Opinion: I’m a psychologist. I’ve seen the mental health impact of Quebec’s secularism laws

I am Muslim. My faith is not simply a set of rules I follow blindly; it is an essential part of who I am. Islam is my way of life — woven seamlessly into the fabric of my being. For many, faith is experienced in much the same way: as something deeply integrated into identity.

I think of the educator who wore a hijab and showed such care and compassion to my children in daycare; the Sikh high school teacher who gave up his lunch hour to help a student struggling with math; and the police officer who, with a gold cross around his neck, silently repeats his oath each morning to protect his city. These are ordinary human moments, yet laws like Bills 9, 21 and 94 are ultimately asking us to sever a part of that very essence.

Such laws are often justified in the name of neutrality — a concept that suggests we must be blind to difference to treat everyone equally. But neutrality, as it is being applied, erases visible expressions of identity. It asks individuals to set aside deeply held parts of themselves to participate fully in public life. We must ask: At what cost?

As a mental health professional, I have witnessed a growing number of individuals experiencing distress tied directly and indirectly to these policies. This is not anecdotal alone; it aligns with extensive research on discrimination and institutional racism. The consequences are real and measurable: increased anxiety, depression, trauma-related symptoms, sleep disturbances, low self-esteem, identity conflict, financial and vocational strain, and, in some cases, suicidal ideation.

Community practices such as prayer, especially when accommodated through designated spaces, can play a protective role in mental health. Prayer incorporates key elements of mindfulness: intention, reflection and grounding in the present moment. A substantial body of research has shown that contemplative practices can reduce anxiety and depressive symptoms while enhancing overall well-being. Limiting access to such practices removes a valuable coping mechanism for many individuals.

The impact does not stop with adults. Children, unable to grasp the political nuances behind these laws, are left to make sense of exclusion in deeply personal ways. Imagine explaining to a five-year-old that their mother cannot help out at the school’s annual “Fun Day” because she wears a hijab. Or telling a graduating student that their parent cannot serve as a volunteer on the fundraising committee for this milestone event because they wear a kippah. These are not abstract policy implications; they are formative emotional experiences.

Claims that children are unduly “influenced” by exposure to religious symbols are unfounded. What does shape children, however, is the message they receive about belonging — who is included, excluded and why. When children see trusted educators suddenly removed or restricted because of their identity, it disrupts important relational bonds. For neurodivergent children in particular, such disruptions can be especially harmful.

These policies risk doing more than restricting expression; they may normalize exclusion and may inadvertently legitimize bias, increasing the risk of bullying and social division.

Perhaps most concerning is the implicit message these laws send: that belonging is conditional. That effort, kindness and contribution are not enough if one’s identity does not conform. That something intrinsic about who a person is must be hidden to be accepted. These are messages that can take root early and carry long-term psychological consequences within a mental health system already under significant strain.

Diversity is not a threat to be managed, but a reality to be understood and embraced. As DEI strategist Arthur Chan writes, “Diversity is a fact. Equity is a choice. Inclusion is an action. Belonging is an outcome.” If we are committed to the well-being of all members of society, then our policies must reflect not only fairness in principle, but humanity in practice.

Fatima Nabi is a psychologist and clinical supervisor licensed with the Ordre des psychologues du Québec, working in Montreal and the surrounding area.

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