25 years ago, this day I made the biggest mistake of my life. I married a man I loved–or at least I thought I loved him. 5 years into the marriage I was suffering from severe depression. We ended the marriage and I had a young son and baggage the size of a truck to take care of. Life as Ajahn Brahm put it, life had delivered a gigantic load of shit on my doorstep. I had a choice : The choice was to use the shit as manure to plant my garden or to throw it at other people for them to deal with it.
I chose the first.
In the ensuing 25 years I left my home country, raised a son and lived a very different life as compared to my family. My family decided that a second marriage was out of the question, given my state. They kindly didn’t say that I looked like a dead body, but I think anyone who stood within a 3 foot aura could tell that I was nearly dead. Nearly, not quite.
Pakistan is the kind of place that if you happen to be a divorcee at 27, your value is now way lower than an unmarried woman. You can now be married off to a man 15-20-30 years older. Wait I had a son too! and I was slightly overweight, instead of the tiny body I used to have. This meant total disaster. I happened to be a very shy and sensitive soul. The experience of being hit on by older men wanting an affair made me feel like I was a slut or a whore and that too fat!.
My ex-husband on the other hand, left me and son and moved to a different country to start his life over, leaving the entire baggage from the failed marriage on my hands.
Canada was my refuge, my biggest challenge, my greatest agony, and ultimately my home.
Here, I found myself. I found the person I was meant to be before I was made into someone. I kept my ties to my family alive though I retreated from the social circles and the extended world of the Pakistani community. I didn’t want to be my brother’s divorced sister, who was now his headache. I felt like the worst possible person in the world for screwing up my life.
Once you know who you are, the fear goes.
Yes, I still wasn’t happy. I was in hell, actually. The thing is that once you live in hell for a while you realize that heaven or hell after death don’t actually matter. I tried to find happiness in material success, but it just wasn’t doing it for me. Me looking good just didn’t make me happy. Me owning stuff didn’t make me happy. I had a hole in my soul as big as the ozone hole.
There were days when I had to force myself to get up. Actually there were many years like that. Of course I never ever talked about it. Emotions, I had learnt early on when the divorce happened, were not acceptable. Every time I’d try to talk about how I feel, my family would shush me.’You are well rid of him.’ I don’t think anyone understood or had any idea what I went through. It was the British influence. ‘Business as usual.’ The scale of the injustice felt huge. Just one mistake can make a person into nothing. I knew I was nothing. Family had no idea how to help. When life deals a blow–families often don’t know what to do. They can’t actually help.
That journey through depression was the most difficult thing I have ever faced in my life. People don’t understand what depression is. Just get up, my family would say. Just do it. I couldn’t. I had no control over what I was feeling. The most painful words I heard were, ‘we don’t get depression.’
It took me 10 or more years of struggle on my own before I actually made it to a healer’s office. She wasn’t a traditional therapist, but she understood depression. She didn’t give me advice, she actually listened. Her empathy meant that something in me came alive. I couldn’t believe the first time I actually smiled from the heart. Like you know, felt it?
I learnt to meditate. I loved meditation. In this place there was no more pain. Meditation saved me.
One day a miracle happened. I had an extreme spiritual experience. I am not sure why it happened to me–maybe because I expected nothing. I didn’t even believe in God. But I knew I was nothing. This experience transformed my entire experience of life. I discovered who I was. It changed everything. I learnt to find things that made me happy. Slowly, happiness stacked up like rice grains…bit by bit by bit.
Since that day I have taught meditation. To teach, I had to continue to heal my heart. The issues that had made me ill weren’t people–it wasn’t my family or even my ex-husband, it was misogyny, sexual abuse and injustice that were ingrained and accepted in our society.
These issues weren’t just because of one man who was bad to me, but they lived like demons in the larger mosaic of my life–they in fact came from the suppression and oppression of the powerful.
They were part of my experience as a woman. But to fight against them, I had to let go of even an iota of resentment or regret about the man I married, and the place where I was born. I had to heal my heart of all complaint against the construction of the masculine in my culture, against religion and against the people who could not obtain justice for me. Not only could they not get justice for me, they didn’t even think I needed justice.
I had to forgive him, my country, my family, and ultimately myself. I had to take a leaf from Gandhi’s book.
I had to find the real God and learn from source itself, the meaning of life, because my tribe, my people, my world had failed completely.
I believe that the greatest spiritual act is to struggle against evil. This is the meaning of the Arabic word, ‘jehad’, my sadness and grief in the face of evil was my struggle, it was my jihad.
25 years today, I have won the inner jehad, but my jehad against oppression, injustice and misogyny will continue to my dying day. I will write, speak and raise awareness. I am not afraid.
Life is not lived in fear. It is lived in grace.
After what I went through, there is no more fear.









