On the Lebanon War, Mental Health, and my Diaspora Experience
- Lynne Kabbara
- 6 hours ago
- 5 min read
I’m sure many of you have been following the war between the US and Iran, have seen the headlines of escalations rising in the Middle East, and are starting to feel some of the implications this war is having on the world. I previously wrote a piece covering my experiences at the beginning of the war in the UAE. Now, I am sharing my perspective again, but this time with a focus on my mother country, Lebanon.
Although my family and I moved away when I was five years old, Lebanon will always hold a special place in my heart. When circumstances allowed, my family and I would return every summer, spending our weeks gathering with family and reconnecting with our land. Lebanon was, of course, a centre for art, culture, science and tourism in the decades after we gained independence from the French in 1943.
Unfortunately, my country has suffered from a history of extreme instability. Civil war broke out in the 70s and 80s, leading to the creation of militia and terrorist groups like Hezbollah and the occupation of Lebanese territory by Israeli and Syrian forces. In more recent years, Lebanon has suffered compounding crises: economic collapse in 2019, the bombing of Beirut Port in 2020, and the resurgence of the conflict between Hezbollah and Israel in 2023. While a ceasefire was later established in 2024, it never held, and conflict resurged in light of the Iran-US war.
On 2nd March 2026, Israel issued evacuation orders, displacing over 1 million people, and leaving 14% of the country’s territory abandoned. Many left their homes in pyjamas, heading for the capital, Beirut, in hopes of finding temporary shelter. Others chose to stay behind, claiming that experiencing “bombardment may be easier than the trauma of being displaced”.
My sympathy goes to all of those displaced, and I can only try to imagine the distress they must be experiencing. I recall stories that my parents shared with me growing up, and I have witnessed the pain they carry from the decisions they had to make. During the 80s, my parents lived through much of the civil war and the subsequent occupations of Lebanon. Once they started a family, they had to weigh staying in their home and within their community against their children’s future livelihoods. Ultimately, they felt driven to find safety and stability in the UAE. My parents had to make an incredibly difficult decision, as many now will face. However, in this war, there is an added layer of threat for the South Lebanese. The decision to temporarily flee for safety is accompanied by fear of having their homes taken, their land conquered, and a piece of their country lost forever.
The announcement of a ceasefire between the US and Iran on April 8th left many people believing they could return home. Tragically, that afternoon, Israel launched over 100 missiles at Lebanon in the span of 10 minutes. This attack was not restricted to known Hezbollah-affiliated communities and reached far beyond the evacuation zones. In fact, Beirut neighbourhoods, like the Corniche, where my parents often took me on seaside walks, were also struck by missiles.
Since March 2, the death toll has risen to nearly 3000, according to the Lebanese health ministry. While ceasefire terms are actively under discussion, our people have not been graced with a halt to these attacks. Our communities are growing weaker with this ever-present series of devastating events exacerbating the mental health crisis in Lebanon.
With these compounding adversities, the prevalence of mental health disorders is believed to have grown exponentially within the Lebanese population. The last prevalence study was done in 2022, two years after the August 4th Beirut port explosion, and published later in 2025. It estimates that amongst the 1000 individuals screened, 48% were likely to meet the criteria for Major Depressive Disorder, 45% for Generalised Anxiety Disorder and 42% for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. These prevalence rates are 5 to 10 times higher than the global average, and precede the more recent Hezbollah-Israel conflict. Lebanon is at a breaking point and is in desperate need of urgent support and care.
This instability has made it difficult to stay in our country. It is also why about 3 times more Lebanese people live abroad than at home. Many — like my parents, family, and friends — have left in pursuit of safer, more stable, and prosperous lives. Thus, the Lebanese community lives everywhere, and we keep each other grounded within our culture. Wherever we are, we both celebrate and mourn together.
We all share the diasporic distress. Watching our country under continuous violence marks us all. It is a multifaceted experience that I find quite difficult to verbalise while writing this piece. So, I will let the words and experiences of my friends and family describe what I cannot. Speaking with them revealed a pattern of common themes amongst us all, but it also showed me the wide variety in everyone’s sentiments.
Some shared that they try not to follow the news because they don’t have much family back home and hate to see the current state of the country. They highlighted that these feelings are accompanied by guilt — that they are abandoning their country, while acknowledging the privilege that comes with getting away.
Not everyone can avoid the distress just by deleting news apps and scrolling away from related content. Others brought up feelings of helplessness as they watch friends and family suffer from living under the constant threat of harm, the sounds of drones, and a lack of support from the global community.
And finally, there are those of us who experience a sense of cognitive dissonance: the feeling that our values and responsibilities to Lebanon are not met as we actively go about our daily lives abroad. One of my friends, in particular, highlighted that this feeling has pushed her further away from others, as her friends’ problems feel less significant compared to the war that is unfolding before us, making it more difficult to engage with them, despite wanting to.
Personally, I’ve found it difficult to look away from the news and disengage from the content of people’s experiences on the ground. I feel like I owe it to my country and people to witness what they are going through and to raise awareness in the ways that I can. But even this, at times, can become overwhelming and lead me to experience compassion fatigue. At which point I find myself ignoring updates, only then to be accompanied by a sense of guilt, similar to what my friends have described.
You would think that after watching my country go through crisis after crisis, I'd develop some sort of resilience to watching it collapse and rebuild. The truth is, every breath of hope I take once one crisis is resolved is also met by feelings of dread, fear of what’s to come, and concerns for my country’s future.
Despite this, the strength and resilience of my people have carried me and all Lebanese through, and I have faith that we will never lose these qualities.
