In these days, when the skies of Iran are filled with the shadow of threat and hearts beat anxiously to the rhythm of uncertain news, many of us Iranians living thousands of miles from home experience a strange sensation—the nearness of pain and the distance of helplessness.

Like the protagonists of Iranian novels—Prince Ehtejab in Houshang Golshiri’s The Prince Ehtejab, imprisoned in memory and the past, or the quietly suffering heroine of Zooya Pirzad’s Things We Left Unsaid, concealing inner storms beneath the stillness of everyday life—we, too, carry layered emotions of mourning, anxiety, guilt, and disconnection.

Migration is not just a geographical shift; it is a long-term emotional-cognitive experience. We carry a collective memory, an unspoken language, and severed ties to a homeland that still lives in our dreams and whispered prayers. These days, many Iranian migrants are grappling with what is known as “grief without a body”—a mourning without end, without farewell, and without the possibility of partaking in communal rituals of grief.

At the same time, migrants often wrestle with survivor’s guilt and witnessing shame: Why am I safe here while my family, my peers, or even my former patients remain in the midst of fear and danger?

Though understandable, such emotions—if left unprocessed—can turn into hidden depression, internalized anger, or a profound disconnection from the migrant’s authentic self.

What can be done?

Neither total disconnection from the media is possible, nor is living in a state of constant anxiety. The point of balance lies in practicing active empathy with psychological boundaries: the ability to respond to the news without surrendering one’s entire psyche; the strength to accept sorrow without being consumed by it; the power to act from afar without falling victim to feelings of helplessness.

Ultimately, for Iranians—as for many deeply rooted peoples—migration is not merely a lived experience; it is an ontological journey. Living between two times (past and present), two languages (native and second), and two lands (the one born into and the one chosen) demands emotional, cultural, and mental resilience.If we can navigate these days through dialogue, connection, and psychological care for ourselves and others, then perhaps from within this very crisis, a new coherence may emerge in the psyche of the Iranian migrant.