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  • Writer's pictureArooba Syed

The Story of Sukūn

[suh•koo•nh] - Urdu - (n.): Peace and tranquility. An unquantifiable sense of relief because something unpleasant has not happened or is not happening anymore.

This word has always had a very special place in my heart. I'm not sure if it's because of the purity of the word’s meaning, or if it's the way it rolls off my tongue.

But whenever I think about the word, it takes me back to the year 2015. That year was a transitional one for me. I felt something shifting inside me as I was starting to take my life more seriously. It was the year that I reconnected with my best friend from high school (my husband now, Moe). And it was also the year I found out that I might be suffering from severe anxiety and depression.

When I was beginning to reciprocate Moe's feelings into something more intimate and romantic, I was asked: “Why him?”

That question was meant to make me second-guess my decision, because the person asking the question never had pure intentions for me. What surprised me about that question was that it didn't trigger me or make me angry — even though I would usually be irritated by anything this person asked me like that at the time.

In that moment, there was not a single word in the English language that I felt could describe exactly how I felt. So, I asked the person if they knew what the word Sukūn meant.

That really threw that person off because they were not expecting that answer. The person knew the Urdu language, but we had never spoken it together, so it was odd for them.

And I responded with a smile, because Sukūn means peace. And I was — ineffably — at peace.

The person responded: “Uh okay?”

“But what does that have to do with anything?" they asked.

I said: "Because it answers your question. I feel Sukūn around him. And I have never felt that way around anyone.”

I had found my Sukūn.

This is exactly why I named our practice after that word. I want our clients to feel inner peace. I want them to taste it and live in it, because I know what it's like to live in chaos. I know what it's like to battle depression, anxiety, and trauma.

I want everyone to find their Sukūn, the way I found mine, and still try every day to do so.

The hardest part of my mental health journey wasn't that others couldn't see how sick I was. It was the fact that I didn't see it, or make sense of it.

If I was so disconnected from my own mind and body, how could I possibly have the tools to explain it to others?

This is something I want our practice to represent, inside and out. Because in so many ways, it’s a story that keeps getting told over and over again, when it shouldn’t have to be told.

And the answers I believe lie in Sukūn — something I think every single being on this earth inherently and wholeheartedly deserve.

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