"It became overwhelming for me, after all, I was never taught how to manage an ‘inquiry’ into why I hadn’t produced a baby for the community bubble within the set time frame laid out in ‘law’ before..."

I never thought I would be commissioning my first article as part of The British Bengalis editorial team (second article for the blog) on such a sensitive subject matter, but I thought it was time to share things that have affected probably quite a few of us, silently, across British Bengali community bubbles. Things that we just don’t talk about, but should.

Studies suggest that mental health issues across South Asian communities (British Bengali community bubbles are absolutely no exception), are not being recognised and talked about. This utter lack of awareness and dialogue stems from a culture of 'shame'. We've all heard those words before: "manshe kita koiba shunle?" (Sylheti for "what will people think/say when they hear about this?"). And unfortunately, we are all too familiar with the worst case outcome when issues are buried. To us, there appears to be a lack of 'social infrastructure'/support network to empower people to speak up and call for help. For those who keep up with Bollywood, Shushant Singh Rajput's recent suicide was a bit of a wake up call. A wake up call into how things could have been different if this culture of 'shame' was eradicated.

Jutika Deb, who I have known since she was a little baby, and I are sharing our personal experiences with the hope that someone who currently feels isolated will read our stories and for once not feel alone. So here’s our story and we hope it helps you in some way. If it helps, please do feel free to reach out to us at: thebritishbengalis@gmail.com or direct message us @thebritishbengalis. We would be happy to lend a listening ear and all our conversations (via email/phone/or WhatsApp) are treated as strictly confidential.

Feeling blue

“Feeling Blue’ is a phrase that I feel is overused to the extent it often feels slightly hollow, without much ‘real’ meaning. Technically, according to the Using English website, it means: “you are feeling unwell, mainly associated with depression or unhappiness...” For me, it takes me back to an event in my life - a time when I truly and precisely understood what this phrase really means.

Seeking help early on

I have been carrying a major emotional weight on my shoulders for many years. As I stated in my last article I’ve suffered with anxiety since I was a child. An overriding sense of fear when out of my comfort zone and an inability to stop worrying. This one thought has often led me down a maze, lost in my worries, which proved difficult to come out of. In my teenage years and in my early twenties, these thoughts were always there. A knack for overthinking things which always led to dread in the pit of my stomach. I certainly didn’t talk about these feelings to anyone in my community bubble, as I had a sense that these matters would be considered shameful.

Instead I looked towards external, professional, help in school and counselling helped me through a particularly difficult period before University. To be able to speak to someone who would just listen and not judge and never suggest something was wrong with me was a relief. I’ve had counselling a couple of times - even after marriage. Sometimes it’s OK to say you need help from outside your family and sometimes it is only a stranger that can help you, but the key was I knew I needed help as my feelings were getting away from me.

Losing someone you never met

In 2001, I was pregnant with the prospect of my second child. I still remember the joy I felt, looking forward - daydreaming about the future, excited to meet my future child and going with the roller coaster emotions of pregnancy, including morning sickness of course. Then, within the early stages of my preganancy and without any warning - my unborn child and I suffered a miscarriage. Upon hearing the news, some responded with: “it was only in the early stage...” But for me, it was clear - I had lost my child. I then started to internalise and ask myself: “What did I do wrong?”, the endless thoughts, wondering how the world was still spinning on its axis. To this day, I still remember the probing questions that were asked on whether the procedure I undertook to get the foetus removed was similar to that of an abortion. These questions were asked with intent to ascertain whether I had committed a ‘religious sin’. My immediate feeling? I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. Some people said the right thing and some said nothing at all - I realised later that they did not know what to say, especially when I’d start crying in the middle of watching a TV programme, for no apparent reason.

Again I found myself seeking advice from a counsellor as, due to the complexity of my issue, my support network was not cut out for this type of subject matter. Over the years perhaps I have never confided in those closest to me due to a fear of stigma. Did I turn to my family in times of need - no. That is perhaps my own failing, or perhaps partly due to an issue with South Asian communities in general when it comes to talking about mental health issues. A research report produced in 2010 by the Time to Change organisation perhaps suggests why many of us stay silent about our battles with mental health:

Mental illness is a taboo subject, meaning there is little open discussion about mental health problems. People with mental health problems agreed that their diagnoses were something to be kept private and not openly discussed, even with immediate family – one participant said they had kept their illness secret from their spouse for more than 20 years.

Part of the reason for this is the need to preserve the family’s reputation and status at all costs – indeed, one group argued that all problems tended to be hidden, not just evidence of mental health problems. Preventing community gossip, which can go on to negatively affect the whole family is paramount. Community gossip was mentioned by many participants as the most damaging behaviour of all due to its high level of impact both on the person with the mental health problem and their close family.

2010 seems like a very long time ago now, and perhaps things are changing, but those two paragraphs resonate with me and perhaps explains why I did not openly discuss things with my community bubble or some of my own family members for so long.

Learning to cope

Fast forward to 2019, and the emotions that I had bottled up for so many years had come to ahead and 2019 became my worst year yet. I know what you are thinking, the way 2020 has gone so far, nothing could be worse? Wrong, 2019 for me was far worse. In the preceding years leading up to 2019 something was building inside me, Issues with people close to me as well as pressures from elsewhere led to immense anxiety. There was this inability to process things around me that culminated in my struggles during this time. During this episode, I had a panic attack over something so simple as organising some home maintenance. I felt a total inability to retain a sense of perspective, the sense of dread and anxiety was overwhelming.

But by the end of the year, it was also a turning point for me. For once I set myself the task to learn my mental health related ‘triggers’ and develop coping techniques to respond to them in the future. It’s these coping techniques that have helped me get through the worst of what 2020 has thrown at me so far. It has also given me the confidence to deal with whatever may lie ahead.

I recognised I needed help and it was perhaps unfair to just keep saying I was ‘feeling blue’ all the time to my husband without getting some professional help and doing something about it. I also recognised that my age might be contributing to my feelings. I am in my mid to late 40s, and I am nearing the age of menopause. I recognised my moods worsening with age, tracked them to my menstrual cycle and sought help. Menopause, another taboo subject for the South Asian community. So many women out there, suffering on their own because it’s not openly discussed or women are too fearful of being stigmatised and thought of as inferior in their working environment. Oh, to be a woman and South Asian at the same time, what joy it brings!

Where did I seek help? That was the hard bit for me - I found myself isolated many times and by virtue of my nature of being a relatively quiet person I didn’t really open up too much. I did share things with a work colleague, but in the community bubble I only spoke to one person about my anxiety, she was very helpful as she enabled me and gave me confidence to talk openly without judgement and leant me an open ear. I also received medical help and had a choice between medication or lifestyle changes. I chose lifestyle changes as it was a better option for me, but if you decide to go down this route, your GP will help you work through your choices and advise you appropriately.

I started meditating and paid for an app (Calm, though there are many out there and there are free guided meditation videos on YouTube no doubt) because it was an investment in myself to look after my own mental wellbeing. I’m not an expert in meditation, but those 10 minutes a day are 10 minutes for me to try and stop all those thoughts in my head. Or, you can sit in silent prayer for ten minutes. As a hindu, I found chanting the “Hare Krishna” mantra a powerful way to calm the mind and I have used this mantra often, but any religious prayer/mantra/verse, or simply a collection of happy thoughts is likely to be beneficial.

I also started exercise which has given me a sense of focus during lockdown. I knew that if I didn’t exercise I’d put on weight, but as I built up my stamina with walking every day the unexpected benefits to my mind have been a revelation. It’s a cliche probably, but the feeling afterwards, the calm that comes over me is worth the extra exercise effort required. It helped me sleep better as well, and now if I don’t go for a walk I physically miss it. If you are new to exercise, start slowly - even a ten minute walk in your neighbourhood is better than nothing. It has been hard due to the current situation, but exercise is one thing the Government has always recommended, and you don’t need a gym to keep fit, which is something I’ve learnt. Even better, if you have a local park, rediscover it again.

The 'inquiry'

Imagine, you’ve just got married. Starting to enjoy this new chapter in your life, with the dreams and aspirations you formed with your partner now starting to pan out. Often it’s a beautiful time and quite joyful, especially those early ‘new feel’ years. Then, three months down the line, the pressure starts to mount up: “when are we going to hear the good news from you on the baby front?” Then by six months, if there’s no news, people start whispering “there’s something wrong with the wife.” This was my personal experience.

I also found the situation worsened when someone who married after me fell pregnant before me. The fingers appeared to start pointing at me “there’s definitely something wrong with her!” That’s when the probing questions started:

• “Are you not trying?”

• “You know, you’re not getting any younger”

• “Is everything OK between you and your husband?”

• “Did you consult with your doctor?”

• “I know a herbal remedy that can help you.”

But none of these questions ever included the words (or thereabouts), ”Are you ok?”

It became overwhelming for me, after all, I was never taught how to manage an ‘inquiry’ into why I hadn’t produced a baby for the community bubble within the set time frame laid out in ‘law’ before! So my reaction to this was to just isolate myself from the situation, from all these people asking questions and passing judgement. It also meant that I didn’t feel I could ask for the help that I needed.

The 'miracle'

Four years passed without an outcome and so I started to feel anxious about what was going on. I started asking myself “why am I not pregnant yet?” I decided to take action and seek medical help. I had many appointments with doctors and all the results said there was nothing wrong and I could have children. But still, there was no child and the comments became even more unhelpful, masked as jokes now, but they hurt very much “If you can’t conceive, your husband will have to remarry.” No surprise, I did not find that funny.

Okay, so here is when I lost all hope of ever becoming a mother. This was April 2015, in Bangladesh during Basanti Puja (Durga Puja held around March/April every year) which was held to bless my brother Ronnie. I thought the questioning in the UK was bad, in Bangladesh it was a thousand times worse. Something inside me snapped and I broke down, I fell into depression, I just couldn’t take the questions anymore. Then I thought, i’ve tried the scientific method and I consider myself religious, so I thought “this was now out of my hands” and resorted to the hope of divine intervention and pleaded to the power that be to give me the ability to have a child.

I’m not sure if whilst reading this you think it’s just coincidence, but for me I had a little miracle. I became pregnant. That depression that took a grip on me faded almost instantly. For me, all those worries just washed away. It was like a massive tonne of weight on my shoulders had been lifted and flung onto the heads of all those that instilled doubt and fear in me. It was a happy time for me.

Asleep, never to awake...

I was five months pregnant, full of hope and dreams and excited to meet my child. Then one night I woke up to unbearable pain. This pain that I felt, I was certain at that moment that I was never going to heal from it in my lifetime. It was a pain that looked me in the eye and took everything away from me in a matter of seconds. All my hope, my plans, my expectations, my future. Gone.

On 23 August 2015 I gave birth to my beautiful boy. He was perfect in every way. But he couldn’t see us. He couldn’t hear us. He couldn’t feel our touch. He couldn’t take his first breath that, as a parent, you patiently wait for. That moment that you wish someone could take all that oxygen out of your lungs that you have ‘selfishly’ hogged and give it all to your child. My child was born asleep and never woke up.

This pain that I mentioned, I’m unable to describe it in words. It’s a pain that never leaves you and takes hold of your mind. It instantly made me feel confident in one thing: that there was an issue with me and that I was not fit to bear a child. Then of course, the community bubble’s ‘comforting’ starts. Their version of comforting is by asking: “did you eat something wrong, did you fall, did you do this, did you do that....” Not one person, not a single person hugged me and just let me cry. Instead I was thrown into the middle of, not another ‘inquiry’, but the next level up and what felt like a ‘criminal investigation’.

The ‘investigation’ made me feel like: “I can’t be a mother and I should have given up.”

An unexpected turn

But the universe had other plans for me and gave me another chance to be happy. I was pregnant again. I say I was happy, but thinking back I think the ‘inquiry’ and ‘criminal investigation’ imposed by the community bubble scarred me. Although I was happy, I kept questioning myself: “are you really?” I had this constant fear that I was going to lose this baby too. I felt robbed of the joy of my pregnancy. Then the day finally arrived and it was a roller coaster of emotions. Just minutes before the baby’s arrival, the medical practitioners told me my baby’s heartbeat stopped. Everything stopped at that moment.

But, yet another miracle was bestowed upon me and things took an unexpected positive turn and my baby was fine. I asked myself, nervously: “finally everything should be fine now...right?”

'Baby blues'

My baby was fine, ful of health and happy. However, there was something not quite right with me. I struggled to develop an emotional bond with my baby. All I felt like doing was crying and for no reason at all. I tried to look for a reason, but I found none and this made me cry even more. I’ve been through an ‘inquiry’, a ‘criminal investigation’ and now ‘the world’ has in store for me ‘instructions’ on how to look after MY child. These voices are raised with so much conviction that I started thinking everyone is right and better than me. I thought i’m just a bad mother. Everything I did seemed to be going wrong. Then the worst thoughts came to me - I decided to give up and end everything. I had dark thoughts. Thoughts to end myself.

With hindsight, I wish I had sought professional help like Rothna Didi (sister in Bengali) had. However, my saviour was Maa (mum in Bengali) and she kept me going. I learned a lot from her, and most of all I learnt to be a good mother to my children the way she was. I eventually came over the fact that I was useless and that I’ll mess up with my baby and blocked A LOT of people out of my life that was showing me the worst part of being a mother.

I later realised that I was suffering with postnatal depression. How you get Postnatal depression and how you get out of it is still a mystery to me. But I got out of it, alone, scared to talk to anyone because they might think I’m ‘crazy, mad’ and here I am today happy and enjoying everyday with my three healthy happy joyful children.

During my journey, I have learnt some startling facts. According to the NHS, postnatal depression is common, impacting 1 in 10 parents. I say parents because it affects fathers and partners too. I describe my experience with depression as a huge never ending fire, if you can’t help it go away then please don’t add fuel to it, because only and only the person going through it knows how he/she is feeling, and not those that are watching, making fun and asking ridiculous questions.

People fighting depression and anxiety are not ‘crazy’ or ‘mad’. They just need to be heard, they need you as family or friends to help them see perspective and a little guidance to help them find their way back ‘home’.