By Wubit Zerihun, counselor, CVT Ethiopia, Debre Birhan

In a quiet, overcrowded site for internally displaced people (IDPs) in Debre Birhan, Ethiopia, where loss and suffering had become the air they breathed, a small ray of hope had begun to emerge. The counselors and physiotherapists from CVT had arrived months ago, listening to the community’s pain, offering comfort and helping them believe that healing was possible. For the first time in years, many had dared to hope many suicidal clients were showing improvement, surprisingly.

Among them was a young girl, just 14, who carried more pain than any child ever should. She came to us drowning in sadness, burdened by a sense of rejection so deep it had devastated her ability to trust. Feeling of betrayal had left her wounded, and loneliness had nearly swallowed her whole. She had struggled with thoughts of ending her life, had even tried once before she found us. Slowly, through therapy, we had built something fragile but precious: a sense of safety, a shine of hope. She had begun to believe, just a little, that she was not completely alone in this world.

Among them was a young girl, just 14, who carried more pain than any child ever should.”

Wubit Zerihun, counselor, CVT Ethiopia

Then the news came like a cruel wind: CVT’s work had been stopped indefinitely. The counselors, their own hearts heavy, voluntarily went to the site to share the painful truth with the clients. Some wept silently, their tears speaking the words their voices could not. Others asked in desperation, “When will you come back?” But there was no answer.

One woman, who had shared the darkest moments of her life with us, spoke through her tears. “We believed healing was possible because of you. We told you everything, even the things we buried deep. Now you say you must leave? What are we supposed to do with these open wounds?” Her words echoed in the silence, a painful truth no one could deny. The counselors and physiotherapists had given them a glimpse of healing, only to be forced away, leaving behind wounds still raw, still bleeding.

I remember the moment the young girl approached me. Her steps were slow, hesitant, as if each one carried the weight of all her fears. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke my name. And then, with tears streaming down her face, she asked the question that shattered me:

“Are you leaving me alone like the others? Am I going back to how I was before I met you?”

Her voice trembled, her hands clutching the edges of her scarf as she wiped away the tears that refused to stop. But it was the look in her eyes that broke me: the desperate, silent appeal not to be abandoned again.

Are you leaving me alone like the others? Am I going back to how I was before I met you?”

-Fourteen year-old girl, former client at CVT Ethiopia

I wanted to tell her no, that she wouldn’t go back to the darkness. That all the progress she made wouldn’t be undone. That she was strong enough to hold on, even without us. But how could I promise that, when I knew what she had survived? When I knew that what she needed most – consistent support and a safe place to share her pain – was being taken from her without warning? As we turned to go, the air was thick with sorrow. Some whispered blessings; others turned away in anger. But all carried the same question in their hearts “Who will help us now?”

This is the cruel reality of interrupted mental health care. The moment we start to rebuild someone’s trust in life, in people, in themselves, has now been stripped away and we are forced to leave. And for clients like her, it feels like yet another confirmation of what they have always feared: that no one stays. That healing is temporary. That hope is something they will always have to fight for alone.

And for clients like her, it feels like yet another confirmation of what they have always feared: that no one stays.”

Her tears that day still haunt me. The way she stood there, trying to hold herself together as the walls of stability crumbled around her. And I wonder how many more will be left with unfinished healing? How many will fall back into the darkness because the support they finally dared to lean on was ripped away too soon?

And for us, the ones who have dedicated our hearts to this work, what do we do with the pain of knowing we are leaving them behind?