firebrand of reverent awe [jamrat al-khashya] has been cast into his heart, and has burned everything it contains.”1
Somewhere in life, I learned—perhaps from being a man (responsible for a family), an Imam (responsible for a community), or simply feeling incapable of changing the outcomes—it was easier to simply ignore grief than to bear its consequences. It was as if whatever emotional receptors took in inputs and translated them to my mind were completely disassociated. But, only well into my thirties, I was able to recognize some of the stages of grief, particularly depression and anger, and had good tools for managing them, but things felt like they were spilling over. In public, I found it more challenging to mask my feelings—every smile felt exhausting, like a fatigued endurance runner waiting to finish the race—and, in private, there wasn’t much energy for anything; I often found myself slouched on the couch, watching TV. Then, last year, a M. Saad Yaqoob told me, “Bro, you should go to therapy.”
“Sit with the elderly, ask the scholars, and mix with the wise.”2
–Prophet Muhammad ﷺ
Mentor Matrix
In April, I was blessed to attend Prophetic Living’s first “Sacred Manhood” retreat for brothers, led by Shaykh Yasir Fahmy, in Stratton Mountain, Vermont. Initially, the team was hoping to have fifty attendees. Still, so many were eager to hear Shaykh’s treatment of the topic that they had to put people on a waiting list because 150 brothers flew in from around the country to attend. As with all Prophetic Living retreats, it ultimately proved to be a phenomenal experience, both educationally and spiritually.
Something Shaykh referenced throughout the retreat was the “Mentor Matrix.” “Everyone needs a teacher, wise elder, and experienced friend,” he said. It really stood out to me, not only has mentorship been (and continues to be) one of the most influential things in my life, but also because it is incredibly difficult to find these days. Academics have long written about how American social and civic life has dramatically declined over the past several decades. We are Bowling Alone—still engaging in activities, but without the communal bonds that once accompanied them. As a result, our relationships have become increasingly transactional.
When we think about mentorship, we think about it from a professional perspective. First, in college, there is an office of “academic advisors” waiting to guide us through our collegiate life. We cannot register for classes without their approval. Then, once we graduate and transition into the workforce, industry experts are readily available for a formal (often paid) relationship. The “Mentor Matrix,” on the other hand, is the polar opposite—it’s not transactional, it’s relational.
Teachers
Traditionally, the deen (religion) is studied with teachers, not autodidactically, and systematically to ensure that knowledge is properly understood before progressing onto the next phase. At a minimum, we are all responsible to learn what is fard 3yn (individually obligatory) upon us—those things that, without them—in the external (fiqh), internal (‘aqidah), and spiritual (tasowwuf) sciences—we cannot worship God with a basic level of clarity and certainty.
Even if traditional learning is not possible or desired, teachers are those individuals who possess knowledge, as Allah instructed us in the Quran, “Ask if you don’t know.”3 Therefore, everyone must identify a teacher for themselves. Doing this has a dual benefit: intellectually, it establishes an epistemological hierarchy, and spiritually, it practices humility by recognizing our own ignorance.
For more information on this topic, please refer to the paper below.
Elders
Whenever embarking on a new endeavor, it’s only natural to consider its economic viability. Unfortunately, we also do this for children; hence why Allah told us in the Quran, “Do not kill your children for fear of poverty. We provide for them and for you. Surely killing them is a heinous sin.”4 That said, in pre-Islamic Arabia, they practiced female infanticide, not for economic reasons, but due to a perverted value system. Allah said in the Quran,
“Whenever one of them is given the good news of a baby girl, his face grows gloomy, as he suppresses his rage. He hides himself from the people because of the bad news he has received. Should he keep her in disgrace, or bury her ˹alive˺ in the ground? Evil indeed is their judgment!”5
When Islam emerged in the Arabian Peninsula almost 1,500 years ago, it completely shifted the paradigm of life, decoupling it from economic viability and social value. Unfortunately, in our postmodern society, things have come full circle. While much of our focus remains on the present, whether in our lives or the unborn, we often overlook the past or how to maintain continuity into the future—the work of elders.
The specific circumstances of our experiences are unique to us; no one can ever comprehend exactly how they impact us or precisely know how to change them for the better. Nevertheless, there are patterns in life and, as my grandmother would say, “What you don’t know could create another world.” Elders—by definition, those who have lived longer than us—are a goldmine of experience. Through sitting with them and asking thoughtful questions, we extract valuable knowledge for our own lives.
But gold doesn’t come directly from a mine; the ore must be refined, separating the gold from other impurities. It would be foolish to throw ore away simply because it doesn’t come out of the mine pre-refined. Similarly, we must remember that, like us, our elders are human with their own biases and unique perspectives. Just because it isn’t pre-packaged or one-size-fits-all doesn’t make it less valuable; it just means we must filter through a lens of humility and discernment.
We need elders, not just for mentorship and advice, but also for cultural continuity, especially for those of us living in America. Not to say that “the melting pot” completely erases our cultural memory, but it does create dementia. Culture is all about the nuances often learned via osmosis, not from a book or in a class. Intergenerational socializing ensures we, and our children, keep our cultural memory strong for as long as possible.
"The wise statement is the lost property of the believer, so wherever he finds it, then he is more worthy of it."6
–Prophet Muhammad ﷺ
The Wise
The Prophet ﷺ said, “A man follows the religion of his friend; so each one should consider whom he makes his friend.”7 This should be self-evident, but it is becoming increasingly challenging. We maintain relationships out of social or familial obligation without much consideration of the impact it has on us. Because of this, the people we seek advice and support from are therapists.
I have no problem with therapy—after all, I did eventually heed my friends’ advice and have a therapist myself—but I think it should be a part of the larger “Mentor Matrix,” not the end goal. Additionally, we must be thoughtful about what that relationship looks like.
Therapy
Personal Hangups
I have always had a weird relationship with therapy—I encourage people to see professional help all the time, but I have philosophical reservations about it nevertheless. I have been blessed to work alongside therapists since 2016, Al-Hamdulillah, and value their training and contributions greatly; however, they have served as figurative icing on a cake whose flavor I already know.
I’m naturally an empath, and after a decade of serving pastorally, Allah has blessed me to almost read people’s faces. Fortunately, and unfortunately, there’s no turning that off, and it applies to my own emotions as well. I often find myself lost in thought, trying to understand why I feel the way I do and the source of my emotions. Whenever I get stuck on something or want a more profound insight, I consult with friends who are professional therapists. So, when Saad encouraged me to seek professional help, I went to Dr. Hamza Quadri (my PsychShaykh) and Dr. Fatima Mirza. Unfortunately, they both supported the idea.
Committing to therapy challenged me because it required humility in a way I had never experienced before. In 2017, I committed myself to a life of service, and that's a significant part of my identity—I’m an infantryman, striving to serve my teachers dutifully. I take care of others, and therefore, for anything personal bogging me down, I just need to be patched up well enough to continue service. Unfortunately, with that no longer being sufficient, Dr. Hamza explained that a therapeutic relationship is like any other relationship; it is built over time, through working together.
Selection Criterion
Once I accepted that I was going to start this process, I had to find out who the therapist was going to be. In full transparency, I had to find a criterion for my wife to find the therapist for me—going through providers’ profiles was a barrier that would have prevented me from committing.
Gender — Male. If I’m going to be regularly speaking with someone about the intimate details of my life and mind, intentionally building a relationship, I wanted to make sure there was no chance of romantic interest getting in the way.
Religion — Non-Muslim, but religious. By Allah’s grace and mercy, I studied Islam traditionally for nearly a decade and continued to pursue religious learning. While I recognize I do not possess scholarly knowledge, I serve people pastorally daily, and I feel comfortable processing the religious (i.e., jurisprudent, theological, and spiritual) implications that arise in therapy, either alone or with my teachers. I also didn’t want anyone else’s understanding of Islam or bias to infringe on the therapeutic process. That is, I wanted my therapist to help me with my mind, not my heart. That said, religion is a fundamental part of my life, and I wanted someone who is religious themselves, so I wouldn’t have to explain or defend God, religious conviction, or devotion.
Race — Black. Something Dr. Fatima pointed out was that, in addition to always being the racial minority in society at large of the Muslim community, some of my disposition comes from Blackamerican culture. Being a Third Culture Kid, that isn’t something I had previously ever considered, but it did make a lot of sense and could potentially be insightful.
Parameters
Al-Humdulillah, I was blessed to strike out on my first try. I really enjoy my therapist, but something was still off. We met weekly to address a significant portion of my history and establish our initial rapport, which felt burdensome. Then we switched to a bi-weekly cadence, and I still felt like we were talking for the sake of talking. I have friends, and that wasn’t what I wanted him for. So, we switched to every three weeks. This cadence allows for sufficient time for new things to happen, but not too much time where they no longer feel relevant to discuss. It also forces me to do my own homework.
Prior to beginning therapy, I knew that I didn’t want my therapist to be a glorified paid friend. I don’t need someone to just talk to or share my ideas because I tend to be very solution-oriented. I wanted someone to critique those thoughts and help me explore better ways of handling them. This was something I shared with my therapist from the onset, and found that, Al-Humdulillah, he shared a similar disposition and agreed to keep me honest. That means forcing vulnerability and accountability by prodding deeper into areas that might be uncomfortable.
Typically my sessions are broken into three sections: the first twenty minutes of me giving an update on the last three weeks that passed, the next thirty minutes before we shift to whatever point I want to delve deeper into, and the last ten minutes talking about culture or connecting the sessions subject to something esoteric. This requires that I have independently started processing (ideally by journaling) the major events since my therapist and I last spoke. I also take notes during the session on any significant points to (hopefully, but not always successfully) reflect on further in the future and identify potential patterns.
In the last five minutes of my last therapy session, we spoke about post-traumatic growth without naming it. It was a difficult conversation for both of us, given the nature of our work: he as a therapist and I as an Imam. Neither one of us wants nor would encourage someone to be in pain. I shared that it’s a religious principle—the Prophet ﷺ said, "A believer is not stung twice (by something) out of one and the same hole"8 and “whenever given the choice of one of two matters, he would choose the easier of the two.”9 But, we also acknowledge, particularly as Black men, that tremendous pain and oppression have caused some of the most beautiful art.
I wanted to end with a du’a (supplication), but couldn’t think of anything other than the du’a one of my teachers frequently makes. If you’re interested, please see the attachment below.
And, ultimately, Allah knows best.
Jīlānī, ʿAbd al-Qādir. Sufficient Provision for Seekers of the Path of Truth (Al-Ghunya li-Ṭālibī Ṭarīq al-Ḥaqq). Vol. 5. Translated by Muhtar Holland. Hollywood, FL: Al-Baz Publishing, 1997. 8.
Tabarani, Al-Kabir. Reported by Al-Haythami, Nur al-Din. Majma’ Al-Zawaid wa Manba’ Al-Fawaid. Cairo, Egypt: Maktaba Al-Qudsiya
Quran 16:43.
Quran 17:31.
Quran 16:58–59.