Mental health in the UAE: Khalid Al Ameri on why it’s good to talk about your problems

Khalid Al Ameri writes: "I told myself that just keeping my head down and powering through would lead to happiness. When I got my degree I would be happy. When I got a job I would be happy. When I got a promotion I would be happy."

Khalid Al Ameri says of his wife Salama: ‘She saw the person I really was behind the emptiness I was going through. Slowly my love for fun, laughter and adventure came back.’ Mona Al Marzooqi / The NationalShow less

I graduated from high school in 2001. In those days, the most popular graduating song was Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by punk-rock band Green Day.

It includes the memorable lyrics: “It’s something unpredictable, but in the end is right, I hope you had the time of your life.” Young, careless and hopeful for the future, we saw the song as a way to wish each other happiness wherever we may end up. We did not focus so much on the unpredictability and all that could go wrong.

It’s important to note that we did not have guidance counsellors in high schools back in those days. Seeking guidance or help was unheard of, even at the smallest levels.

After high school, I took up an opportunity to work on ships. I remember thinking I was throwing my life away, feeling stressed all the time when people asked me why I was doing that kind of work, and not knowing how to deal with being away from family and friends for so long — four months and three days was my longest trip without touching land.

However, a culture of talking to people about how I felt or what I was going through was not standard practice. What is worse, I did not even know it was an option. I just had to shut up and deal with it.

I told myself that just keeping my head down and powering through would lead to happiness. When I got my degree I would be happy. When I got a job I would be happy. When I got a promotion I would be happy.

But that feeling of peace and fulfilment never came. Even after I took up my first job, I did not enjoy it and was not happy — but speaking to someone about how to handle my emotions, manage the situation and make a transition was not an option. I was repeatedly told to just keep working and things would work out — but they never did.

I got into a routine with my first job where I would get home at 5pm, shut the curtains and go to sleep. I would wake up at about 2am, eat dinner, mess around on the internet till 5am, then sleep again until it was time to go to work. When I got to work I spoke to no one, just counted the ­minutes until I could go home.

This went on for six months. I made no friends, did not go out and only found peace in being by myself. What is weird is this is completely opposite to who I am. I love meeting people, I love going on adventures and I love having fun — but all the things that were natural to me seemed to disappear and I had nobody to talk with to help bring them back.

Then I met my wife, Salama. She was someone to talk to who simply listened — but more importantly, she saw the person I really was behind the emptiness I was going through. Slowly my love for fun, laughter and adventure came back into my life, and for that I will forever be grateful to her. I never realised it at the time but simply speaking about my problems and having someone help me through them was extremely powerful.

Was I depressed? I don’t know. Would things have worsened if Salama had not come into my life? Maybe. All I know is that I could not talk to anyone about how I was feeling, and that had to change.

When my family and I moved to the United States where I went to graduate school, it was the biggest and most difficult transition of our lives — it was like a huge weight on our shoulders. I remember being in Disneyland one day with my kids when I got an email to inform me I had­ ­underperformed in my studies, and was in the bottom 10 per cent of my class.

I was absolutely crushed — I felt like a failure to my family and to myself. I almost cried. I had brought my family all the way to America only to be a failure — and all this while I was feeling like this, I was in Disneyland, perhaps the happiest place on Earth.

I powered through that weekend and managed to keep a smile on my face and be the fun husband and father, but inside I was scared and ashamed. Upon returning to classes I got an email from a counsellor saying she would like to meet and help to support me through the process.

What amazed me was how proactive they were in offering support and how normal it was in the culture to seek support. We would meet every couple of weeks to discuss my progress, how I was managing with the transition, my work, my family and the future I was trying to build. Through these meetings I turned things around and ended up being in the top 25 per cent of my class for the rest of my time at university.

As well as giving us the chance to deal with our emotional health openly, Salama and I also credit our time in America as the moment when we truly bonded in ways that have strengthened our relationship incredibly.

We need counsellors and mental-health experts in primary and secondary schools and in universities to help students transition to the real world, and in businesses to offer employees the kind of help I never had. These ­resources should be made available to support and encourage people to come forward when they are having hard times, because every day a person suffers emotionally or mentally is a day they could have been happy, productive and caring towards themselves and others.

The Movember movement, which began as a way to raise awareness of prostate cancer, has in recent years expanded to also draw attention to the ­effect ­mental-health issues have on men and the need to address them.

There is great power in seeking help with emotional issues. I am no longer afraid of the hard times or anything that might go wrong, because I know, like the lyrics of that Green Day song say, “in the end it’s right” — even if someone else has to remind me of that from time to time.