Some Lebanese turn to AI tools for help dealing with psychological problems brought on by war and economic crises.
Beirut, Lebanon – By the time Zainab Dhaher and her family fled their southern Lebanese village last September, Israeli shelling had become relentless. They packed what they could and drove 13 hours to Beirut, only to find themselves once again within range of Israeli bombardment. The cycle of displacement repeated.
“We left in a rush. I didn’t have time to pack clothes for my children,” the 34-year-old mother of two recalls, her voice cracking during a phone interview. “We moved from place to place, and no one helped us. No food, no blankets, nothing.”
Months after a United States-brokered ceasefire took effect in November, the fear still lingers. Israeli strikes on Lebanese territory have continued despite the truce, repeatedly raising fears of renewed conflict, while Israel remains in control of strategic parts of Lebanon’s south.
Meanwhile, roughly 90,000 Lebanese people are unable to return home because of continued devastation of their villages, and Israel’s continued presence in some of them. Israeli rockets also continue to strike Hezbollah targets, while the group refuses to drop its arms – a key Israeli demand.
But for Zainab, a 34-year-old mother of two, the psychological wounds from the devastating war have proven deeper and more persistent than any physical destruction.
“The sound of drones terrifies me. I cry when I hear Ahmad Kaabour’s song ‘Ya Rayeh Sawb Bladi’ [Oh, you who is going to my land] because it reminds me of what we’ve lost.” Despite the ceasefire, Zainab says she can’t sleep. “I’m constantly afraid something will happen to my children. I don’t think this pain will ever go away.”
And in the absence of an accessible, functioning mental health system, Zainab – like many others in Lebanon – found herself turning to artificial intelligence (AI), and ChatGPT.
Lebanon has endured a near-constant barrage of crises for years: the 2019 financial collapse that wiped out people’s life savings, the devastating Beirut port explosion in 2020, a collapsing public health system, and the Israeli military’s latest offensive in the south, which killed almost 4,000 people and displaced tens of thousands. Amid this chaos, the psychological toll on the population is becoming harder to ignore.
Baraja notes an uptick in patients using ChatGPT as a kind of emotional crutch. “We’re observing a growing trend, especially among younger people, of turning to AI tools for emotional support,” she says. “They confide in it, seek comfort, even ask it to diagnose them. It reflects the deep need for someone – or something – that simply listens.”
But she warns of the dangers. “ChatGPT doesn’t offer genuine emotional attunement. It cannot replicate the human connection necessary for healing. More dangerously, it can delay access to professional help. People think they’re improving, but often they’re not.”
That was Zainab’s experience. After reading a Facebook post recommending mental health “self-tests” using ChatGPT, she tried one. The bot’s response was alarming: It listed PTSD, schizophrenia, and ADHD as potential diagnoses. “It shook me,” she admits. “But I couldn’t afford therapy. I work at a beauty salon and earn $400 a month. Rent alone is $1,200. Therapy isn’t an option for people like me,” she says, referring to the lease of her displacement home.
At first, ChatGPT seemed like an outlet. But the more she relied on it, the more frustrated she became. “Its responses felt hollow. I was getting angrier after every conversation. It felt like shouting into a void.”
A nation in psychological ruin
The psychological effects of war are not easily shaken. According to the World Health Organization, one in five people in conflict-affected areas suffers from mental health conditions ranging from mild depression to severe anxiety and psychosis.
At first, the routine helped. “It felt easier than talking to a real person. No judgement.” But over time, it stopped being effective. “It didn’t push me forward. I was just circling the same sadness over and over again.”
Eventually, she sought professional help. “After one session with a therapist, I felt lighter. I still use AI sometimes, but I now realise it’s not a substitute.”
Lebanese youth, already dealing with political disillusionment and economic uncertainty, were among the hardest hit by the latest war. Rania, a hotline responder at Embrace, a leading mental health NGO, says the volume of calls from young people has spiked dramatically in recent months.
“Most calls are war-related. They feel hopeless about their futures in this country,” she explains, asking to be referred to by her first name only, since she’s not authorised to speak to the press. “We’ve also noticed more people talking about using AI as a coping mechanism. It’s easy, available, and doesn’t cost money. But it’s not a real solution.”
To counter this, Embrace and Lebanon’s Ministry of Health launched a mental health app called Step-by-Step, designed by clinical psychologists. “It’s free, confidential, and tailored to individual needs,” Rania says. “We always try to redirect people there.”
Siba Haidar Ahmed, a master’s student in clinical psychology, says many of her classmates and peers have experimented with AI tools during moments of emotional crisis. “The danger isn’t in using ChatGPT once or twice,” she says. “It’s when people mistake it for therapy.”
While AI can provide surface-level comfort, its effects are fleeting. “It can give you motivational quotes or validate your emotions. But once the chat ends, reality hits. That sudden return can deepen feelings of emptiness or hopelessness.”
Back in southern Lebanon, as families try to rebuild their damaged or destroyed homes after months of shelling, the psychological recovery remains elusive. Turning to their screens, many hope for comfort and answers in algorithms.
Zainab, now back in her village, says she’s trying to move forward, but the scars are deep. “We left the war,” she repeats. “But the war didn’t leave us.”
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