Why Art Helped Me Heal, And Why It Still Matters for Syrian Refugees

I grew up surrounded by color, Damascene courtyards painted with jasmine, old books stacked in my father’s study, calligraphy that danced across walls. When we left Syria, I didn’t realize how much of my comfort came from those everyday expressions of art. But it marked me deeply. Years later, as I confronted my own emotional exile and later wrote fiction and poetry, those early impressions would shape my belief in the role of art in mental health.

During my teenage years in Switzerland and then in Paris, I was far from home, far from context. Yet I found solace in painting, in journal entries, in bilingual poetry. Focusing on the pen or brush became a way to rest from grief. That’s when I first understood why the role of art in Syrian refugee mental health mattered, not only to individuals, but to families rebuilding their lives in foreign lands. Art becomes the voice when words fail, the presence when community feels distant.

Art as Memory, Art as Home

Refugee camps, temporary housing, and displaced communities often come with empty walls and limited resources. But what if we treated every piece of paper, every scrap of wood, every bit of clay, as an opportunity? Studies show that creative activities, such as drawing, crafting, and music, help manage trauma. They anchor memory. They give people a sense of control in places where so much feels uncontrollable.

I’ve visited Syrian families in London where children decorate refrigerator magnets with their old street names. Elders in the community redraw mosaic patterns from home. Singing traditional songs during gatherings becomes a ritual of rest and remembrance. These simple acts illustrate the role of art in Syrian refugee mental health: art can help rebuild identity and connection when geography cannot.

From Trauma to Transformation

When I wrote Palmyre pour toujours, I didn’t just document a lost city. I channeled grief through verse. Making art from pain doesn’t erase suffering. But it reintroduces agency. If our history has been gutted, we can still hold our heritage inside words and brush strokes.

I know writers who paint mosaic-themed desks. Musicians who compose lullabies out of Syrian maqam. I’ve met former teachers who lead drawing workshops in refugee centers. They tell me the same thing: creating, even imperfectly, helps them feel human again. That’s why art is more of a way of passing the time. It’s a way to connect to our broken heritage.

Art in Community: Healing Together

Art is never just private. It invites conversation. It builds community. I’ve seen families in camps and urban dwellings create shared murals, write joint poetry, and even stage plays about their memories. These aren’t tourist attractions, they’re exercises in healing, collective identity, and shared resilience.

Once, I helped moderate a session where displaced Syrians wrote letters to cities they’d lost. Then we read them aloud. Everyone wept, and then laughed. Some spoke about family meals, others about school friends. Those shared stories built trust. That circle of expression was a microcosm of how the role of art in Syrian refugee mental health can restore hope and belonging.

Art as Therapy, Without Needing a Therapist

Access to psychological therapy for refugees is limited. But you don’t always need a therapist to use expressive arts as therapy. All you need is materials and space. It doesn’t have to be elaborate. A group of Syrian teens once used scraps to draw their hometowns under a tent. Each drawing reflected memory, an olive tree, a gate, and an old street. The effort helped them understand that their identity is not lost.

These small, creative acts embody the healing possibilities of art. They remind the world that healing doesn’t always need medicine. It needs expression.

The Arts in Education, the Arts in Policy

If governments or NGOs want to support refugee mental health, they should treat art as essential, not optional. After-school music classes, community mosaics, storytelling circles, these aren’t extras. They are essential threads in weaving back emotional stability.

I’ve worked with scholars who mapped cognitive improvements from art activities. I’ve seen participation jump when art becomes part of education packages. And I’ve also seen visas denied when artistic initiatives aren’t officially recognized. Art isn’t frivolous. It’s fundamental for human wholeness. The role of art in Syrian refugee mental health must be validated in policy, education, and funding.

In Closing- Art Heals Us, Not Because It’s Beautiful, But Because It’s Ours

You don’t need to be a gallery artist. You just need something to hold your stories. A notebook. A string of lights. A mural that remembers. This is not about competition or aesthetics. This is about claiming space, emotional space, cultural space, where memory isn’t lost in translation.

The role of art in Syrian refugee mental health is profound because it offers dignity in the absence of a homeland, community in the absence of familiarity, and identity when everything else has changed. It’s not art for art’s sake, it’s art for the heart’s sake.