Islam, Bipolar Disorder & Allah’s Mercy: My Story

I’ve lived with bipolar disorder for a few years now. Some days my mind feels too loud. Some days I feel nothing at all. My energy goes up and down without warning and I can go from being highly productive to barely functioning in 24 hours. It’s confusing, exhausting and sometimes very lonely.

One thing I struggled with for a long time was guilt. I wondered if mental illness meant my iman was weak or if I was somehow disappointing Allah because I couldn’t feel peace or because my prayers weren’t always full of emotion. I secretly asked myself whether Islam even recognised bipolar disorder as a real illness or whether I was just being dramatic.

But the more I learned, the more I realised something incredibly comforting. Islam has recognised emotional and psychological illness for over a thousand years long before modern psychiatry existed.

Muslim physicians like Abu Zayd Al-Balkhi, Ibn Sina, and Al-Razi wrote about sadness, manic behaviour, depression, emotional instability and mood disorders as medical conditions, not spiritual defects. They believed that illnesses of the mind should be treated with a combination of therapy, environment and lifestyle changes and clinical treatment including medication when necessary.

Some of the earliest hospitals in Islamic civilisation even had psychiatric wards which tells us that our tradition has always taken mental health seriously. So the idea that mental illness is just “kurang iman” or “jin” isn’t islamic, it’s cultural.

One thing I’ve learned is that illness does not make us spiritually defective.

Allah says, “Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.” (2:286)

This ayat taught me that if bipolar affects my emotions, judgment, motivation or energy, then my accountability is already adjusted. Allah knows when my behaviour or feelings are coming from illness rather than intention.

I learned that Islam does not judge us for feelings we never asked for, especially when they come from a sick brain. Things like emotional numbness, impulsivity, hopelessness, irritability, intrusive thoughts, anxiety or even suicidal ideation. They are symptoms, not sins. Emotion is not iman. And a sick brain does not mean a sick heart. Some days I pray with tears. Some days I pray feeling nothing at all. But Allah knows when numbness is an illness, not rebellion.

Seeking treatment is not weakness, it’s responsibility. Islam encourages medical treatment for every illness. The Prophet (pbuh) said, “Seek treatment, for every illness Allah created, He also created its cure.”

And that includes psychiatric treatment such as medication, therapy, hospital care, sleep regulation and trauma work. Taking meds isn’t lack of tawakkul. It’s actually a form of tawakkul because we’re using the means Allah has created.

For a long time, I struggled with my medication because I vomited shortly after taking it, which meant it never fully absorbed. My mental health spiraled, my moods crashed and life felt dangerously unstable. Once I started taking anti-nausea meds and making sure my mood stabiliser actually stayed in my system, my emotional clarity slowly returned.

Sleep also changed everything. Sleeping earlier before 11pm has done wonders for my stability. Waking up early for tahajjud and subuh grounds me spiritually and emotionally. My day feels calmer, lighter and more rooted.

My healing isn’t linear. Some days I feel fine, some days I feel fragile. But I’m finally learning to treat bipolar the same way I would treat any chronic medical condition. With structure, care, medication and compassion.

Bipolar is not just mood swings, it affects my whole life. There were weeks where my energy disappeared for no reason. Days when I couldn’t feel love or warmth from anyone, not even myself. It felt like living inside my body with all the lights turned off. I would pray in tears because I desperately wanted to feel something again. Peace, gratitude, softness, anything.

There were evenings where anxiety made my heart feel too loud. Just being at home made me restless and uneasy. I would sit on my balcony just to breathe through the chest tightness and the feeling of impending doom.

Sometimes I became overly aware of everything like sounds, emotions, body language, small changes in people and it exhausted me. Watching a simple TikTok video of someone cooking or cleaning would make me feel tired because I imagined myself doing it.

I’ve had moments where living felt too heavy, not because I didn’t love my family or my life but because the idea of surviving life forever felt exhausting. Those thoughts were illness driven, not desire driven. And I carried so much guilt for even having them.

Yet through all of this, Allah never left me.

Even when I felt emotionally disconnected, even when prayer wasn’t sweet, even when I cried without understanding why… something inside me still turned toward Him. Sometimes all I could do was sit on my sajadah and breathe. Some nights I prayed tahajjud just to sit in silence with Allah, even if my heart felt numb. And I’ve learned that effort still counts. Allah sees sincerity and not emotional perfection.

Islam recognises bipolar disorder as real. It affects brain chemistry, thoughts, emotions, sleep, and functioning just like diabetes affects insulin or asthma affects the lungs. Mental illness does not mean weak iman, defective spirituality or divine punishment.

Ibn Sina, Al-Razi and Al-Balkhi wrote about emotional illness with medical accuracy 1,000 years ago. Modern fatwa councils recognise psychiatric impairment as real and legally significant. And the Quran reminds us that Allah never burdens us beyond our capacity.

And the most beautiful part is that Allah knows the true state of my heart even when my brain is tired.

My bipolar does not make me less loved, less spiritual or less deserving of His mercy. If anything, every step I take, every prayer, every appointment, every medication, every night I survive is rewarded beyond what I can see.

Islam has always been softer with me than I have been with myself.