Letters from Ukraine, 2022
There’s no manual
On navigating wartime emotions
Since the war began, we’ve been receiving brief text messages from the State Emergency Service of Ukraine every couple of days. They’ve contained practical information on topics ranging from how to comfort a child during nearby combat to what to do in case of a water outage.
For example, regarding the air raid siren that goes off from time to time, we’ve been instructed to switch off the water and gas. Turn off the lights and close the curtains. Shelter in a safe place with documents, money, and food. Don’t panic.
We might get governmental advisories on the practicalities of staying alive, but in a war zone — in a foreign country, with a newborn baby, with the pandemic still raging quietly in the background — there are so many emotions and daily realities for which I have no manual.
Take the air raid siren. It indicates that there is the threat of an air strike somewhere in the region. The threat is likely only within or near the capital, Kyiv, but in an abundance of caution, the entire region is still notified. We live out in the countryside, away from any remotely strategic location. As grim as it is to contemplate, if the Russians fired on us, they’d be wasting their missiles.
Therefore, it’s futile to take cover and shelter each time the siren goes off, given the very low risk. Yes, I think we all keep in the back of our mind that something could happen. Otherwise, we basically have to carry on.
But a question that I struggle to suppress irks within me: How would we know if there really was a threat coming our away? It’s somewhat of a “boy-who-cried-wolf” reality, as one of my relatives insightfully pointed out, and it makes my heart race.
So how can I cheerfully disregard an air raid siren and continue singing peppy, twinkly nursery rhymes to my three-month-old son when I’m hearing outside what I never thought I would hear outside of a World War II film? There’s no manual for that.
Along with the anxiety, there’s the guilt that always seems to appear alongside the hot, home-cooked dinner we’re fortunate to still have each evening.
I stare at the creamy mashed potatoes, savory pork meatballs, and the variety of pickled vegetables fighting for room on my plate, and I can’t help but think of the brave Ukrainian soldiers out in the cold eating rations and those in besieged cities like Mariupol who are facing serious food insecurity.
I also feel guilty for simply being alive when thousands of Ukrainians have already lost their lives due to this war.
There’s no manual for how to deal with this amount of guilt.
When it comes to the enemy, there is no manual for how to conjure up 100% joy towards the news of Russian casualties, as I feel I should be doing. I know that every dead Russian soldier weakens Putin and is one less Russian that can kill an innocent Ukrainian. But I also know that many of these men had wives and girlfriends who are now living their worst nightmare.
There’s no manual for so much of this.
So, I’ve had to start writing my own. By day 22 of a war, you begin to figure out how to handle the wave of emotions. You must. Otherwise, you’ll drown.
The anxiety around the air raid siren? I’m learning that only with time does it get easier to ignore it. The key word here is “easier.” I don’t think I’ll ever be able to casually brush it off.
The guilt? I’m realizing that all we can do is thank God for His providence and continue to pray for and help others wherever possible.
That inner conflict? I have to be okay with conflicting emotions existing inside me. However, as Russia continues to stun the world with its war crimes, my emotions get less gray — I have to get used to accommodating levels of hatred in my body that I never anticipated I would have to.
More and more rules write themselves every day.
Sadness? It feels a bit more manageable when we laugh, especially around a shared meal. On the days when those laughs are hard to draw out, a little alcohol helps (as it usually does). We also toast za myr — to peace.
Cabin fever? Step outside in the yard when possible. Breathe in the big open sky for a few minutes. Thank God for the sunshine that is becoming more and more frequent as spring approaches.
And when everyone’s spirits just need a little lifting? Carry the baby around downstairs for a little while. His goofy little smile is contagious.
He is part of the future Ukraine for which the heroes are fighting.
Slava Ukraini. Heroyam slava. (Glory to Ukraine. Glory to the heroes.)
