Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc

Although I’m primarily a mental health professional, I very rarely write as one here. This space is usually dedicated to storytelling, to books, to creativity, and the quieter moments of being human. But there are times when the world shakes hard enough that silence feels like complicity. Times when the psychological impact of war—the one happening right now—seeps so deeply into our collective nervous systems that I can’t not speak up. This is one of those times.

There are wars that shake the world—and then there are the quiet ones, the ones inside us. The ones that shift how we think, how we feel, how we choose what’s right, and who we choose to belong to.

We watch the news. We scroll. We listen. Bombs fall in places we’ve never been. People flee cities we might not even be able to pronounce. We shake our heads, feel sick, feel angry, feel helpless. And if we’re honest, many of us don’t know what to do with any of it.

But there’s something else happening—something quieter. Something not as visible as destroyed buildings, but just as destructive.

What war does to nations, it also does to minds.

In times of intergroup conflict and geopolitical unrest, it’s not only borders and cities under siege. Our psyches are, too. What we’re experiencing right now—collectively, globally—is more than a humanitarian crisis. It’s a cognitive one.

The Psychology of War Isn’t Just Out There. It’s In Here.

When war enters our awareness, it enters our nervous systems. Our sense of safety tightens. Our need for certainty spikes. Our fear, especially when compounded by grief, injustice, or moral shock, doesn’t just create emotional noise—it rewires our priorities. We start to crave clarity, simplicity, righteousness.

This is where political psychology becomes urgently relevant. Studies in intergroup conflict and authoritarianism show that fear doesn’t just activate defense mechanisms—it activates conformity. People begin to lean toward stronger leaders, stricter rules, and black-and-white narratives. We long for boundaries, for us vs. them. We look for heroes. We look for enemies. We want to know who’s on our side.

Fear Changes Everything

There’s a reason fear is so politically powerful. It simplifies us.

Fear tells the brain: Forget the bigger picture—survive. And to survive, we narrow. We follow strong voices. We grasp onto belonging. We accept binaries: good/bad, us/them, ally/traitor. We stop questioning because questioning feels dangerous. And we seek comfort, not in truth—but in familiarity.

This is why, in wartime, political psychology warns of a spike in authoritarian tendencies—not just in governments, but in individuals. In families. In ourselves.

This is how war begins to live inside people. Even far from the front lines.

Beliefs Become Belongings

The deeper danger is subtle. Our political views shift from being about beliefs to being about belonging. We might say, “This is what I believe,” but what we mean is, “This is who I am.” And in moments of war—whether cultural or military—we say, “This is whose side I’m on.” Suddenly, disagreement isn’t just dissent. It’s betrayal.

We stop debating policies. We start questioning loyalty. We stop being curious. We start being afraid.

And in that process, we can lose the very thing that makes us human: the ability to reflect, to pause, to think about how we’re thinking.

Metacognition Is the Anchor

This is where metacognition—the ability to observe and name your own mental and emotional state—becomes not just useful, but essential.

To say:

• This is fear.
• This is identity threat.
• This is me wanting to be seen as loyal—even when I’m uncertain.
• This is moral injury. And it hurts.

That awareness is not weakness. It’s power.

Metacognition lets us hold multiple truths at once. It allows us to feel anger without becoming cruelty. It helps us grieve without losing hope. It’s what lets us say, “I see what’s happening. I feel it. And I will choose how I respond.”

Not react—respond.

Holding Complexity Without Collapsing

In times like these, what we need most are not louder voices, but steadier ones. People who can feel everything—but stay grounded. People who are brave enough to question their own side without abandoning it. Who can call out harm—without dehumanizing the other.

This isn’t just emotional maturity. It’s survival. For our relationships, our communities, our ability to live together in a post-conflict world.

Because wars end. But the fractures in our minds and in our societies? Those remain—unless we do the work of staying whole.

You Are Either the Anchor, or You Are the Storm

When you don’t do the work to understand your fear, you will act from it. You will pass it along to your children. Your partner. Your community.

You will be the one shouting, shaming, silencing.
You will be the one posting memes to feel better, not to be better.
You will be part of the problem.

And in a time like this, when the world feels like it’s unraveling, every person choosing awareness over instinct is a small act of resistance.

You might not be able to stop a war. But you can stop the war from claiming you.

When the Time Comes

When the sirens wail. When the crisis hits your doorstep. When the choice becomes: act in alignment or act in fear—your emotional preparedness will matter more than your politics.

Mental health is not a privilege.
It’s not a retreat.
It’s not some Westernized hobby.

It is what will make the difference between:

• Freezing or responding.
• Collapsing or leading.
• Joining the mob or standing for something.

This is not about being okay.

This is about staying whole in a world that wants to rip you apart.

If you keep anything… keep this…

Check in on yourself. Check in on each other. Don’t dismiss your anxiety, your numbness, your confusion. These are symptoms of a deeply human brain trying to make sense of chaos. And if you can name what’s happening inside you—you’ll be far better equipped to do the right thing when the world asks it of you.

And it will ask it of you.

So prepare now.

You don’t have to be an expert in conflict resolution. You don’t have to have all the answers. But if you can help someone name what they’re feeling—if you can ask, “What else could be true?”—if you can be curious even when you’re hurting?

Then you are a lifeline.

You are helping the rest of us stay anchored.