UKRAINE: “I put my life on hold”- the story of a woman from Berdiansk who fled the occupation

Hanna Bielik

A psychologist advises people to be considerate when interacting with those who have survived the occupation

More than four years have passed since the day that became the starting point of a new reality for millions of Ukrainians. The people of Berdiansk were no exception. Under occupation, people tried to adapt to the changes and put their plans on hold for an indefinite “later.”

UKRAINE: “I put my life on hold”- the story of a woman from Berdiansk who fled the occupation

Yaryna [name changed for security reasons], a resident of Berdiansk, told i-vin.info about her years living under occupation, her departure, her attempt to start over from scratch, and the challenges IDPs face after relocating. Consequently, the psychologist offers advice on how to avoid asking traumatic questions or making insensitive comments to people affected by the war.

Next is Yarina’s direct speech (her words are in italics)

The day that divided life into “before” and “after”

That day began at 5 a.m., when the first explosion rang out. It felt as if it were right outside the window. I immediately realized something was wrong. These weren’t the training explosions at the firing range that we heard from time to time. I remember I was so scared I couldn’t even move. But the time to truly be afraid came on February 28. On the first day of the occupation, when Russian troops entered the city.

The Start of the Occupation

In the early days, there was no real sense of “what’s happening?” or “how bad/dangerous is this?” Everything felt temporary, and I didn’t have a specific reaction. For my family, however, everything was clear right away. They had already experienced the fear of occupation back in 2014, when people from neighboring areas were fleeing to Berdiansk. They knew about the difficult living conditions in the occupied territories of the Donetsk and Luhansk regions.

I don’t remember most of the days since the occupation began at all. Only that we lived in one room (for safety) and in complete isolation, because there was almost no internet. Time seemed to have simply stopped. And I was constantly waiting for life to get back on track soon, and for everything to go back to the way it was before.

Rethinking Values

I was supposed to start college in 2022, but my choice of major was a complete coincidence. My enrollment itself was a coincidence. When it came time to decide on my future career, I didn’t want anything to do with life under occupation. I didn’t want to apply, study, or make any decisions. Back then, my entire future was uncertain. In fact, I was putting my life on hold.

Still, I enrolled in the distance learning program at a Ukrainian university on a state scholarship. And I hoped to leave and enroll in another major as a full-time student.

As for the decision to speak Ukrainian, it just came to me on its own. There was no specific motivation; it just felt right, even if it was dangerous. Speaking my own language even under occupation is the only way for me to remind myself of where I am and who I am. Even when there are no yellow-and-blue flags around anymore, and any hint of your homeland’s symbols is being destroyed.

Taking a Risk for the Future

After two years under occupation, I finally decided to leave, because even the thought of a future under such conditions was terrifying.

The journey to government-controlled cities took about three days. The route went through Russia to Belarus, where there was already a land crossing into Ukraine. Everything went according to the scenario I had imagined: three checkpoints—in Russia and upon leaving it, and another in Belarus. Even though I “erased” everything from my phone before the checks (information about my studies, messages in Ukrainian, patriotic videos or photos, even ordinary sunset photos, so there would be absolutely nothing to latch onto), I was still terrified. I know: if they really wanted to send me back, all of that could have been recovered. During the checks, I tried to speak as little as possible and had a pre-planned story ready: “I’m visiting relatives.”

One thing shocked me the most. Before the pedestrian crossing, they told me I wouldn’t be able to cross the border because my Ukrainian passport had expired. I’ve never felt such stress in my life as I did then. At the very last step toward life in territory controlled by Ukraine, they almost turned me back. But everything worked out; they let me through.

A new city—a new chapter in life

When I found myself in a free Ukrainian city, it was amazing to me how alive the world is outside the occupied cities. It was strange to live knowing that you have at least some hope for a stable future. You have the right to plan and dream, and all of this is real and achievable in this space. However, I understand that three years under occupation will not pass without a trace, no matter how much I wish it would.

I also had my first experience looking for housing, finding a job, and living independently in a foreign city. And I felt as if I had grown up overnight, stopped being afraid of responsibility, started making plans, and began to enjoy meeting lots of people. In a word—living.

It was all accompanied by stress, but life here was bustling for everyone. And I was able to easily blend into this flow and discover a different side of myself. I never would have thought I could be so adaptable and sociable. During the entire time under occupation, there was no room to express these traits. And there was no desire to fulfill myself there either. There, I worried even about the smallest things, and my anxiety bordered on genuine paranoia. But here I am safe. I don’t worry that I’m doing something forbidden by speaking my language and wishing for a better future for my home. I put my life on hold for three years for this moment. Now I’m trying to rush to do everything at once. As if this time could be taken away from me again.

At first, I thought it would be extremely difficult for me in a new place. But I just needed an excuse to prove myself and show the world who I am after years of occupation. The challenges of adapting were no greater than those you face when looking for a place to live, a job, and friends in a new place.

Inappropriate Questions

People here experience the war in their own way and have completely different experiences related to it. That’s why it’s sometimes hard to understand others. They don’t understand me, and I don’t understand them. But that doesn’t always get in the way of understanding. When I first arrived, I thought that when others found out I was from Berdyansk, their reaction would be sympathy or at least polite silence. In reality, the most common reaction is curiosity. But sometimes people don’t think at all about how their questions might upset me. I really don’t want to answer the question of why I left. It seemed to me that it was too obvious to everyone why people leave an occupied area. But for some reason, no one asks how dangerous it is there or how neglected the city has become. Or whether it was emotionally difficult to live there, or if I miss home. Instead, they’re always curious if I have a Russian passport, which route I took, whether my family left, and what their political views are. When asking these questions, people usually don’t show even a shred of tact.

When they find out I’m from the East, the most common response is: “You speak Ukrainian very well.” And I have to constantly remind them that we went to Ukrainian schools, and people from Berdyansk know how to speak Ukrainian. I hear the most inappropriate comment every time I show even the slightest bit of homesickness. The responses are usually: “So go then” or “Why don’t you go?” And I often hear jokes directed at me, like “separatist” when I accidentally slip into Surzhyk, or “spy,” “informant” when I take photos of certain places.

Pain

The most painful thing is seeing, in some places, the conviction of others that our territories will never be returned. Especially when this is accompanied by the word Russian soldiers use when talking about pro-Ukrainian citizens—“zhduny(Awaiters).” It feels as though some people, who have never been under the threat of occupation, whose cities and homes are intact, are ready to give up the entire east just so the war would end. Then it seems that no one but us cares about our home. In my opinion, this is a mockery of the people who are waiting for de-occupation and a return home.

Dream

I will always miss home, though I am glad that all the worries and problems that were there are behind me. My wish will always be to return home, to Berdyansk, Ukraine. I want a better future not only for myself, but for my entire family and for everyone who is putting their lives there on hold.

What to keep in mind when communicating with IDPs and people who lived through the occupation

Yaryna’s story proves once again that Ukrainian society needs to learn how to communicate with people who have survived the occupation, and with everyone who has been forced to leave their homes. After all, we need to interact respectfully and build our future together.

Psychologist Yulia Pavlova advises against using trigger words and making hurtful comments:

“It’s difficult to identify universal trigger words, since every person who left the temporarily occupied territories or moved from frontline areas to relatively safe regions has their own experiences, triggers, memories, and associations.”

According to her, the most common trigger words can be identified:

“IDP.” Some believe this is a gentle way to refer to an internally displaced person, but in reality, it is condescending and demeaning.

Refugees. This term does indeed exist, but people displaced by the war within Ukraine are not refugees. Therefore, the term is incorrect and, for some, painful.

“There is specific terminology, such as IDP (internally displaced person) or a person who has moved due to the war. If it’s important to specify the location, we can say that the person is from eastern Ukraine or indicate a specific region or district—a person from Donetsk, Luhansk, Kherson, etc.,” the psychologist emphasizes.

Some people also use terms like: “easterners,” “Donbas folks,” “easterners,” “Donetsk/Luhansk scum,” and others.

“However, you shouldn’t even say these things as a joke, unless the person themselves refers to themselves that way in a joking manner and gives permission for their loved ones to say it,” emphasizes Yulia Pavlova.

As she points out, this is a devaluation of a person, portraying them as an enemy—even in the form of a joke—and playing into Russian disinformation. It’s like joking that a woman was raped because she’s too beautiful, and this is supposedly meant to be taken as a compliment. Or calling a victim of domestic violence a “sufferer.”

“If you see a funny, provocative meme and want to share it with your friends or IDP colleagues—it’s better to check first if they’re okay with that kind of humor, and then go ahead and share to your heart’s content,” notes Ms. Yulia.

There are also sensitive topics that are best avoided or discussed with caution. For example, financial assistance and benefits for IDPs. This is because such remarks often imply a privileged status. Therefore, the psychologist advises against saying: “You’re getting help,” or “Of course, you’ve received benefits here.” You shouldn’t compare a person’s current location to their hometown and ask, “Where was it better?”, “Is it better here?”, or “Why did you leave then?” Comparing experiences is also inappropriate: “Even though I’m a local, I rent a place too,” or “I would never leave my city.”

“We can’t predict all triggers; it’s better to respond to a person’s state and emotions,” notes Yulia. “If something upset them—apologize, perhaps clarify exactly what it was so you don’t bring up the topic again. And explain that you didn’t mean to cause pain.”

Of course, Ukrainians may be interested in learning about each other’s experiences. However, at times like these, it is important to remember that Ukraine is a country with a vast diversity of people and experiences. IDPs from 2014 and 2022, people displaced twice, military personnel and their families, the veteran community, people who left for Europe and returned, and pro-Ukrainian individuals who remain in the temporarily occupied territories.

“Of course, other people’s experiences are interesting and sometimes hard to understand, and questions may arise: ‘Why didn’t you leave right after the occupation?’, ‘What are your relatives’ political views?’, ‘Do you have a Russian passport?’”

The topic of occupation and leaving is quite sensitive and painful,” notes the psychologist. “Under occupation, a person might have taken actions that contradict their values-obtaining a document just to survive. Not everyone will want to share this (and not because they are FSB agents, but out of shame or a sense of guilt).

At the same time, not everyone can understand, because without having had such an experience, it may seem that you would have acted differently. If you’re very curious and want to learn more about a person’s experience, always start by asking if they’re ready to talk about it. If they agree, start with safe, neutral topics.

For example, daily life: how they organized it under occupation, how they stayed in touch with family and friends in government-controlled territory, and how they supported themselves. Then, if the person is comfortable with it, you can move on to more sensitive and personal topics. Or better yet, ask the person to share only what they are ready to share themselves.”

Some statistics on IDPs in Vinnytsia Oblast

As of March 1, 2026, nearly 177,000 internally displaced Ukrainians reside permanently in Vinnytsia Oblast. Of these, 1,433 are people with limited mobility, and 52,289 are children.

The state provides financial assistance to IDPs, helps resolve housing issues, and ensures medical and social care. In Vinnytsia Oblast, the following opportunities are available:

– financial assistance payments during the first months following the occupation;

– shelter services for IDPs with limited mobility;

– compensation of up to 70% of the cost of new housing;

– long-term medical and social care.

In addition, the Vinnytsia community organizes various activities for internally displaced persons, such as therapeutic, recreational, and wellness programs. It also provides certain free opportunities for children of IDPs.

Background on Berdiansk:

This year, on February 27, marked four years since the occupation of the city of Berdiansk. Following the occupation, Russian authorities stationed their units in administrative buildings and took control of the information space. Russian TV channels began broadcasting in the city, and the local radio station came under the occupiers’ control.

There have been documented cases of abductions and illegal detention of people who did not support the new “authorities.” The situation regarding basic needs has deteriorated: residents regularly face disruptions in the supply of electricity, water, gas, medicines, and food.

The occupying administration is also filling the empty homes of Berdyansk residents with military personnel or Russian citizens. Despite the occupation, partisan resistance continues in Berdyansk, and the Armed Forces of Ukraine are striking the occupiers’ military facilities.

Despite all the challenges, Berdyansk remains the heart of Ukraine’s “Azov,” and its residents await their return home.

by Hanna Bielik, Journalists of i-vin.info, The i-vin.info team is producing a documentary film about the occupation of Berdyansk based on the testimonies of its residents.

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