How do you keep going?

Almost ten years ago, I rented an Airbnb in Beirut from a young American lawyer named Samantha, who had recently moved there from D.C. She mostly stayed at her boyfriend’s apartment, leaving me alone in her tiny place in Achrafieh, but she made me feel welcome, inviting me along on evenings with her friends. I had come to Beirut for the final stretch of a reporting trip for Science on mental health in Syrian refugee communities. I’d spent three months visiting refugee camps in Greece, Germany and Sweden, talking to people who’d fled the war in Syria and the researchers and clinicians trying to alleviate their suffering. By the time I reached Lebanon, I was exhausted and sad. Most evenings, I found myself revisiting the fear, loss and grief I’d encountered—and trying to ignore the guilt I felt each time I returned to my hotel room, safe. A few evenings with Samantha, without my recorder or notebook, were a huge relief. She took me to an underground bookstore where her friends—a group…

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