Music is Sanctuary: Navigating Burnout in the Ivy League with the Power of Deep Listening

by Shumaila Hemani

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“Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness,” writes Maya Angelou. Music has been a powerful refuge and a calling for me since my teenage years. Initially, I resisted its pull, aware that women within my culture were not typically encouraged to pursue it as a career. Despite the barriers and uncertainties that loomed before me, I couldn’t ignore the undeniable truth: this was what I wanted to do. The path ahead was unclear. Little did I anticipate that it would eventually lead me to the University of Alberta and then to Harvard University.

Harvard University’s motto: “Veritas,” meaning “truth,” embodies the pursuit of knowledge and integrity. Yet, during my Ph.D. studentship at Harvard from Fall 2010 to December 2011, layers of deception veiled the truth and I felt like I had lost my way.

Beneath the surface lies a deeper truth: Harvard mistreats individuals who challenge the status quo. My experience prompts me to expose the institution’s efforts to manipulate and erase dissenting voices.

Another motto, “Nothing is Impossible,” echoed through the halls of Harvard, a mantra meant to inspire resilience and determination. Yet, as I embarked on my Ph.D. journey in music, these words felt more like a dismissive refrain whenever I dared to question the overwhelming workload in my first semester.

Studying at the University of Alberta between 2008 to 2010 was a life-transforming experience because under the mentorship of the distinguished South Asian studies scholar, Professor Regula Burckhardt Qureshi, I embarked on a journey to study the history of state patronage of music and dance in Pakistan, culminating in my master’s thesis and eventually my doctoral dissertation on Sufi poetry and sounds in Sindh. During this time, I found myself reconnecting with the musical cultures of Pakistan.

So when I started at Harvard, I was excited to begin what I thought would be a similarly motivating journey. Although my studies at Harvard only lasted a year and a half, they initially opened vistas into new cultures. My arrival in Cambridge introduced me to a vibrant community of scholars from diverse disciplines, each boasting remarkable achievements and intellectual prowess. Conversations in the graduate dormitory reverberated with tales of astronauts, fiction writers, zoologists, and artists, igniting a mixture of awe and intimidation within me during my first year. This excited the explorer in me; every conversation opened new doors. I experienced many new friendships, but there were times I also felt emotionally isolated.

In those days at Harvard, there was a great emphasis placed on new students not feeling like imposters in the Ivy League community. With an emphasis on equity, Harvard did attract students from diverse backgrounds, and despite the impressive atmosphere, I never felt like an imposter. My supportive classmates helped provide a solid foundation to navigate the intellectually stimulating yet sometimes overwhelming environment. In my courses, my ideas and critical thought stood out, and I felt appreciated for participating in class discussion.

As my studies continued, however, my academic plate overflowed with a staggering workload, counteracting the invigorating collaborative atmosphere I felt at the start of my studies. Balancing multiple graduate music courses and a language class proved daunting enough. The true test of endurance came, however, with the unexpected addition of an undergraduate music theory course. Even more, I was tasked with learning a musical instrument from a culture new to me (Persian), field-work in another culture (Ethipiopian), as well as independent study of cultural and religious traditions from outside my own background. It began to feel overwhelming. While I embraced learning these things as great cultural exposure, the expectation to immediately excel felt impossible.

​After classes finished each day, I retreated to the practice rooms to study cadences and work on homework. In my first semester, downtime was nonexistent. It was a continuous cycle of academic and personal demands, making it difficult for me to absorb the experience of being at Harvard.

At first, there was a flicker of doubt regarding whether this demanding workload was indeed “normal” within the academic context. I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that perhaps I was pushing myself too hard. There were moments of quiet apprehension, where I questioned the feasibility of maintaining such a rigorous pace while excelling academically.

Amidst the socially vibrant ambiance of Harvard’s Dudley Lounge and coffee gatherings with peers, my formidable course load became a topic of incredulity. Even classmates and professors whom I saw as the brightest minds on campus expressed astonishment, questioning the sustainability of such a workload and its impact on academic performance. “Isn’t it affecting your grades?” This question served as a constant reminder of the delicate balance between academic ambition and personal well-being. Initially, I reacted with a blend of surprise and introspection. I found myself oscillating between a sense of normalization and a creeping feeling of anxiety. There were graduate students at Harvard who had opted to take seven courses in a semester by their own choice, but they were receiving extra time to complete their assignments and turn in their final papers. I did not receive any accommodations even upon request.

While I voiced my concerns about the unrealistic demands to my mentor, the prevailing sentiment echoed the institution’s ethos: “Nothing is impossible” at Harvard.

The unrealistic workload and expectations did impact my performance and grades, and while I was an A+ student at the University of Alberta, at Harvard I received grades that I felt did not adequately evaluate my caliber.

At the end of the semester, while I was exhausted and trying to recuperate, I received an unexpected letter which was unlike what I have ever encountered before. It was a “disciplinary warning” and an ultimatum to improve performance, or leave. It felt more like a gun on my head and seriously impacted my mental health and wellness. From there on, I was not only working with a heavy workload but also with difficult emotions around the threat of being removed. This zapped my energy significantly.

It is incredibly traumatic to grapple with the letters of warning that Harvard sends to students. These missives, often laden with implications of underperformance or poor fit within the institution, can have profound psychological and emotional effects. They serve as false constructions of one’s perceived shortcomings, fueling self-doubt and amplifying the already existing pressure to succeed in an environment renowned for its academic rigor. Overcoming the weight of these warnings requires resilience, support, and a steadfast belief in one’s abilities amidst adversity. I spent the Christmas break of 2010 grappling with the consequences of the letter and found the courage inside me to begin another semester at Harvard.

In the spring of 2011, after I’d returned to school, I found myself experiencing extreme exhaustion. Prior to this, I had never encountered burnout. My mind, once ablaze with scholarly fervor, now lay dormant, unable to muster the strength for even the simplest of tasks. The demands of my schedule were relentless: waking up at 7:00 a.m. to attend Persian language classes at 8:30, followed by a music theory class, a graduate seminar, and instrument classes. In addition, there were graduate student talks and guest lectures to attend in the department. I attempted to adjust my schedule to prioritize rest, but any social event I missed resulted in repercussions. This was often interpreted as a lack of interest in the program, further complicating my efforts to prioritize self-care.

When I sought help from a doctor at the medical clinic, their positivistic standpoint toward well being minimized my experience, leaving me feeling invalidated. Doubt gnawed at my resolve— was I fabricating illness to evade the rigors of academia?

Burnout experts, Emily and Amelia Nagoski, astutely liken burnout to a wound, emphasizing the lengthy recovery process akin to healing from a broken bone or severe infection. Back in 2010, Harvard selectively avoided the issue of student burnout and considered those who could not handle the workload as unfit for the institution.

In April 2011, I faced a pivotal moment at Harvard. A second letter arrived, signaling my departure from the institution. It was a tumultuous crossroads. I still remember that it was around my birthday, and I found myself grappling with what my future would become.

Contemplating my future, doubts crept in, urging me to abandon my musical aspirations. Standing before a full-length mirror, I whispered words of encouragement: “Shumaila, you’re brilliant; you can achieve anything.” With those words, I made the difficult choice to set aside my pursuit of music and to leave Harvard, but little did I know that I was revving up for a spiritual awakening.

As I strolled through the historic Harvard Yard, heading toward the Dudley Lounge to meet my friends toward the end of my last semester, a sudden stirring within me ignited. I realized the pressure of Harvard was not the only avenue to pursue my dream. My heart whispered vows: I will not relent in my pursuit of my calling. I will stand firm in my resolve. I will embark on the journey to resume my Ph.D. somewhere else, and should the opportunity arise, I will seek mentorship in the realm of Hindustani art music to refine my musical craft.

I had arrived at Harvard University identifying as an atheist, convinced of the absence of divine intervention in the affairs of humanity. Little did I anticipate that within the ivy-covered walls of this esteemed institution, I would encounter betrayal and disillusionment that would shatter my preconceived notions and lead me on a profound journey of rediscovering faith. In the depths of despair, I found myself adrift in a sea of uncertainty, grappling with existential questions that eluded easy answers.

It was amidst this existential crisis that I stumbled upon a piece of music from the 16th-century khayal tradition at Harvard’s Lamont Library. The composition was a contemporary piece sung by Ustad Fateh Ali Khan from Pakistan’s Patiala Gharana and in Raag Bairagi Bhairov. When I played this piece, I found that an inner sanctuary enveloped me, shielding me from the vulnerabilities that surrounded me. Amid the chaos, this musical piece became a refuge, a source of strength and clarity amidst the uncertainties of life. The line, “Apney Allah ko pehchaan; Recognize Allah within you” from the piece resonated deeply with me, even as I write about it, sending goosebumps down my body. This spiritual message touched something profound within me, pushing me to make this important shift from the world of Reason that had betrayed me to seek a refuge in the world of Faith.

As I pushed through my last semester, sympathy from professors remained elusive. In the face of adversity, my old advisor, Regula, stood by my side, defending my reputation. I felt blessed to have a distinguished mentor by my side who also believed in my high capabilities and was willing to see me through as a scholar finding her place in the academic world. Buoyed by Regula’s unwavering belief, I pressed onward, navigating the treacherous waters of academia with courage and resilience. I concluded the Fall 2011 semester with original research in Chinese opera during the Enlightenment period for a Harvard exhibition— a contribution I felt was overlooked, yet significant.

Leaving Harvard carried its own weight of shame; without language to articulate my burnout, I endured the judgment of former colleagues who saw my departure from an Ivy League institution as a failure. To shelter myself from negativity, I made the difficult decision to cut these individuals out of my life entirely. Yet, amidst this turmoil, the universe unveiled a new path: my dream of learning music from an Ustad (a master musician and teacher) of the esteemed Gwalior Gharana, one of South Asia’s oldest musical lineages. Guided by this Ustad and supported by mentors at the University of Alberta, I discovered a new career identity— one I’ve nurtured through graduate and post-graduate years in Canada.

I became a Sufi performer and reached new heights as I gave my inaugural performance at the Canadian Center of Ethnomusicology in 2012. At the University of Alberta, I received a scholarship to study music with the Ustad and I went to Pakistan again in 2014 to study. Three years later, I had the honor of participating in three performances at the Banff Arts Centre of Arts and Creativity as part of the World Music Residency. Later, I received a Cultural Diversity Award that supported the creation of my debut album: Mannat which addressed climate justice in the Global South with sung Sufi poetry of the 18th century Sufi mystic Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai. At the University of Alberta, I also served as a Music Faculty at the University of Alberta in 2016 and for the Semester at Sea in 2020, during which I traveled across Americans, Asia, and Africa, teaching Ethnomusicology courses. My scholarly and artistic trajectory culminated in teaching courses in Ethnomusicology in the Music Department as well as my present Artist Residency at the Mount Royal University as an Artist Changemaker.

Along this journey, I’ve learned that when one is experiencing burnout, there is a high leaning toward self-doubt and diminishing one’s own self-worth. The key to breaking past this lies in taking the power back and holding our integrity in the face of burnout. By befriending burnout and accepting its presence, we are able to see the systemic factors that cause it and address them adequately. My experience inspired me to create the Deep Listening Path, a “Music is Sanctuary” course, and the R.E.S.U.R.G.E.N.C.E. program, which support changemakers to break free from advocacy burnout with practices like deep listening, music, and meditation.

Harvard’s facade of academic excellence often conceals its oppressive tendencies, prompting me to speak out against the injustices I experienced. Even after I had left the institution, I have experienced Harvard to continue unleashing its wild hounds.  As we strive to uphold truth and accountability, it is imperative to confront the institutional barriers that stifle genuine discourse and perpetuate inequality. Only through acknowledgment and action can we hope to cultivate an environment that embraces diversity, equity, and inclusion within academia and beyond. Harvard ultimately taught me to develop resilience in environments where I may be the only person of color. Even today, when I encounter situations where I feel rejected as a member of an underrepresented group, memories of my experiences at Harvard resurface. I use those experiences as armor to navigate and overcome challenging situations and push through, finding ways to preserve myself and break inner glass ceilings, unleashing new pathways to build safe spaces for dialogue and creativity. There is a famous quote attributed to Rumi: “As you start to walk on the path, the way appears,” and with my new endeavors connecting music to burnout recovery, it feels as if my journey as a compassionate warrior for social justice has only started.

​EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR: Gabriel Nathan | EDITOR: Evan Bowen-Gaddy | DESIGN: Leah Alexandra Goldstein | SITE ORIGINATOR: Bud Clayman