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#MuslimPhilanthropy PodcastLeading sustainable & strategic Muslim philanthropy for today and future generations. Author: American Muslim Community Foundation
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#MuslimPhilanthropy Podcast with Zain Shamoon
Episode 14
Thursday, 2 April, 2026
Poetry Was My First Therapist: Zain Shamoon on Muslim Mental Health, Narratives of Pain, and Showing Up for Your Community There is a version of mental health advocacy that stays safely abstract — statistics, awareness campaigns, the occasional social media post reminding people that therapy exists. And then there is the version that Zain Shamoon has been living for the past two decades: showing up in community, creating spaces where people can be witnessed, and insisting that healing was never supposed to happen in isolation. In a recent episode of the #MuslimPhilanthropy Podcast, AMCF co-founder Muhi Khwaja reconnected with a longtime friend: Zain Shamoon — marriage and family therapist, spoken word artist, co-founder of Narratives of Pain, and a core member of the Institute for Muslim Mental Health. What followed was one of the most honest conversations the podcast has hosted — about stigma, identity, art as healing, and what it actually means to show up for people who are struggling. Growing Up in a Family That Talked About the Things Nobody Talked About Zain grew up in Southeast Michigan, the son of a South Asian man who was, as he put it, “very uniquely” a manager of social services — a role that was rare in the community at the time. While his peers were navigating the ordinary silences of suburban Muslim life, Zain’s household was already talking about divorce, housing, substance use, and mental health. Not because it was comfortable, but because it was necessary. “You don’t even know you’re witnessing it because you’re just a kid playing,” he said. “But that became language. How do you remove people’s barriers?” His brother became a doctor. His sister, a social worker. And Zain became a marriage and family therapist — each of them, in their own way, continuing what their parents modeled. But before any of that, there was poetry. Growing up as a tokenized minority in what he described as a very “Mitt Romney-ish” suburb, Zain found that the mental health system wasn’t built for him. The therapists he encountered didn’t want to talk about his culture or his religion — or worse, they saw those things as impediments rather than sources of meaning. So he found something else. “My first mental health therapist that was culturally sensitive — and I want to emphasize the first that was culturally sensitive — was poetry.” That line landed like a thesis statement for everything that came after. The Private Struggle Behind the Public Performer Zain was a performer long before he was a therapist — doing shows across the Midwest, appearing at conferences and colleges. From the outside, he was thriving. Inside, he was fighting. He opened up about living with intense OCD symptoms, depression, and isolation during his early years. “You can be alone in a crowd of people you don’t feel you trust,” he said. “And so I struggled with that.” It was his sister who finally gave him permission to stop chasing a path that didn’t fit — telling him to take whatever classes he wanted instead of following peers into pre-med or law school. He discovered theater, human development, family therapy coursework. Things came naturally. A personal renaissance began. It was also around this time that he found a therapist willing to actually engage with his culture and religion — and the difference, he said, was everything. “We know that the biggest part of therapy that generates positive outcomes is a strong therapeutic alliance. And you can’t do that without broaching people’s cultural and religious backgrounds.” He says the problem hasn’t gone away. In 2026, too many Muslim clients still arrive at therapy and find providers whose cultural sensitivity is performative at best — anxious about getting it wrong, overcompensating, or simply avoiding the conversation. “It’s not the fault of the client who’s just trying to have a better life.” The Institute for Muslim Mental Health: For the Community, and for the Professionals In graduate school, Zain was drawn into the orbit of Dr. Hamada Talib and Dr. Abbasi — two figures who were quietly building what would become the Institute for Muslim Mental Health. He was twenty years old and already in the room. The Institute, which traces its roots to the Journal of Muslim Mental Health founded in 2006, operates on two parallel tracks. The first is community education — programs on ADHD, depression, domestic violence, autism, suicide prevention, and grief, designed for any Muslim who wants to understand these issues better. No professional credentials required. The second track is professional development for Muslim mental health practitioners themselves — the social workers, counselors, therapists, and psychiatrists who often find themselves isolated in their fields, waiting for an annual conference to feel like they’re not alone in caring about this work. The Institute has been building the infrastructure to change that: a membership community, a blog, meetups, speaking opportunities, and an ongoing commitment to making sure Muslim mental health professionals don’t have to wait a year to feel supported. “When you come to the conference, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Zain said. “There are other social workers, counselors, psychiatrists, and imams who care. But you deserve that type of professional support throughout the year — not just at a grand conference.” The Institute is currently running a fundraising campaign to expand its programming. Zain was direct: “The more that you can support us, the more these programs happen — for professionals and for the community at large.” Narratives of Pain: Healing Through the Telling and Witnessing of Stories If the Institute represents the clinical and professional side of Zain’s work, Narratives of Pain represents its soul. About eleven years ago, Zain and a close friend, Hammad Ali, created Narratives of Pain — a trauma-informed storytelling initiative built on a simple premise: the healing properties of therapy ought to be available in community, not just in a clinical office. The project launched at the Muslim Mental Health Conference in 2015. In the decade since, it has hosted nearly 100 events in Michigan, at Yale, in Palo Alto, Toronto, DC, and Seattle. The format is deliberately held. Participants — whether they sing, speak, recite poetry, or simply talk — share something they are going through and ask to be witnessed. The audience can step in or step out if they’re reminded of their own stories. No one takes video without consent. No one takes a story and makes of it what they please. And the host doesn’t riff or make jokes afterward — the emotional container is maintained with care. “Healing through the telling and witnessing of stories,” as Zain describes it. “People deserve not to just wait for their clinician or some magic medication to help them feel seen and heard.” For Zain, Narratives of Pain is personal in a way that goes beyond the professional. Poetry was his first culturally sensitive therapist. This project is his way of making sure others don’t have to wait as long as he did to find that. The Moskers Film Festival and What Muslim Artistic Community Actually Feels Like One of the most unexpected threads in the conversation was Zain’s experience at the Moskers Film Festival — where he performed his own work for the first time since 2017, two nights in a row, for an audience of Muslim artists who weren’t performing for an algorithm or a crowd or a record label. They were performing to be witnessed. He described the competitive toxicity he’d encountered earlier in his career — artists constantly evaluated against each other, proximity to mainstream success used as a measure of worth. Moskers was the opposite. “It didn’t matter if we didn’t perform perfectly. It was communal. Nobody was jockeying for the mic. It just felt equal.” He’s now working on a new musical project with fellow artists Umar Khan and Abbas — a community of musicians who care about gathering as much as they care about making. “I needed that for myself,” he said. “To be fully engrossed in being a community member who is being given that service.” Two Pieces of Advice Worth Holding Onto For anyone who wants to support someone who is struggling: “You do not need to be a mental health professional to affirm people’s mental health. You don’t have to subscribe to agree with what people are going through. You don’t have to subscribe to somebody’s lifestyle to wish them a better quality of life. Don’t underestimate your ability to show up — even if it’s just five minutes, even if it’s just connecting them to the right person.” For artists and creatives: “Let yourself make bad stuff. Do you like writing, or do you only like writing if you get the dopamine of feeling good about it? Do you like playing basketball, or do you only like the praise for it? If you love the art, you have to be willing to go through the garbage of it. Maybe your masterpiece is five garbage pieces away. Just make things.” Listen to the Full Episode The full conversation with Zain Shamoon is available on the #MuslimPhilanthropy Podcast. If his work resonates with you, consider supporting the organizations he mentioned — and sharing this episode with a Muslim mental health professional in your life who needs to feel less alone in the work. Listen to the #MuslimPhilanthropy Podcast Institute for Muslim Mental Health Narratives of Pain on Instagram Learn more about AMCF The post #MuslimPhilanthropy Podcast with Zain Shamoon appeared first on American Muslim Community Foundation.
