Ordered to Reset.
On February 24, I was supposed to speak at the People First Club on the topic of "Building a Learning System in IT Companies."
I had been preparing the presentation for a week. For the first time, I decided not to use powerpoint but, inspired by the top managers of iDeals Virtual Data Rooms - the company I was working at that moment - , opted for Miro instead. I loved this approach, and on February 23, armed with my new blogger lamp-giant (that’s what it was called on the receipt, RL-21, 54 cm), I successfully rehearsed my presentation.
At 4:57 AM on February 24, I wrote to Anna Golovchenko, a founder of the People First Club, to say I couldn’t present because I was packing suitcases. I want to express my immense gratitude to Anna for the support she provided throughout our arduous journey to the border. I will never forget it. Throughout our escape, she was there, answering questions and always ready to help.
It’s been a month and a half since we fled.
Yes. I’m not ashamed to admit that we are refugees because we quite literally ran away from the war. And as Arkady Babchenko says,
Precision in definitions leads to clarity in understanding reality.
The sooner you understand reality, the sooner you integrate into it. Another good expression is "Refusal to accept reality has never helped anyone change it".
The merciless voice of my inner identity tells me that my family is integrating into this new reality far too slowly, that we left too late, and constantly reminds me that instead of packing an emergency bag, I took the kids to restaurants, bought skirts, books, and blogger lamps, planned numerous career coaching consultations, and even started building my website on the eve of the war.
Everything went down the drain.
For a month and a half, I — a person with two higher degrees, a solo mom of two sons, and a passionate professional — have been scraping myself off the pages of a black-and-white coloring book where, every morning, the war pastes me in after roughly cutting out my figure.
They cut me out carelessly, trimming the edges and shaving off all my resources and strength.
“Ordered to reset,” they said to me, rudely ejecting me from the delicate, painstakingly constructed life where I was smart, mature, and accomplished. Where I managed to succeed, no matter how hard it was.
For a month and a half, I’ve been observing myself from the outside, reading myself like a manual on coping.
Wikipedia says coping refers to actions a person takes to deal with (or “cope with”) stress. That definition irritated me. I don’t like my coping mechanisms. They’re primitive and unhealthy. My psychotherapist, I feel, must be sick of hearing the same things from me over and over. But for several months, he has patiently and compassionately repeated that I’m okay, that I don’t have depression or apathy, and that I am, in fact, coping.
“Olya, you’re coping. You’re already coping. Olya, you’re coping.”
This phrase echoes in my head like a talking teddy bear that speaks when you press its belly. I suppose I am coping.
“You need to broaden your coping strategies,” my wonderful psychotherapist tells me. He says I am an extremely empathetic person, which is why all of this is so hard for me.
Meanwhile, I’m in Warsaw, Poland, and he’s in Sumy, Ukraine. I feel indescribably guilty about this every time...
But let’s talk about coping.
For example, if you’re used to drinking alcohol to deal with stress, try occasionally replacing it with something like push-ups. The effect will be similar — good mood and higher energy levels. If you’re used to stress eating, periodically replace it with other activities like reading books, writing posts, or playing soccer.
I even bought a ball for the kids. Now I just need to drag myself to the soccer field right outside my house.
Coping mechanisms aren’t automatic defense mechanisms; we can consciously control them. For our health, it’s crucial to have a wide range of coping strategies and to wilfully decide what we choose today — eating or going for a run.
My range of coping mechanisms is expanding very slowly. The caring voice of my psychotherapist reassures me that it’s okay, that things are progressing at their own pace, and that I should give myself as much time as I need. He reminds me that I have all the conditions necessary for this. The company I work for provides every opportunity and more to adapt to this new life.
Yet, in my mind, the painful past echoes in the words of one of my former managers: “Olya, business won’t wait for your kids to grow up.” And since then, I’ve constantly felt like I’m running late, always running late.
I didn’t pack an emergency bag;
I didn’t extend the kids’ passports;
I didn’t replace the timing belt;
I didn’t create a financial safety net;
I didn’t plant a tree.
Today, I reframed it as:
A year ago, I dared to switch from retail to IT. It was terrifying.
In January 2022, I took on five career coaching clients, two of whom, after a short break, are now ready for new career opportunities, diligently improving their English, and crafting resumes and LinkedIn profiles.
No matter how painful, difficult, or uncertain it was, on February 24, at 9:00 AM, I put my family in the car and, after six sleepless days, brought us to Warsaw.
Today, I’m working full-time, consulting, and organizing my new life.
And most importantly — it’s just the beginning.
April 22, 2022.