Growing up in Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya, one of the largest refugee settlements in the world with more than 150,000 refugees, presented a life that was anything but comfortable. Yet from this harsh environment emerged one of the most celebrated supermodels of our time.
This model spent her childhood in Kakuma, surrounded by poverty and the daily struggles of refugee life. But even in a place defined by hardship, she dared to dream—of big cities, bright lights, and a future beyond the camp.
In a remarkable transformation, Adut Akech, the South Sudanese-Australian, went from makeshift shelters to the world’s most prestigious runways in Paris and New York. Despite her success, Akech says that she will “always be a refugee” and adds, “Even if I become the richest model in the world, I am still a refugee.”
A Disrupted Sense of Identity and Home
Cognitive immobility is the stressful experience of feeling mentally trapped in the past, as the mind replays memories tied to events or places once lived in or visited. This can happen consciously or unconsciously, creating a sense of psychological entrapment that may feel nostalgic or traumatic as individuals attempt to relive or reconstruct past experiences.
Our recently published paper suggests that cognitive immobility can be triggered when one relives positive or traumatic past experiences, including significant life transitions. The findings also discuss how cognitive immobility is widespread across different populations and that the condition provides a valuable lens or framework for understanding those who feel trapped in the past. In addition, we identified three key features of cognitive immobility: a persistent re-experiencing and reconstruction of past events or life experiences left behind, mental immobilisation in the past, and a disrupted sense of identity and home. As we stated:
The fact that Adut [Akech] left the refugee camp in Kenya and a life of poverty to become a supermodel does not imply that she had fully detached herself cognitively from those experiences and locations.
Even though she departed from the refugee camp in Kenya and transitioned into a new home and identity as a model, it did not sever her connection to the past. Instead, a persistent re-experiencing and reconstruction of past events may have left her mentally immobilised, resulting in a disrupted sense of identity and belonging.
Some of her statements, in which she identifies as a refugee, downplay her identity as a supermodel. This framing challenges the identity the public typically associates with her and reflects a sense of belonging rooted in her past in Kenya rather than her current reality.
Her statements, self-confessed depression, and struggles—culminating in a moment when she nearly took her own life—suggest that beneath those words lies a call for help from someone constantly reconstructing and re-experiencing moments of stress and despair from her past.
Many of us who have moved homes or experienced life transitions are susceptible to a disrupted sense of identity and home. Recognising this as a challenge is crucial to alleviating some of our present difficulties. Yet we often fail to look deep enough into our struggles to identify their root causes and find ways to address them.
Akech’s story reminds us that the past can remain with us, even when our circumstances improve. Her journey highlights how past experiences shape our sense of self and home. For many, the past is not left behind; it travels with us. Understanding this can help us rethink how we cope with change and how we support others navigating similar life transitions.
