When the full-scale invasion happened, I thought it might be easier to survive—after all, this was not the first war I had experienced. When I was 14, my hometown of Horlivka, an industrial city in eastern Ukraine, was occupied by Russian-backed separatists. I was forced to flee, leaving behind my home and everything I had.
Eight years later, just as I had begun to find some stability, I had to leave again—this time from Kyiv. In 2022, the Ukrainian capital came under another Russian invasion. It felt both familiar and entirely new—like reliving a nightmare I had never fully escaped.
I knew how to evacuate, how to hide from Russian airstrikes, how to leave behind everything I love but still, something felt different. Maybe at 22, I felt mature enough to experience this for a second time. I could feel the pain of other people my age who were about to go through the same devastation and depression I did eight years ago.
After I evacuated and moved to the United States as a refugee and student at Columbia University, the real challenge began. No one tells you what happens when you leave a war zone. You think it’s over, that you’ve escaped, but the war doesn’t leave you.
It embeds itself deep inside, becomes a part of you. I’d flinch at loud noises in New York, car alarms or the subway, instinctively looking for somewhere to hide. And the sirens—they’d creep back into my head, even in this strange, safe city. At night, I’d dream of explosions, of running, dying, waking to the same paralyzing anxiety.
People in Ukraine would say, “It’s easy for you—you left.” And what could I say to that? Nothing. Because they were right, and yet wrong at the same time. Our experiences were different but the war was in both of us, in different ways.
I knew that I would forever be seen and defined by my trauma and, even more so, by the fact that I escaped. Now what? Should I let this destroy me and eat into my identity? Or should I turn this pain into something purposeful?
I chose the latter because I felt that somehow I couldn’t help myself anymore. But I believed that with my experience, and where I was, I could help others; through speaking up, advocacy, education, and the founding of my non-profit organization. It may not fully heal, but it helps to deal with it. Here’s what I discovered in the process of survival and renewal.
Be True to Yourself
The first step was for me to accept that my trauma was real and even recognize that I needed help before I set out to help others. When the first war hit at 14, I stayed in Ukraine. The society’s stigma around mental health shattered any hopes for support.
At 22, when I moved to the U.S., I promised myself I would look for mental health support. It wasn’t easy for me to ask for it, and neither was it easy to accept it but this time, I deeply understood its value.
While the war teaches you to be resilient, I had to also learn to soften—to let myself feel, grieve, and process the weight I had carried for years. Strength wasn’t just about surviving anymore; it became about allowing vulnerability, seeking connection, and rebuilding from within.
Choose What Moves You
After experiencing the full-scale invasion as a young adult, one fear consumed me more than any other—the future of Ukraine’s youth. Their present had been shattered, and any spark of hope for what lay ahead seemed violently extinguished by the war.
I knew then that my mission would be to help rebuild that future, step by step. It became a way to give others the same chance I had been fortunate enough to receive—to help them find a path out of the devastation that had overtaken our lives.
While in the U.S., I founded Brave Generation—where we are focused on facilitating education, leadership opportunities and mental health support for Ukrainian youth. Today, we’ve helped a 487-member network of Ukrainian students and facilitated $11.2 million in scholarships awarded to Ukrainian students.
Turn Your Pain Into Kindness
As a war survivor, it was easy for me to feel angry at the world because it was the pain talking. But once I started turning it into a sense of service and purpose, it became possible to see those around me with kindness.
I had to be kind if I wanted to transform the lives of those still caught in the crevices of the war. My dream was to make others’ dreams possible, and to do that, I reminded myself of all the people who helped me in my time of need.
When I moved to the U.S., I had nothing with me—only an idea: to create a network of young people who would one day help rebuild Ukraine. Soon after arriving, I met students at Columbia University who welcomed and supported me. I also met extraordinary people who had long been helping children in the U.S., including Karen and Irwin Redlener.
Karen became both a role model—an example of what compassionate, impactful leadership looks like—and a mentor. Her kindness, guidance, and experience were crucial in helping me start building a sustainable organization and support system. In uncertain early days, her generosity grounded me. That experience taught me something lasting: kindness during hardship can be life-changing. I felt a deep responsibility to pay it forward—and I understood that being kind was the most powerful way to do it.
Final Thoughts
Living with pain and turning the pain into purpose are both challenging journeys that test your patience, resolve, and ability to move forward. When I chose the latter path, I didn’t think it would come with immense healing for myself too.
If you can look at your trauma with honesty and acceptance, choose a mission that aligns with your inner purpose and what the world needs, and finally, view your pain with compassion, the impact that follows would truly be something you’re proud of.
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About the Author
Name: Tetiana Kotelnykova
Professional Title: Teaching Fellow at Yale University
Bio: Tetiana Kotelnykova Is A Graduate Student And Teaching Fellow At Yale University, Specializing In European And Russian Studies. Tetiana Is The Founder Of Brave Generation, A Nonprofit Organization And The Ukrainian Recovery Youth Global Initiative.
