Phenomenon of Poland
This is likely my last article about Poland.
As our VP of People often says, “The capacity of each person is limited.” And my capacity is nearing its end.
In transactional analysis, there’s a concept called “reparenting” — rewriting your childhood narrative and recreating the image of an inner parent to strengthen your personal resilience and ecosystem.
YouTube is full of decent videos thoroughly explaining the process.
As adults, we have the will and understanding to choose what’s best for us. We can analyze the past, reflect on our childhood, connect causes and effects, accept or reject our parental figures, and understand why they acted as they did.
Physiology tells us childhood ends around 12 years old. Psychologists argue it never truly ends. This is the essence of our survival ability: within each of us still resides that little 8-year-old girl who threw borscht off the balcony or the 6-year-old boy who colour on his mom’s brand-new white sneakers with a marker.
At any moment, we can reach out to them and rewrite the story — alter the conversation with a stressed-out, exhausted mom who couldn’t find the right words and yelled or hit us with a belt. Or with a dad who came home drunk and destroyed the fort you spent two hours building.
This is the essence of reparenting: to create the parent within ourselves that we lacked in childhood.
Poland is the kindest parent.
When I was heading here, I didn’t know that for three months, I’d be held in warm embrace, cuddled and comforted no matter what. That I’d be able to grieve and cry out everything I needed during this acute period of pain and shock. Exhale, stand up, straighten my shoulders, and gather strength. On February 24th, I simply "sped west," moving in the opposite direction of Russia.
I don’t even remember where I was heading, just that I wanted to get as far away from russia as possible.
Three months in Poland meant finding a fully stocked refrigerator when we arrived at our Warsaw apartment. It was chicken broth left waiting for us on the balcony. It was order, cleanliness, and maximum care, coupled with unconditional acceptance of any of my state — tears, tantrums, strange behaviors, or inadequacy.
Poland was the three-screen-long messages from a woman I didn’t know, who waited for five days for us to arrive and prepared the apartment. She texted every two hours, even at night, asking how many kilometers to the border were left and how I was feeling.
They strung together clumsy yet heartfelt words of support in English and poured them into the car, where I drove for hours on end — exhausted, sweaty, hungry, and worn out.
I read those messages like ancient scrolls of truth and salvation, as if every letter was a balm to my frayed nerves and trembling body.
At night, crawling one kilometer per hour in a massive line at the border, while my sons and mother tried to sleep in awkward, cramped positions, I read those messages as an antidote to despair. Helplessness would overwhelm me by 4 or 5 a.m., when exhaustion peaked and the sensation of sand in my eyes became unbearable.
The owner of our apartment wrote that I was strong and would make it, that she was waiting for me, had cooked soup, and bought chocolate for the kids. She said cozy beds were ready, there was hot water and coffee, and that she wouldn’t visit for a week to let us rest and recover. And if I didn’t want to see anyone afterward, she would understand and not disturb us.
She said my kids would go to school, that she had arranged two interviews for me, and that if I needed a million dollars, she’d leave it at the door in a suitcase.
All so my family and I could feel better.
“Olga, you are amazing. I know you can do it. I believe in you so much. And I also know this is just temporary and will pass like a bad dream. You are on a tough road, but remember, at the end of it, people are waiting for you. You are not alone. You matter. Your courage and strength matter.”
Every message from our apartment owner is a mantra I reread in difficult moments, like now.
I wish for all of us to have an inner parent as strong and powerful as the Poles are to Ukrainians today. And for us to be such parents to our children and one another. This is unprecedented and unique.
I know that when someone nearby believes in you and your nation — absolutely and unconditionally — you don’t stand a chance of failing. You will stand tall.
Because behind you is an ironclad, unconditional, powerful backup — Poles.
Patrycja, Lidia, Andrea I will never forget it.
In the photo, my younger son waves the Polish flag on the streets of Warsaw.
May 31, 2022.