Psykologinngornermi 80-ikkunni ernguttarneq imigassamillu kultureqarneq nutaamik paasisaqarfiusoq

In the white blocks of Ilulissat, where Kunuunnguaq Ejnar Hammond Iversen lived as a child, it was often happening. That was how it was in the 80s.

- There was an 80s atmosphere, very colorful, wild hair style and a lot of emotions enhanced by alcohol. A little too chaotic sometimes.

Kunuunnguaq Iversen smiles as he talks. He is now 42 years old.

He recalls his childhood home as a kind of "safe haven" amidst the chaos that surrounded him.

His parents were loving and generous people who worked hard every day. On the weekends, the parents opened their door to friends and acquaintances who were ready to party, play music and live life - or needed a couch to sleep on.

But as colorful and festive as it could be in the block on a Friday night, the city could be just as quiet and silent once the drinking and partying was over.

"When everyone has fallen asleep on the weekends, there's something special about hearing the echo of a drunk man's cry of helplessness on the street between the buildings. He was so happy just before," he says.

For Kunuunnguaq Iversen, the contrasts between celebration and despair could feel frightening – and he didn't understand at the time why people behaved the way they did.

- People were restless, and people were rootless. That was the culture.

He remembers that near the blocks where he lived, people were sitting outside the store, getting drunk and shouting.

- My dad always said I should remember to be nice to them. But I didn't understand why at the time.

The behavior he witnessed as a child in the wild 80s has since come to know and understand through his work as a psychologist at a drug treatment center in the Faroe Islands. Here he meets many who struggle with alcohol and complex traumas.

- We all want to survive. In addition, it can be different what tools people collect and use to survive. Some of them may be inappropriate, he says.

A loving home with harsh surroundings

Kunuunnguaq Iversen's mother was 23 years old when he was born. It was October 10, 1983, and it snowed a lot that day, he has been told.

Both of his parents are from North Greenland. His mother was born and raised in Uummannaq, and his father is originally from the mining town of Qullissat. However, his father was adopted to Ilulissat when he was little.

It is one mystery who Kunuunnguaq Iversen's biological grandfather is.

"My father's stepparents died far too early, in the midst of his youth. He was a musician himself and very kind to people, perhaps because he himself had longed for it," he says.

The mother's time in Uummannaq was characterized by her father's extremely demanding job on a police boat, where he witnessed a little bit of everything.

- And when she met my father and moved to Ilulissat, she no longer had to tiptoe around, and there was also room for her emotions – and she had a whole youth to catch up on. So she kind of followed my father's slipstream in that way, he says.

But Kunuunnguaq Iversen – and the little sister he had when he was 11 – did not lack love and care at home. And unlike many of his friends' parents, Kunuunnguaq Iversen's mother and father remained together after his wild teenage years.

- I am so grateful that my parents stayed together, and that it wasn't just the remnants of their chaotic youth that I experienced – but also that they can be rocks for each other despite the tough odds.

Around him, however, there were others who did not have the same conditions.

- I had friends and acquaintances who had substance abuse. I also had friends who had parents who had abuse, he says.

As a teenager in the 1990s in Ilulissat, he also witnessed the emptiness that followed when a young person committed suicide.

- They treated it like a ghost – because they never talked about it, but they were afraid of it, he says.

Although Kunuunnguaq Iversen never lost a lover or close friend, he knew the people who passed away.

- I also think that it contributed a little to people just shutting down their emotions a little, he says.

It wasn't something people talked about – not with parents, teachers or friends. However, he remembers that it was probably possible to talk to psychologists – with the few resources available at the time.

"I didn't feel like I needed it. I went to the gym, ran away from it, or used it to make art," he says.

Among other things, through music. After high school, he spent time with the band Thornstone, delving into music and songwriting. The lyrics were never about partying and trouble, but about sadness, fear and neglect.

- Maybe I wanted to tell a story that could free me from the feelings that were inside me. Maybe it was a form of self-help, because I didn't have the tools at the time.

Beautiful Daisy and the Faroe Islands

One evening in 2009 at what was then called Murphy's, Kunuunnguaq Iversen asked a woman to dance. Her name was Daisy, she was Faroese and a chef at Hotel Arctic. He was 25 years old and had just been accepted to the psychology program in Aarhus.

- She was very beautiful, says Kunuunnguaq Iversen.

In addition, she had something that he was missing in his life; a kind of extroversion and an assertive and charismatic way of being present in the world.

- She challenged my overthinking and my tendencies to shut down, he says, adding:

- I'm glad I took the chance.

Two months after they met in the city, they moved to Aarhus together. The following year, they had their first child. Today, they have three children together: Andrias, Arnaq and Vigga.

In 2016, the family decided to move to the Faroe Islands. Both because Kunuunnguaq Iversen could get a job there as a newly qualified psychologist, but it was also Daisy's dream that the children would also experience growing up in her homeland. They moved to the small town of Nes, located north of Thorshavn.

The plan was to stay for five years and then move to North Greenland.

- Along the way, we discovered how safe and comfortable the children felt. Also in relation to the many opportunities available to the children; gymnastics, swimming, football competitions all year round – the stability and stimuli that children need, he says.

Kunuunnguaq Iversen works as a psychologist at a substance abuse center in the city they live in. Here, people who have problems with alcohol or drugs come for detoxification and then for treatment for the traumas that are often the cause of their abuse.

- I never thought I would work with trauma clients, but I am incredibly happy about it today, he says.

Psychology was not something he applied to as a young man because it had been a lifelong dream. In fact, as a child, he dreamed of becoming a film director.

- It was probably mostly about being a little realistic about getting a stable income and having a job that was secure, he says.

He also discovered that he was good at it. Psychology and trauma therapy combined his interest in biology, evolution and neurology – the reasons behind the driving force in humans.

Has it given you a better understanding of the people you met growing up?

- Yes, actually. I remember when I was a kid, there was an old lady who struggled with alcohol who lived in the same block as us. She used to sneak in and knock on the door and ask my parents if they had any money she could borrow, he says.

His parents typically asked her to wait in the doorway while they searched, and Kunuunnguaq Iversen could hear her mumbling, "I feel like I'm going to die."

At the time, he wondered why she always mumbled that.

"But it's actually alcohol withdrawal. People get so anxious that they feel like they're going to die," he says.

- It was all of a sudden that things like this started popping up in my head when I started to recognize patterns in the people I treat today.

The dream of making a difference for one's homeland

Although family life and everyday life with a garden, house, job and leisure activities in the Faroe Islands are safe and pleasant to be in, North Greenland continues to pull in Kunuunnguaq Iversen.

Boiled lamb's head is not the same as eating seal meat, cod stomach and raw seal liver, he says, laughing.

In 2024, he returned to Ilulissat for an extended period for the first time since moving out of town to study. For three months, he worked at the Allorfik drug and gambling addiction center.

He is still affiliated there today and helps to guide and spar with the employees at the clinic.

- I am incredibly grateful that I am allowed to help them. Because I have felt – and still feel – an enormous sense of shame and guilt that I am not using my skills in the country I love, he says and continues:

- That's why it's good that I can at least supervise – before I move back to Greenland to do even more.

It is his and his wife's dream to move back to Greenland one day. Not only to work, but also to make a difference by clearing up some of the generational traumas that haunt many families.

- The majority of people who struggle with substance abuse struggle with underlying causes such as ADHD, impulsivity, lifelong confusion and complicated trauma – and this can affect children, for example, he says.

- In bad cases, it can also turn into a personality disorder, because people hide their trauma behind a thick mask that they don't know is stuck on their face.

That's why he would like to work with families and investigations if he were to move his work to Greenland.

- Psychiatry must also step in here, says Kunuunnguaq Iversen.

But it is not free. On the contrary, it requires extremely many resources.

Resources that municipalities must prioritize in an already tight budget, which Kunuunnguaq Iversen acknowledges. However, he does not believe it is impossible to make a difference.

"I know that the treatments I've worked with work," he says.

- I also think we underestimate how resilient people are when it comes to trauma. It is intensive and painful to go through such treatment. But the rewards are great.