Fatima Saeed Khan
Though I spent much of my childhood in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK), this part of my life is something I’ve often kept hidden. My connection to my village runs deep through my parents, who spent their entire life there. As a child, I was surrounded by stories that have remained with me throughout the years. The women in my mother’s community had faced immense struggles—conflict, displacement, and rigid societal norms. While I was fortunate enough to avoid these hardships myself, hearing their stories helped me understand the quiet strength required to endure them. These experiences have shaped how I see resilience, trauma, and the courage it takes to keep going.
Pashtun women live in a world where conflict and patriarchal traditions shape their daily lives. In the border regions of Afghanistan and Pakistan, political instability and violence have been part of life for decades. On top of this, Pashtun women face the challenge of navigating a culture shaped by long-standing social norms that limit their freedom and independence. The combination of these two forces, conflict and patriarchy takes a heavy toll on their mental health.
Khyber Pakhtunkhwa has been plagued by conflict for decades. War, military operations, and insurgencies have led to the loss of countless lives, displacement of families, and constant uncertainty. Pashtun women often bear the brunt of this violence. Many have lost loved ones or been forced to flee their homes, leaving them traumatised by what they’ve experienced. Anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) are common, but mental health remains a taboo subject in their communities. This leaves women to cope with their trauma in silence, without the support or care they need. To really understand these challenges, it helps to look at the personal experiences of the women themselves. One story from our village shows just how deeply conflict can affect someone’s life:
She was only a child when gunfire and explosions tore through her village in Tirah in the middle of the night. Her family fled, leaving everything behind. Over the years, they moved from place to place, never finding real stability. She grew up constantly looking over her shoulder, always wondering when the next disaster would strike. Even now, as an adult, she struggles with panic attacks and nightmares that take her back to those terrifying nights. But in her community, nobody talks about mental health. Everyone is too busy trying to survive. So she keeps her suffering to herself, quietly enduring her pain.
Pashtun women, like many living in war zones, are expected to carry on with their lives—nurturing their families and protecting their households—despite their own emotional scars. The burden of this silent suffering, combined with the lack of space to express their grief, makes the trauma all the more devastating.
Apart from the psychological toll of conflict, Pashtun women must also contend with the strict expectations of a patriarchal society. Pashtunwali, the traditional code that dominates life in many Pashtun communities, places men in charge of the family and society, while women are expected to play submissive roles, focused on domestic duties. For women who have already endured the trauma of conflict, the emotional weight of patriarchal norms can feel unbearable. They are expected to quietly bear their pain, not only for themselves but also for the honour of their families. The result is often a deep sense of isolation, depression, and a struggle to find one’s own identity in a culture that limits women’s freedom. On top of the trauma from conflict, many Pashtun women have to deal with a rigid society, where their roles are tightly controlled by tradition. Another woman’s story shows how deeply these norms can shape their lives:
She had already lost her husband to war when her family began pushing her to remarry her husband’s disabled elder brother. They told her it was necessary to secure her future and uphold the family’s honour. But she wasn’t ready—she was still grieving, still trying to process the trauma of losing someone she loved. On the day of her second wedding, she felt numb, going through the motions of a ceremony she didn’t want. The people around her celebrated, but inside she felt hollow. It was as if she had no control over her own life, just a series of decisions made for her by others. Years later, the grief remains, but there’s no space to talk about it. She’s expected to move on, to bury the pain and live for the sake of her family’s reputation.
This story is unfortunately not unique, rather more common than we think. The psychological strain of having little control over one’s own life, combined with the pressure to maintain family honour, leaves many women feeling trapped in their roles, disconnected from their own emotions and desires.
Despite the overwhelming challenges they face, Pashtun women are remarkably resilient. Their strength comes from a deep sense of responsibility, not just to their families but to their own survival. Even in the face of war, displacement, and societal pressure, many women find ways to endure and adapt. They may not always have the resources or support to fully heal, but they show resilience in the way they carry on, often supporting one another in informal ways. In many Pashtun communities, women build strong support networks within their families and villages. These connections become lifelines, offering emotional support and solidarity in times of crisis. Though the larger society may not acknowledge their pain, these small acts of kindness and mutual care provide the strength needed to keep going. One woman’s journey shows how these bonds not only bring comfort but also the strength to carry on:
She had lost almost everything—her brothers in the war, her home to a raid, and any sense of normalcy to the chaos that followed. But what she didn’t lose was her connection to the women around her. They gathered together every evening to drink Kehwa and share their stories, finding comfort in each other’s company. They laughed, cried, and sometimes just sat in silence, knowing that someone else understood their pain. These gatherings didn’t erase the trauma, but they made it bearable. They reminded her that she wasn’t alone. It was in these moments that she found the strength to keep going, knowing that, no matter what, the women of her community had her back.
This quiet strength, built on connection and community, is what allows many Pashtun women to endure in the face of overwhelming hardship. While Pashtun women’s resilience is admirable, it should not be a reason to ignore the need for healing and support. The trauma they experience is real and deserves attention. Global awareness of mental health in conflict zones is growing, but much more needs to be done to address the specific needs of women in these regions.
Providing culturally sensitive mental health care is essential. Programs that integrate local cultural practices with mental health support can help reduce the stigma around seeking help. It’s also important to educate communities about trauma and its effects, so that women don’t have to suffer in silence. Empowering women through education and opportunities for self-expression can give them the tools they need to rebuild their lives, even in the face of trauma and adversity. While these stories show just how resilient Pashtun women are, they also remind us that more needs to be done to support and understand them. Their strength is inspiring, but it’s important to remember that healing is just as necessary.
By exploring the experiences of Pashtun women, we not only gain insight into the challenges they face but also into broader issues of mental health and social justice in conflict zones. Their stories remind us of the importance of providing care and creating spaces where healing is possible, even in the most difficult circumstances. Ultimately, their resilience is a testament to human strength, but we must also work toward a world where they don’t have to carry these burdens alone.
