Extreme trauma leaves a legacy of pain for victims – and their children

A psychotherapist explains the sense of danger she felt growing up as the daughter of war-traumatised parents

In the spring of 2016, I sat on the beach on the far east side of the island of Cyprus not far from where my father lives, and looked across to Syria. I imagined, in that moment, that I had lost my home, that everything was lost. It was quiet on the shore, just a few miles from the border that divides the island. There were few tourists at that time of year and the seascape before me was a shimmering, turquoise paradise. A mere boat ride away, bombs were falling and people dying. The level of destruction was, and is, incomprehensible: devastation and damage so absolute that beautiful towns and cities no longer exist.

I felt compelled to help in any way I could. I couldn’t go to Syria, of course, so I decided to volunteer at the Hope Centre in Athens, a place of safety for women and children, that offered a play area, showers, a sofa where new mothers could nurse their babies and, in the absence of a food licence, have tea and biscuits. Each day, about a hundred refugees would come in from the camps.

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