The Tree and The Seasons: Cultivating Our Mental Health

The Tree and The Seasons: Cultivating Our Mental Health

About 77 years ago, in 1949, a man by the name of Clifford Beers did something no one had done before. He was one of five children in his family. All five of them struggled with mental illness. All five ended up in institutions. And in those institutions, Clifford saw firsthand how people with mental illness were treated. Not with care, but with cruelty. Not with understanding, but with shame. So he wrote a book. He called it A Mind That Found Itself.

And then he built an organization — what we know now as Mental Health America. And he convinced the country to declare the month of May as Mental Health Awareness Month. And today is May 1st.

That was 1949. Now it is 2026. 77 years later, and we are still having the same conversation. Still fighting the same stigma. Still losing people to the same silence. Every year, the month of May comes with a quiet but powerful reminder: mental health matters. Not just in hospitals, not just in crisis, but in our homes, our conversations, our daily lives.

Are We Truly Checking In?

Let me start with a simple question. How many of us checked on our physical health this year? We went to the doctor. We took vitamins. We tried to eat better, have a better diet. And now let me ask you a harder question. How many of us checked on our mental health? Not just, "Am I okay?" But honestly — am I at peace? Am I overwhelmed? Am I carrying something I haven't talked about?

Because the truth is, you can look perfectly fine on the outside, but be struggling deeply on the inside.

Where We Are: The Reality of Mental Health

The World Health Organization reports that more than 1 billion people on this earth are living with a mental health condition right now. That's one in every seven human beings. And over the course of a lifetime, half of all people globally will experience some form of mental health disorder. Half. When you look to your left, your right — it is not someone else's problem.

And in our community specifically — I was shocked, and I reviewed this several times — a study published by JAMA Psychiatry, the Journal of the American Medical Association, which is one of the most respected research journals in the world, found that American Muslim adults were twice as likely to report a history of a suicide attempt compared to respondents from other faith traditions. Twice. And that study was conducted over approximately 1,800 persons.

And yet, study after study shows that stigma remains the single biggest barrier preventing Muslims from seeking mental health support. We're hurting more and we're seeking help less.

And it's not hard to understand why. Look at the world around us. Look at the position that we're in. Political instability — people don't know what's coming next. An economy that keeps squeezing families tighter and tighter. Injustice overseas and on our doorsteps that we watch on our screens every single day and feel powerless to stop. Wars, displacement, children suffering. And we observe all of it — image after image, headline after headline.

On top of that, isolation. By the way, we were built to be together. الإنسان — al-insān — was called insān in Arabic because it comes from al-uns, which means comfort in companionship. We have been called insān in the Arabic language because we like to be around people. We are social creatures by nature, and now we live on our screens. The mind was not designed for infinite scroll.

And then there is the loss of meaning — rushing through days without ever stopping to ask why. All of this pressing down on you, on your children, on the person sitting next to you right now. And the weight is real.

Why We Speak About This From the Minbar

So why am I talking about this from this minbar? Even though in the masjid, alhamdulillah, we have a counselor, we have a therapist — I'm not a therapist, I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm talking about it because when I read our book, when we read the Quran, Allah told us something about who we are.

Allah says:

O humanity, what has deceived you concerning your Lord, the Most Generous — who created you, proportioned you, and balanced you — in whatever form He willed, He assembled you. Listen to this word: rakkabak — He assembled you, He composed you, He put you together piece by piece. You are not one thing. You are a composition. Body and soul, physical and mental, emotions and actions.

And Allah commanded us to take care of all of it — not just the parts people can see. You wouldn't ignore a broken bone. You wouldn't walk on a fractured leg and say, "I will make du'a about it, Allah will make it fine." So why, when the mind is exhausted, when anxiety sits on your chest like a weight you cannot name, when sadness follows you into every room — why do you pretend it's not real?

The Parable of the Tree

And here is where Allah gave us a powerful image to understand ourselves. Many times in the Quran and in the Sunnah of the Prophet ﷺ, you will find a very interesting metaphor between the believers and the tree.

A good word is like a good tree — its root firmly fixed deep into the earth, into the soil, and its branches reaching the sky. It gives its fruit all the time. That's you. When your roots are deep, when your connection to Allah, to community, to purpose is strong, you bear fruit.

But trees go through seasons. There is spring, there is summer, and there is winter. Sometimes the leaves fall. Sometimes branches are bare. Sometimes a tree looks dead, even though the roots are still alive underground.

And Allah also warns us about what neglect produces. He says in the very next verse:

And the parable of a bad word is like a bad tree — uprooted from the surface of the earth, having no stability, no roots, no ground. That's what happens when the soil is neglected. When someone is suffering and no one asks. When someone is drowning and we still tell them, "Just swim harder."

You might be sitting now next to someone — a friend, a brother, a family member, a sister — who is fighting a battle you know nothing about. The person you love the most may be carrying the heaviest burden. The quiet one in the corner may be dealing with overwhelming anxiety or sadness. The strong one everyone depends on in the house may be exhausted and close to burnout.

Imagine the person in your life who seems the most put together. Now imagine that same person crying last night and telling no one. We have to stop assuming everybody is okay just because they look okay.

The Wall of Silence and Stigma

One of the biggest challenges around mental health is silence. People are struggling but they don't speak. They feel pain but they hide it. Why? Because of stigma and fear. "If I admit I'm struggling, people will judge me. If I go to a therapist, people will look at me with a question mark." And sometimes it's not even fear — it's pride. "I can handle it. It's not that serious. I just need to push through."

So they smile in public and suffer in private. We need to change that. We need to build a culture where if you say "I'm not okay," it's okay. It's not seen as weakness, but as courage — because it is courage.

Strong Faith Does Not Mean the Absence of Pain

And for many in our community, there is another layer. Sometimes people think, "If I have strong iman, I should not feel anxiety. If I have strong trust in Allah, I should not feel depressed." But that's not how human beings work. Even the most faithful, the most righteous hearts feel sadness. And the Quran is full of stories that show us this.

Just one example. The Prophet of Allah Ya'qub grieved over his son Yusuf until his eyes turned white:

His eyes became white from grief. He was suppressing his sorrow — the intensity of his grief, the depth of it. He was a prophet. And Allah did not rebuke him for his grief. Allah honored him with one of the longest surahs in the Quran, named after the very son he grieved over.

Struggling mentally does not mean you are weak. It does not mean your faith is broken. It simply means that you are human. And being human means you feel, you struggle — but also it means you heal.

The Spring: What Does a Healthy Soul Look Like?

I spoke in the first part of this khutbah about the winter. But Islam never stops at just the diagnosis. Allah never just tells you what's wrong. He also always shows you the way out.

So before I end, I want to talk about the spring — what it looks like. But before I give you the tools, let me first paint the picture. What does a healthy soul look like? What does good mental health actually look like? We talk a lot about mental health problems — anxiety, depression, burnout. Have you ever stopped and asked what the opposite looks like?

It's not someone who never feels pain. It's not someone who is always happy. A person with good mental health is someone who can feel sadness without being consumed by it. Who can face uncertainty without being shattered. Who can name what they are feeling and sit with it instead of running away from it. They can ask for help without shame. They can say no without guilt. They can sit in silence without needing a screen to fill it. They can grieve without breaking and they can show up for others without emptying themselves.

That's the picture. Not perfection, not the absence of pain, but the presence of capacity. The ability to bend in the storm without snapping. That's what the palm tree is — which is the example of the believer. Always having the flexibility to bend and come back.

And from the Islamic perspective, this is what ṭuma'nīna means — tranquility, steadiness, deep quiet calm. Not the calm of someone who has no problems, but the calm of someone who knows where to turn when problems come.

Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find tranquility. That is the destination. A heart that has found its anchor. And getting there is not magic — it is cultivation.

Four Things a Tree Needs to Thrive

Remember, you are a tree — and a tree needs four things to thrive.

1. Roots: Your Connection to Allah

Your roots are your connection to Allah through good deeds — salah, fasting, reading Quran, giving charity, learning your deen, dhikr and du'a. But here's what I want you to hear: dhikr and du'a are not just after salah. Du'a is where you actually talk to Allah. Where you don't just say the words mechanically, but you mean them.

When was the last time in your sujood you told Allah honestly how you are doing and how you are feeling? Not the rushed du'a. Not the formal one — but the raw one. The one where you say, Yā Rabb, I'm tired. Yā Rabb, I'm overwhelmed. I don't know what to do. That is the real dhikr. That is the root system. And the deeper your roots, the harder it is for any storm to uproot you.

2. Water: Real Human Connection

Your water is people — real people, not just followers and fans online. Real connections, real presence — your family, your daughters, your sons, your grandchildren. People tend to hide and go into isolation, but that is not what the tree needs. It needs water. The Prophet ﷺ used to notice when someone was missing from the masjid and he would ask, "Where is so-and-so?" — not a month later. And there are many stories in the Sunnah that document this.

3. Sunlight: Seeking Real Help

The sunlight is seeking help — real help. The Prophet ﷺ said:

(Sunan Abi Dawud, Hadith 3855; also narrated in Sunan Ibn Majah, Hadith 3436)

"Seek treatment, O servants of Allah. For Allah has not placed a disease except that He placed a remedy for it — except one: death." And in another narration, "except aging."

Let me be clear. Sabr is real. Du'a is real. Alhamdulillah in every circumstance is real. We should say it, we should do it, we should hold onto it, we should live it, we should teach it to our children. But sabr was never meant to be a wall that keeps help out. It was meant to be a window that keeps you steady while you are seeking help. Not just sabr, not just du'a — but effort. Tawakkul and action.

You take your children to the doctor when they have a fever and no one questions your iman. So why would taking someone to a therapist — a professional helper — when the mind is hurting be any different? Seeking help is Sunnah before it is clinical.

But I want to be honest with you here. We also need to be wise about how we seek help. We live in a culture, unfortunately, that looks for a quick fix — a pill for every problem, a prescription for every discomfort. And I'm not — let me be clear — I'm not saying medication is wrong. For some people, medication is necessary. It is life-saving. It is part of the remedy Allah placed in this world. But medication without inner work is like pouring water on a tree that has no roots. The water runs right through.

A pill can stabilize you, but it cannot give you a purpose. A prescription can quiet the noise, but it cannot teach you how to listen to yourself. The healing has to go deeper. Therapy, self-reflection, honest conversation, spiritual practice, building your iman, building yourself from the inside — not just managing symptoms from the outside. The Prophet ﷺ did not just tell us to seek treatment. He taught us to build character. He taught us to develop patience, gratitude, self-awareness. He taught us that the strong believer is better than the weak one. So yes, seek help. And if medication is part of your treatment, take it without shame. But don't stop there. Go deeper. Because Allah didn't just compose your body — He also composed your soul. And the soul needs more than chemistry. It needs cultivation.

4. Pruning: Honest Self-Reflection

And the fourth thing any tree needs is trimming — pruning, cutting away what is dead so that it can grow. In our tradition, we call that honest reflection. We call it muḥāsabah — when you hold yourself accountable. Ask yourself what is the reason behind what you are going through. Hold yourself accountable. Repent from your sins and your mistakes.

A Closing Word: He Composed You to Heal

I want you to sit with this point for a moment. Remember what I said — Allah composed you. He knows every part that went into you. He knows the parts you show to the world. And He knows the parts you have never told anyone about. The anxiety you carry into every room. The sadness that comes at night when the house is quiet. The thought that says you are not enough. He knows.

And the One who composed you did not compose you to break. He composed you to heal, to succeed. You are not your worst season. The same God who sends the winter, sends the spring. And He has never, ever forgotten the garden.

One Actionable Step This Week

I always like to end my khutbah with something actionable. I'm asking you to do just one thing this week: water one tree — including your own.

If you have been carrying something heavy, take one step — make one appointment, have one honest conversation, make one du'a where you actually tell Allah how you really feel. And check in on one person you have not heard from in a while. Say, "I was thinking about you — how are you doing?" Because the Prophet ﷺ didn't just teach us to pray. He taught us to ask, "Where is so-and-so?" Be that person this week — for someone else and for yourself.

A Final Word: Mental Health Is Also a Civic Responsibility

Just yesterday, the Supreme Court handed down a decision that weakened one of the most important protections in the Voting Rights Act — a law that people marched for, a law that people bled for. I'm not here to tell you how to feel about it, to agree or disagree — that's not my point. But I'll tell you one thing: this is exactly why we cannot afford to be asleep. Not politically, not spiritually, not mentally. Because a community that is mentally broken cannot stand up for its rights. A community that is overwhelmed cannot show up when it matters.

So take care of yourself and show up. Vote, participate, make your voice heard, be present — not just in the masjid, not just in the family gathering, but in every room where decisions are being made about your future. Taking care of your mental health is not a luxury. It is also a civic and religious responsibility.