Loss, suffering, and disruption are facts of life, especially in the age of social media, when second-hand negative experiences are only a swipe away. While everyone can relate to going through a rough spot, not everyone reacts in quite the same way. In Why We Suffer and How We Heal, global mental health adviser and psychiatrist Dr. Suzan Song urges listeners to contend with the realization that instability is inevitable and explores how “the three friends of winter” (narrative, ritual, and purpose) can help people find solid ground again. In this illuminating Q&A, Dr. Song shares what led her to this work and reflects on the emotional weight of recording an audiobook about healing while going through personal challenges herself.
Rachael Xerri: Why We Suffer and How We Heal explores how people navigate life’s inevitable seasons of instability, from personal loss and transition to larger collective uncertainty, through the tools of narrative, ritual, and purpose. What was the impetus behind your decision to write this book now, and what audience do you hope to reach?
Dr. Suzan Song: As a psychiatrist and global mental health adviser in humanitarian settings, I’ve worked with people living through extraordinary instability, from survivors of war, displacement, trafficking, and political violence to leaders and families navigating quieter but still profound ruptures.
What struck me wasn’t the suffering. At some point, we will all experience loss, rupture, and change, so suffering is an integral part of being human. What I found fascinating was that some people remained steady, with a sense of groundedness and even aliveness. I began to wonder, what allows someone to move through turmoil without losing themselves?
The question was personal as well. My father died when I was a teenager. Years later, I experienced a serious security threat while working in Burundi. My instinct was to overwork, to overfunction, as if competence could protect me with stability. But it can’t. Instability comes, whether we call upon it or not.
So this book grew from that realization, and basically asks: If instability is inevitable, what actually steadies us? Across cultures and contexts, I saw three recurring practices: narrative, ritual, and purpose, what I call the three friends of winter. They don’t eliminate suffering. But they help us remain intact within it. I wrote this book for anyone living through a transition, loss, or feeling uncertain in this world, which is to say, most of us.
Many of us are living with constant exposure to distressing events online, creating a kind of cognitive and emotional overload even when we’re not directly involved. What is the impact of this type of witness, and what advice do you have for protecting yourself from the effects?
Our nervous systems evolved for acute, time-bound danger, not this endless stream of images, alerts, and moral injury from events happening everywhere at once. Many people are experiencing vicarious trauma, secondary traumatic stress, and what some researchers call “ambient threat.” When exposure is constant, our mind shifts into scanning mode. We feel a moral fatigue that blunts empathy or distorts it to guilt, or an erosion of agency when we witness suffering but can’t do anything about it. Over time, this makes people feel numb or irritable, leading to despair.
"During the three years of writing this book, my own life unraveled with divorce, house fire and displacement, and professional upheaval... What steadied me throughout were rituals around writing, clarifying my narratives, and being guided by purpose."
Oftentimes, people mistake disengagement with indifference, but it’s the opposite—people care deeply, but there’s no clear mechanism of action. Sometimes disengaging is needed for a short time, but prolonged withdrawal just reinforces helplessness: the world feels dangerous and you feel small in it. While it may sound counterintuitive, the best way to manage the stress is to call upon your agency—linking what you witness and what you can meaningfully do. Create boundaries by limiting news/media consumption, especially reactive news that leaves you without action steps; engage intentionally by volunteering or supporting a reputable organization; mentor someone or engage in thoughtful conversations with loved ones.
You personally performed the audio for Why We Suffer and How We Heal. What was the recording process like for you? What emotions came up?
Recording the audiobook was the first time I had read the book straight through. During the three years of writing this book, my own life unraveled with divorce, house fire and displacement, and professional upheaval. So the book was written in the midst of instability, not after. What steadied me throughout were rituals around writing, clarifying my narratives, and being guided by purpose.
So, sitting in the recording booth, I could see flashes of those years: working from the makeshift office in the back of my van since I had nowhere to go during the day; writing late at night beside my children when they slept. Looking back, I have such gratitude for the book, for giving me direction when I felt I was drifting.
"If you choose to listen, I hope you hear not just my voice, but the voices of those whose lives have shaped these pages."
Reading the book was bittersweet. It reminded me of some very hard moments in life. But with every case I read, I could sense that person in the room with me. Across continents and contexts, they have taught me more than any textbook. Their courage, restraint, and moral clarity shaped this book.
Is there anything else that you would like to share with listeners who are interested in listening to your book?
This book isn’t going to tell people how to eliminate suffering or turn pain into something tidy. I don’t think suffering is redemptive. And while many cultures celebrate relentless optimism, “making lemonade out of lemons,” I’ve seen how damaging that can be. If someone isn’t smiling through hardship, it doesn’t mean they’re failing at life.
The book’s aims are modest: to offer a framework for staying whole when life doesn’t cooperate. And to remind us that although many societies privatize suffering, we were never meant to endure it alone.
You don’t need to be in a war zone to feel destabilized. Instability can linger around us, with a diagnosis, career shift, relationship ruptures, or the persistent sense that the world itself feels uncertain. The practices in this book aren’t dramatic. They are small, deliberate, and repeatable. But small practices, done consistently, are what help us move forward without losing ourselves.
If you choose to listen, I hope you hear not just my voice, but the voices of those whose lives have shaped these pages. And I hope you find one practice, one shift in narrative, one ritual that provides structure, or one clarified sense of purpose, that steadies you when you feel untethered.
