Life in Limbo

Last summer, I had the chance to volunteer as a Mental Health and Psychosocial Support (MHPSS) clinician in a refugee camp with the Boat Refugee Foundation (BRF), on the island of Lesvos, Greece. The camp was a transient place, full of people in waiting bewtween their past, present and future. Families, elders, children, and youth waited for papers, answers, or simply a moment of stability. Many carried deep losses, the scars of violence, and the exhaustion of journeys that stretched on for years.

Conditions were harsh. Shelters were temporary and sometimes overcrowded. Resources were limited. Safety was not guaranteed, and uncertainty hung over every day. People had little control over their lives, and the bureaucratic processes could feel endless. The stress and trauma were palpable, shaping interactions, moods, and the small choices people could make to survive.

Yet even in this context, resilience persisted. People connected with each other through shared stories, meals, laughter, prayer, and small acts of care. Strength was often quiet, woven into the everyday acts that kept life moving forward despite the hardship.

Representation Matters

One thing that stood out to me was how many people in the camp were happy to see a professional who looked like them. As a coloured Muslim woman, I was often approached by people who wanted to connect because they could identify with me. There was comfort in familiarity. For some, it was speaking a shared language. For others, it was the recognition of cultural similarities, or the relief of being with someone who understood their faith. My presence itself, before I even said or did anything, many times was enough to build trust. Representation matters, and in those moments, the power of cuturally informed care, was clearly demonstrated.

*Graffiti on the streets of Lesvos illustrating political dynamics*

Bearing Witness and Acknowledging Injustice

It would be dishonest to talk about Lesvos without acknowledging the systems that perpetuate suffering. The camp was not only a site of personal trauma, but of structural inequity, with long waits for processing, inadequate support, and constant safety risks. People were suffering not just because of past experiences, but because of the way the world continued to respond.

The inequities were stark: overseas volunteers arrived with funding, visas, and freedom of movement, while those they served were stuck in limbo, often for years. A cultural disconnect was unavoidable when the people providing services did not reflect the communities they served. The post-colonial legacy continuing to run the show. This awareness is not meant to assign blame, but rather to remind us that even well-intentioned work exists within systems far bigger than ourselves.

Witnessing this reinforced something essential for my work as a systemic therapist: trauma does not happen in isolation. People’s suffering is shaped not only by personal experiences but by structural barriers, displacement, and inequities. Acknowledging this is a step toward validating their experience and offering support that meets them where they are.

Moments of Beauty and Hope

Amid the harshness of camp life, there were moments of unexpected life and care. One family’s tent had a small garden outside. They had brought plants, arranged them carefully, and made their space beautiful. In the scorching heat and dust, those green plants stood out—a sign of life, rootedness, and dignity in a place defined by impermanence. Their effort to create something nurturing left a lasting impression, showing how creativity, care, and hope persist even in difficult circumstances.

Being Human

At the core, what people wanted most was simple: to be seen, heard, and reminded that they mattered. Sometimes all I could offer was a conversation, a listening ear, or a few words of encouragement. With young people who were completely alone, it was about acknowledging fear, recognizing humanity, and offering a moment of safety in an uncertain world. Even brief support can be meaningful, offering connection, validation, or a small sense of hope.

Planting Seeds

There is a verse in the Qur’an that says: “A good word is like a good tree, whose roots are firm and whose branches reach the sky.” A kind word may feel small, but like a seed, it can take root. Even brief conversations can create something sustaining. While I hope that some words or gestures offered comfort, the love, resilience, and creativity I witnessed in the people I met left a lasting impact on me.

Lessons on Trauma and Healing

The experience in Lesvos deepened the way I think about trauma and healing. Trauma is real, but it is not the whole story. I saw the weight of trauma everywhere, but I also saw resilience—moments of joy, love, and strength. Therapy is about holding both truths. Culture is not a backdrop, it is a resource. People turned to their values, traditions, and communities as sources of strength. That reinforced how therapy must be culturally informed and humble, because people’s ways of healing are rooted in who they are. Even brief support matters. Many of the people I met were transient. A single safe conversation can make a difference.

Why Volunteer?

Volunteering is important to me because of my values of community, empowering people, collective healing, social justice, giving back, and my faith. Being a good Muslim, for me, means showing up for others in genuine ways. I cannot separate myself as a person from myself as a therapist. Before being a good therapist, I care about being a good human.

Carl Jung once said, “Know all the theories, master all the techniques, but as you touch a human soul, be just another human soul.”

Returning Home

Coming back to Canada, I’ve held onto these lessons. My time in Lesvos was humbling. It deepened my belief that mental health care is not a luxury, but a human right. It showed me again how deeply we need each other, and how healing is not only individual, but collective. I left knowing I was just a small part of people’s journeys. But perhaps, like the tree in the Qur’an, some words or moments will take root and remain. And I know for certain that the love, resilience, and lessons I received will stay with me for a lifetime.

Reflections from Lesvos: Lessons on Healing, Humanity, and Bearing Witness

What Therapy Is, and What It’s Not: Clearing Up Misconceptions