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Every time Nour A. scrolls through her phone, she braces herself. There’s always another video,  a bombed home, a screaming child, a lifeless body, or an analyst warning of how a war could escalate. Though she’s thousands of kilometres away from the conflict she fled two years ago, her chest tightens just the same.

“I thought I was past it,” she said. “But every image, every scream, pulls me back.” Nour is one of the expats in the UAE who escaped the trauma of war only to be retraumatised online. Mental health experts say the psychological effects of conflict don’t end once someone reaches physical safety.

For survivors of war zones like Syria, Palestine, Sudan, and Yemen, trauma often lingers,  and can be triggered daily by the very platforms meant for connection and escape.

“In therapy, we call it ‘silent reactivation',” said Maha Amir, a trauma-informed therapist based in Dubai. “The brain registers danger through sights and sounds, even if the person is now safe. Graphic content shared on social media can mimic the original trauma and bring everything back.”

“For someone who has lived through war, the trauma doesn’t stay in the past — it gets stored in the body, mind, and nervous system,” said Rahaf Kobeissi, emotional wellness expert and founder of Rays Your Mental Health. “Even in a peaceful country like the UAE, something as routine as fireworks, a helicopter overhead, or a graphic news post can reawaken survival-mode reactions.”

She added that in close-knit communities, vicarious trauma is also common. “Even WhatsApp messages from relatives back home, or overhearing conversations about bombings, can stir deep emotional unrest. That’s why emotional safety doesn’t automatically follow physical safety.”

Rahaf Kobeissi. Photo: Supplied

According to the World Health Organisation, approximately 1 in 5 people in conflict-affected areas experience mental health conditions, including depression, anxiety, PTSD, and more. And with wars still ongoing,  and often livestreamed in real time, many survivors are exposed to emotionally charged content at a relentless pace.

On TikTok and Instagram, hashtags like #GazaUnderAttack and #SudanConflict generate millions of views. But alongside the awareness-raising comes a flood of uncensored images, footage that may inform, but also harm. Social media algorithms, designed to prioritise engagement, often push the most graphic content to the top of users' feeds.

“This isn’t just compassion fatigue,” said Maha. “This is trauma stacking. People are carrying their own pain, and now constantly witnessing more.”

Nour eventually stopped watching the news altogether. “It doesn’t help. The guilt comes anyway,” said the Sudanese resident. “Why am I safe here while my people back home are dying?”

That guilt, psychologists explain, is part of survivor syndrome, a condition marked by anxiety, helplessness, and emotional paralysis. Many survivors cope by withdrawing or numbing their emotions, a defence mechanism known as desensitisation. Others experience the opposite hypervigilance, where their bodies stay on constant alert.

“People think feeling nothing means they’re strong,” said Hayat Alawfa, a licenced mental health therapist in Abu Dhabi. “But it can mean the opposite,  that their nervous system is overloaded and shutting down.”

Cultural stigma around mental health is another major barrier. In many communities across the region, trauma is hidden beneath the expectation to stay grateful, resilient, and silent.

“Admitting you’re not okay is often seen as weakness,” said Hayat. “Even those who want help may not know where to go, or fear what others will think.”

“I live in Dubai now. I have a job, a home, I’m safe,” Nour said. “But safety doesn’t mean peace, not when your heart is still stuck in a place you barely survived. Some nights, I wake up thinking I’m still there. And during the day, it’s like I’m carrying a war no one else can see.”