My understanding of trauma did not begin with a textbook or a diagnosis. It grew little by little over many years; from the sounds of missiles and bombs we had to sleep through every night to watching my father be carried to us, soaked in blood, a collateral damage of war.
In Somaliland, displacement was not a single event but a continuous state of being. We moved again and again, escaping danger or searching for so‑called stability across places that never felt like home. With each move, something was lost: peace, routine, normality, and a sense of belonging.
I did not immediately recognise what I was carrying. At first, it felt like constant exhaustion, fear without a clear reason, and an overwhelming sense of pressure to stay strong. Over time, I became numb, I withdrew, I felt lonely even when surrounded by people, trapped in a life shaped by uncertainty, and deeply desperate in moments I could not explain to anyone else. There were days when the weight of survival left no room to process grief, fear, or sadness.
Like many refugees, I did not have access to professional mental health care. Even if services had existed, I would not have known how to ask. Mental health was not something we spoke about openly. Pain was endured, not expressed.
What ultimately helped me was searching for understanding on my own. I began reading about psychology, trauma, and emotional well‑being, not because I planned a career in it, but because I was looking for a way to survive. Learning gave me language for what I was feeling. It helped me realise that my reactions were not weaknesses, but responses to prolonged stress, loss, and instability.
This moment of recognition, of being able to name my pain, was the beginning of my healing.
From personal healing to community awareness
In recent years, Somaliland has achieved a hard‑won sense of stability and peace, but the past has not simply faded away. Decades of conflict, state collapse, and repeated environmental crises have forced families across the country and elsewhere in East Africa to flee, return, and flee again. Their displacement is not only a matter of movement; it is a story carried in memory.
Today, Somaliland hosts large populations of refugees and internally displaced people. While the humanitarian response understandably focuses on food, shelter, and physical safety, the emotional wounds are often unseen and untreated.
The echoes of war, violence, dangerous journeys, the loss of homes, livelihoods and loved ones, as well as prolonged uncertainty about the future, continue to live within people’s minds and bodies, causing mental health issues that thrive even when a person reaches relative safety. These can be worsened further by post‑displacement stressors, such as poverty, unemployment, social exclusion, and lack of legal security.
Over time, untreated mental distress can affect physical health, family relationships, and community cohesion, reinforcing cycles of trauma and instability.
As I began to understand my own mental health, I started noticing patterns in those living in the refugee settlements and host communities around me, even in people seemingly leading a normal life. I saw they were constantly tense, emotionally withdrawn, or overwhelmed, yet unable to name what they were feeling. I saw mothers silently carrying emotional burdens, young people struggling with hopelessness, and elders reliving untold memories.
I realised that my story was not unique, just rarely spoken about. The psychological impact of displacement is severe. Depression, anxiety, post‑traumatic stress, and chronic stress are widespread. In many communities, emotional suffering is normalised as a part of life, leaving individuals without the language or support to seek help. Women, youth, and elders are particularly vulnerable, often responsible for caring for relatives while suppressing their own distress.
I started to think about ways to reach people and help with their mental distress, even remotely. That was when ‘MentalEase’ was born. I created the platform to offer others what I did not have when I most needed it: a safe, accessible space to understand one’s emotions without judgment or exposure.
Barriers to mental health support
Somaliland and much of East Africa have extremely limited access to mental health services. There are few trained professionals and services are often concentrated in urban areas, far from camps and informal settlements.
Where services do exist, they are frequently overstretched and under‑resourced – and there are barriers preventing refugees from accessing them. Stigma is a major one; mental health struggles may be associated with shame, weakness, or spiritual failure. In close‑knit communities, fear of judgment or exposure further prevents help‑seeking.
Language and cultural differences can also present barriers. Many existing mental health models do not reflect local understandings of distress or healing. Refugees may feel misunderstood or alienated by approaches that fail to acknowledge their lived realities. Financial and legal constraints add another layer of exclusion. For many refugees, mental health care feels unreachable in a daily life dominated by survival needs.
Digital tools such as MentalEase prevent a powerful opportunity to tackle these challenges.
Mobile phone use is widespread across Somaliland and East Africa, even in displaced settings, meaning digital tools can reach large, dispersed populations without extensive physical infrastructure. For displaced individuals who may move frequently, digital platforms offer continuity of support across borders.
Digitally accessible mental health platforms can also overcome many other traditional barriers. They can offer privacy and anonymity, and, when designed properly, help to reduce stigma and encourage individuals to seek support. They can allow users to engage at their own pace and in moments when help is most needed. Importantly, they can be designed to function with low bandwidth and in multiple languages, ensuring inclusivity.
Petra Molnar
Initial reactions to MentalEase are often cautious. Many people are unsure what mental health support actually means. They fear stigma, exposure, or misunderstanding. I frequently observe hesitation and quiet, distanced responses shaped by years of survival. But my own story – marked by loss, loneliness, and gradual healing – connects me to those I help, allowing me to approach people as a fellow traveller who has walked the same path.
My experiences open the door to honest dialogue. When conversations focus on shared, everyday experiences such as poor sleep, constant worry, stress, and emotional fatigue, resistance softens. People respond when they feel seen rather than judged, and when they understand that seeking mental health support is not a sign of weakness, but an act of care. When they realise they are not alone, silence begins to break, and openness grows naturally.
Rooted in lived experience
MentalEase is not just a name, it’s the policy of our work.
We provide grounding and stress‑relief tools, such as self-help articles, books and videos, to offer moments of emotional relief and safety in unstable circumstances, and create safe, anonymous online spaces where people can share their experiences with one another without fear. The platform is also designed to facilitate online access to accredited counsellors who share a user’s background and language. While this service is currently limited to users in Somaliland who speak Arabic, English or Somali, we hope to widen it out in the future.
Above all, we prioritise dignity and compassion, meeting users where they are rather than labeling or pathologising their experiences.
Safety and confidentiality are central. MentalEase is designed as a secure digital space where users can explore their emotions without fear of judgment or exposure. This is particularly critical in communities where discussing mental health openly is difficult or unsafe. The first step is building trust. MentalEase approaches communities with humility and respect, rooted in shared cultural values and lived realities. Awareness grows not through instruction, but through storytelling, shared experiences, and normalising conversations around stress, emotional exhaustion, and mental well‑being.
In addition to our online platform, we are trialling in-person support at an affiliated psychosocial centre in Somaliland’s capital, Hargeisa, which acts as a vital linking point for our community. Through workshops, group discussions and community events at the centre, we create culturally respectful spaces where emotional well‑being can be discussed without fear. These gatherings provide a trusted entry point to introduce MentalEase as a private, ongoing source of support that individuals can access on their own terms.
The impact of this work often appears quietly. People begin to recognise their emotional patterns and understand that they are not ‘broken’, but responding to prolonged hardship. Some share that it is the first time they have felt understood without having to explain themselves. Others turn to the platform late at night, in moments of isolation, when no other support is available.
Over time, a consistent shift becomes clear: people do not reject support, they fear being misunderstood. When approached with empathy, shared experience, and respect, trust develops. Many return with family members or friends, extending awareness and strengthening access to care within the community.
A global vision: Reaching refugees everywhere
In times of mass migration and political unrest, projects like MentalEase should be accessible anywhere and everywhere, reaching refugees regardless of location, language, or legal status.
A digital platform has the unique ability to travel with people as they move, offering consistent support in moments of transition and uncertainty. This global vision is driven by a simple belief: no one should be left alone with their mental pain. Mental health support should be a right, not a privilege.
While technology in the migration space seems to be used mostly as a means of data collection, surveillance and predictive policing, it has huge potential to address issues that are essential for the rebuilding of functioning communities, and therefore preventing conditions that might lead to further causes of migration.
Tackling mental health issues of refugees, also with the support of digital tools, is not a nice extra to have on top of food and housing. For many people, it’s the only chance to reboot after traumatic experiences of loss, displacement, violence, and degradation. It’s a conduit towards a life with dignity, both as individuals and as communities as a whole.
This article is part of Migration and Tech Monitor’s series, ‘Nothing About Us, Without Us’. Click here to read and contribute to MTM’s Manifesto for Technology as a Tool to Strengthen Society
