Recovery in Solitude
How do we break out of our instinctive nature of solitude while suffering from mental distress? How do we navigate between acts of self-love and self-destruction? How do we ask for help?
I want to begin by acknowledging the strength, courage and resilience of those who have suffered mental health issues and/or distress. Regardless of whether there is a diagnosed label or it’s ‘just a strange feeling’, I recognise the unwavering strength it takes to admit this to oneself. Recovery can look different for different people and there is no one way to cope.
Islam promotes peace through our relationship with God. Through hope and trust in a higher being, we are able to focus more on our core. Our heart and soul are connected and our mental wellbeing is crucial to our core purpose of living. There is a relationship between faith and mental adversity. We are constantly told to pray and remember God, that it will heal us—and it does. Don’t get me wrong, Islam heals and cures all. But I probe, with very gentle curiosity, trying to understand how different individuals and their psychosomatic selves address solitude. For one, we know that our Prophet (peace be upon him) participated in the acts of muraqabah and muhasabah in the cave of Hira. These acts represent individual reflection, contemplation, and mindfulness completed in solitude, with only God present at that time. We also see this in our prayers and individual acts of worship.
Coming back to Islam and its history, we also know that the same prophet (PBUH) who found peace in his solitary worship to God, also needed that physical and emotional connection to another being. Reflecting on this story, I initially did not understand the importance of physical and emotional touch, but I now see the profound lesson it teaches about enduring difficult times.
On the other hand, I am curious to understand how we, as shallow beings, can actively balance individual methods of coping as well as making use of support systems. In the Western system of mental health recovery, we see a very strong focus on external support systems as a way of coping. In fact, it is one of the first questions a human service worker will ask a client - ‘do they have supports available to them?’ We often associate the answer ‘yes’ to hopeful recovery and ‘no’ to the opposite.
When we are in our mother’s womb, we are physically and verbally coated in love, with words of affirmation and gentle touch, we attach to this feeling of being loved. As we grow up, we create barriers between this innate notion of physical tactile touch and human connection, and instead focus on other more important aspects of life. When we face a struggle or hardship, pieces of our barrier crumble and break off, until eventually we are left with a fragile heart that does not know how to seek a way out of this distress.
I acknowledge that too much of anything can be harmful, even something as positive as human connection and support networks. Overreliance on these can lead to blurred boundaries, but the question lies in determining where that line is.
My second question is, ‘How exactly do we navigate between acts of self-love and self-destruction?’ I don’t know the answer and am unsure if there is one, but ultimately, we are the only ones who can determine this. Is it self-destructive to completely detach from this dunya (world) and the people in it, when suffering from a dunya-caused problem? Or is it an act of self-love to detach, spending time in solitude, as our religion has shown us the benefits?
The real struggle is in determining how much of either is destructive and how much is beneficial?
There are studies that show the benefits of solitude, which enables self-reflection and an opportunity to slow down. But there are also many studies demonstrating the importance of support networks in recovery. Reductions in stress, higher levels of resilience and the release of oxytoxin are all prevalent. However, the constant attack on self withdrawal and isolation in times of distress, may not be as much of a risk factor as we once thought. Spending time alone, either with ones thoughts or on a prayer mat, seeking help from a higher being, can enable healing and growth.
The answer? Who knows, really? Too much of either can be destructive, I guess. The most important thing is knowing when to ask for help. Humankind was created weak, and seeking help goes against our fundamental instinct to appear “not weak.” It may be one of the hardest things a person does—asking for help from someone else.
But, in fact, it represents strength. Overcoming something our psychosomatic system tells us not to attempt is incredibly difficult. Knowing when to actually reach out to our support network is so important, and we need to recognise the courage it takes to do so.
In navigating mental distress, the interplay between solitude and support is both delicate and deeply personal. From the teachings of Islam, we learn the profound benefits of solitude—acts of worship and reflection that connect us with our Creator and foster inner peace. At the same time, the human need for connection, as demonstrated through Islamic history and mental health research, is equally important for healing and recovery. The key lies in balance. Solitude offers the space to introspect and reconnect with our inner selves, while social networks provide the encouragement and strength we sometimes cannot muster alone.
Ultimately, the courage to seek help, whether from a higher power or from others, is a testament to our strength. It is in recognising our limitations and asking for guidance that we grow, heal, and thrive. I pray that you, dear reader, muster the strength when it is needed, and I hope you feel loved always :)
With love always, Rabbiah