Personal reflections from my time on the ground

She’s a little girl. Still in diapers. Blonde. All wrapped up in warm winter clothing. And she’s carrying a bag of diapers almost as tall as she is.

This is the image that stays with me when I think of what the people of Ukraine have endured this past year.

It was early March 2022 and this little girl was at the border with her mother, waiting for customs agents to check their papers so they could walk across into Slovakia. To safety. They were traveling in a group with other mothers and a few boys. Everyone was loaded down with as much as they could carry.

This little girl was quiet. One boy happily enjoyed some candy. Another boy was struggling, crying, clearly upset. I realized I was witnessing a moment in time. Two hours later and it could be the little girl who was upset while the boys played.

Their homeland had been recently invaded. The panic they must have felt, scrambling to gather up essentials, finding transportation to the border, leaving their homes behind, leaving their husbands and fathers behind. The mothers doing their best to couch the trauma, rallying their children and their excitement about the adventure they are on.

February 24, 2022

It’s a date that will be forever etched on the minds of so many millions of people. February 24, 2022. A week later and I was on a plane from London, Canada to Budapest, Hungary. It was in Budapest where I would be based for three months working to support a large humanitarian response to the hostilities. Our teams worked not just in Ukraine, but in the seven neighbouring countries where people were fleeing. One year later and our teams are still there.

During my 12 week deployment I worked in Hungary, Ukraine, Slovakia and Moldova. I met people who had fled the only home they have known. I met people who were opening their doors to welcome Ukrainians into their homes. I heard colleagues tell stories of people leaving teddy bears on the bridges between Ukraine and Romania for children to pick up as they crossed. I saw an older man come into a centre in western Ukraine where used clothing and household items were being distributed. He came to get a fork.

The shelling of the human spirit

“Now there are tears. I put on a happy face and it suppresses the tears.
But that’s not dealing with this shit.
I don’t know what I prefer – tears and lots of them – or being numb.”

Diary entry, August 8, 2022

When I returned home, I was a shell of myself. I cried. A lot. I didn’t want to take part in anything that used to bring me joy. I felt hollow and empty. I wasn’t eating well. I was drinking far too much wine for my own liking. I wasn’t living. I was going through the motions and even that was a struggle. My journal is filled with big bold, sometimes undecipherable scribbles. I entertained thoughts of ending all the pain.

And the nightmares. Surprisingly, not about the situation in Ukraine but about the time I spent in western Africa in 2014, supporting a humanitarian response to the Ebola outbreak. Nightmares about all the death I witnessed. Nightmares about corpses coming to life.

At the same time, I was feeling like an imposter. When I was in Ukraine, I was never in an active conflict area. I didn’t see the worst of the worst. What right did I have to complain or be so upset? I still had a very safe home to return to.

Silencing the stigma

Only my closest people know the details but I’m ready to share some more widely. There is still so much stigma attached to mental health. We absolutely need to talk about it if we want to silence that stigma. Asking for help is not a sign of weakness. If anything, I think it takes tremendous courage to admit that you can’t fix something on your own.

My family doctor diagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder and depression. She offered medication as one possible course of action. I refused. For me, medication would be the last resort if everything else failed.

Instead, I stepped out of my comfort zone and had a therapy session with a horse. With tears streaming down my face, I wrapped my arms around as much as I could of this huge, gentle animal. She gave me a horse hug back. I hugged trees. Literally. I felt the rough bark on my cheek and tried to tap into their energy. I screamed at the top of my lungs while standing in a big empty field on top of a mountain. I journaled.

I found an amazing social worker who I continue to work with. She regularly reminds me of the progress I am making. I am in a much better place than when I first returned home. Having a strong, supportive circle has absolutely helped. Family members asked me to explain to help them better understand. Friends listened and accepted me and all of my many moods. My employer told me to “take as much time as I needed”.

Not a quick fix

It’s a year later and although I’m back to feeling more like myself, I know there is still a lot of work to do. My rising anxiety levels as the calendar crept closer to February 24 are testament to that. Tears are falling as I write this. The other day, I had a breakdown during a meeting at work. My colleagues rallied around me, offered to listen if I wanted to talk. They told me I was brave for voicing my struggles; that it made them feel I was creating a safe space for them to also share.

My first instinct was to cower; to cancel upcoming get-togethers with friends, to hunker down in the safety of my own bunker. I fought it as long as I could, but my instincts won.

Now, instead of a very busy February 24, I am spending the day on my own. I will try to put into practice the tools I have learned over the past several months, to slow things down before I am 100 percent activated and when it’s almost impossible to walk back from the ledge. It’s futile to try and avoid the news but I am not actively seeking out stories about Ukraine. I’ll focus on taking care of me today. I’ll remind myself to be gentle with myself.

And I’ll think about that little girl.

Maybe she’s out of diapers by now and hopefully still all wrapped up in warm winter clothing. Where is she? Is she safe? Is she healthy? Has she been able to reunite with her daddy? Is she upset or happily playing with a new toy?

I will never know.