Making Sense of War: An Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis of Meaning-Making and Psychological Experiences among Iranian Civilians Following the June 2025 Armed Conflict
This study utilizes Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis to explore the lived experiences of twelve Iranian civilians following the June 2025 armed conflict, revealing five key themes that illustrate how war disrupts identity and social trust while highlighting the complex processes of meaning-making and resilience essential for culturally responsive mental health interventions.
Original paper licensed under CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). This is an AI-generated explanation of the paper below. It is not written or endorsed by the authors. For technical accuracy, refer to the original paper. Read full disclaimer
Imagine the human mind as a house. Usually, this house has sturdy walls, a reliable roof, and a clear map of the neighborhood outside. You know where the kitchen is, you trust that the door locks at night, and you believe the people next door are friendly. This sense of safety and predictability is what psychologists call "ontological security." But what happens when a storm hits that doesn't just knock on the door, but threatens to tear the roof off? That's where the science of trauma comes in. For a long time, scientists mostly looked at the broken windows and the cracked foundation, counting how many people had "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder" (PTSD) like they were counting broken bricks. But recently, researchers realized that trauma is more than just broken pieces; it's about how the people living in the house try to rebuild their sense of self, their trust in neighbors, and their understanding of why the storm happened in the first place. This new way of thinking is called "meaning-making." It asks: How do people stitch their shattered world back together? And how do they find a reason to keep living when the sky looks like it might fall again?
This is exactly the question Tareq Xosravi set out to answer in a recent study about Iranian civilians who lived through the armed conflict of June 2025. Instead of handing out surveys to count symptoms, the researcher sat down with twelve ordinary people—six women and six men, ranging from 27 to 52 years old—and asked them to tell their stories. Using a method called Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA), which is like a deep-dive interview technique designed to understand how people interpret their own lives, the study listened to how these individuals made sense of the chaos. The goal wasn't to diagnose them, but to understand the landscape of their minds: How did they feel when their homes became unsafe? How did their relationships change? And how did they try to find meaning again after the missiles stopped?
The study found that the experience of war was like living inside a broken clock that kept ticking but never moved forward. The first major theme was "Living Under Persistent Threat." For these civilians, the feeling of safety didn't just get damaged; it vanished completely. Their homes, which are usually sacred sanctuaries in Iranian culture, suddenly felt like places where they could be killed at any moment. One participant described how the bed, a place for rest, became a place of terror where they couldn't sleep. The sirens became part of the daily soundtrack, turning simple acts like cooking into a race against time. It wasn't just the actual attacks that were scary; it was the "ticking clock" feeling of not knowing when the next one would come. This uncertainty was described as worse than the attacks themselves, leaving people in a state of constant, high-alert waiting.
As the fear settled in, it didn't stay as a single emotion. Instead, the participants experienced "Emotional Fragmentation." Their feelings became a chaotic mix of fear, helplessness, and even numbness. Some described feeling a collective fear that spread through the whole city, like a contagion. Others felt a crushing sense of helplessness, especially those who were used to being in control, like teachers or parents, who suddenly couldn't protect their students or families. Interestingly, some people felt nothing at all—a kind of emotional numbness that acted as a shield. Even after the war ended, their bodies didn't seem to get the memo; one participant noted that while their mind knew the war was over, their shoulders were still tense, holding onto a memory their body hadn't let go of yet.
Perhaps the most surprising finding was about relationships, described as "Fractured Relationships and Social Connectedness." The war created a strange paradox. On one hand, families became incredibly close, holding onto each other like lifelines. The shared danger made every moment together feel precious and sacred. But on the other hand, trust in the wider world and in the government completely collapsed. Participants described a deep "moral injury"—a feeling of betrayal because the authorities had promised safety but failed to deliver. One person said, "The lies were worse than the attacks." They felt that the government's dishonesty was a personal violation of trust. While neighbors might share food and help each other, there was also a lingering suspicion that people with different political views couldn't be trusted, even in a crisis.
Despite the chaos, the participants didn't just sit in the wreckage; they actively tried to "Reconstruct Meaning." They had to figure out who they were now that their old lives were gone. Many turned to faith and spirituality, using prayer and religious texts to find comfort and a sense of order in the chaos. Others realized they were stronger than they thought, discovering a resilience they didn't know they had. They also started to see life differently, realizing that worries about money or status were trivial compared to the simple fact of being alive and being with their families. This wasn't a quick fix; it was a slow, messy process of rebuilding their internal world.
Finally, the study showed that for these people, the war never really "ended." They are now "Living Beyond the War," but the war still lives inside them. They carry psychological scars, like nightmares and hypervigilance, where a plane flying overhead can trigger the fear of an attack all over again. Yet, this doesn't mean they are broken. The study found that hope and growth can exist right alongside the pain. People found strength in their survival and a renewed appreciation for life, but it's a "mature" kind of hope, one that acknowledges the scars and the uncertainty of the future.
In short, this paper suggests that the psychological impact of war is much more complex than just a list of symptoms. It's a dynamic, ongoing struggle where people try to rebuild their sense of safety, trust, and meaning in a world that has been fundamentally changed. The study highlights that while families can become stronger bonds, trust in institutions can be shattered, and that healing isn't about forgetting the war, but learning to live with its permanent shadow while still finding reasons to move forward. The research doesn't claim to have solved the problem of war trauma, but it offers a vivid, human picture of how real people navigate the aftermath, suggesting that future help for them needs to address not just their fear, but their broken trust and their need to make sense of what happened.
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