"The Path of Dasha: The Story of One Ukrainian Woman"
February 24th — The Day That Split Life in Two
At 5 a.m., Dasha was awakened by a phone call. It was her mom: "Dasha, wake up. The war has started..."
These words hit like a bolt from the blue, forever dividing life into "before" and "after." In just a few minutes, Dasha was no longer the same girl from Kyiv who had planned a normal workday; she had become a woman who had to save herself and her loved ones.
The First Hours: Panic, Traffic Jams, and a Cold-Headed Decision
Dasha notes that at that moment, she was surprisingly composed, while her boyfriend was completely lost. "There was no plan. Honestly, I'm still amazed at how I pulled it together. I just acted instinctively, but correctly," she recalls.
They couldn't get out of Kyiv on the first day; the city was choked with traffic and panic. But this delay, as it turned out, saved their lives. They learned in time about the danger on the Zhytomyr highway, where there were already tanks and shootings.
"I called relatives, friends, urging them to leave together. But no one believed it would last long. Everyone was more afraid of change than of the threat," she remembers bitterly.
On the second day of the war, Dasha and her boyfriend headed west. Two days without sleep, traffic jams, alarming news, and finally — Ivano-Frankivsk region. There, she was taken in by colleagues she had never met before. They worked in a different department but extended a helping hand. Her parents, however, remained in Kyiv, not daring to leave, stubbornly holding on to their familiar reality and believing that "this is all a provocation" and "it will pass soon." But it didn't pass soon.
Italy: A Foreign Place and the Need to Act
Dasha was persuaded by her boyfriend to move from Ivano-Frankivsk to Italy. He wanted to keep her safe and stayed behind himself, living with Dasha's colleagues who had given him shelter. Dasha herself had a cousin and her daughter in Italy, and that's where she went. It seemed it should be a place of peace, even if temporary. But there was no peace.
"In Italy, I didn't feel at home at all. It was a foreign place. I was unwelcome," she admits. Her sister and her daughter, with whom she had once been very close, made it clear from day one: she was a burden. "They expected me to stay for a week or two and then go back. But I couldn't go back. And I had nowhere to go..." Dasha recalls.
When the ground disappears beneath your feet, you look for something to hold on to. For Dasha, this lifeline was helping others. Despite her personal crisis, she started coordinating a volunteer movement, using her vast network of contacts—colleagues, friends, their relatives, and acquaintances.
"I just found people who needed to be evacuated, where people were, where dogs were. Who could pick up whom, who to connect with. A whole movement of coordinators was organized. Of course, my focus was on Kyiv and the Kyiv region—I know those places well," she says.
It wasn't just a volunteer duty; it was salvation. She felt important again, that she was doing something meaningful. Thanks to her efforts, she was able to get her sisters' grandparents out of a hot zone.
It wasn't just a volunteer duty; it was salvation. She felt important again, that she was doing something meaningful. Thanks to her efforts, she was able to get her sisters' grandparents out of a hot zone.
Torn Connections: The Parents She Couldn't Convince
Dasha's parents stayed in Kyiv until the ninth day of the war. When the city was nearly under siege, they finally left. "They just abandoned their car in the middle of the road, got on a train without their belongings, only their documents," she says.
Their new temporary home was a monastery in Chernivtsi, where they helped, prayed, and waited. And then, later, Italy. At the end of March, her father told Dasha they had crossed the border and gone to Italy as part of a "Ukrainian cultural rescue" program.
Dasha's parents are artists from the National Opera of Ukraine. In Italy and Europe, they performed, promoting Ukrainian culture. Their living conditions were spartan: bunk beds, six to eight people in a room. Dasha couldn't visit them; there wasn't even space for a mattress. Later, when Kyiv was liberated, her mother returned home to work until retirement. Her father remained in Italy.
A New Haven: A Foreign Home, but an Open Heart
Dasha continued to work remotely. Her company didn't fire her; on the contrary, they supported her financially. But living with her sister was becoming harder. So she took a chance: she wrote a letter to the company's management in Italy, explaining her situation. The reaction was immediate. A colleague offered her a room in his house. "They prepared a room for me in literally one day. I cried with relief then," Dasha recalls.
Despite the pain and tension in her relationship with her sisters, Dasha remained grateful: "I am grateful to them for everything—for a roof over my head during the most terrifying days. When I left, I thanked them. But after that, our connection was severed..."
England: A Ticket to the Unknown
Dasha didn't know where her path would lead, but she knew she couldn't stay in Italy any longer. She started looking for new options. Her boyfriend contacted a friend of his who lived in the UK, and he agreed to host her under the "Homes for Ukraine" program. Hope seemed to appear.
But the visa didn't arrive. The days passed in waiting. Meanwhile, her mother's friend offered her a move to Germany, where there was also temporary shelter. Dasha had already packed her things. Then suddenly, on a Thursday evening, two days before her planned departure, the UK visa confirmation arrived.
"I remember that moment like it was yesterday. It was like a sign. I knew I was expected there. That there, I could start everything from scratch," she says.
On May 7, 2022, Dasha arrived in the UK—to a family that had opened their home and hearts to her. The city of Swindon. Life starting over again.
This was the Ryzhuk family—people with big hearts. "I still recall with warmth how they welcomed me. So sincerely, so caring, with attention to every little detail. For the first time in a long time, I felt not like a burden, but like a guest who was awaited," she says.
A New Office, a New Country, a New Language
In October 2022, her company offered her an equivalent position in the British office. She was now responsible for the markets in England and Ireland. It was a step forward, but also a challenge.
"I moved to Cambridge. I rented an unfurnished apartment. It was difficult, but friends helped. I managed," she says.
It wasn't daily life that was the hardest part. The office was. "99% were British. Many with such an accent that I simply didn't understand what they were saying. I would come home and physically feel my brain was overheated," she recalls of the first few months.
But she didn't give up. She asked people to explain things more slowly, clarified, took notes, and studied. And in just six months, she was fully immersed: "My English improved to the point where I was no longer afraid of emails, calls, or any meeting."
After the Rise, a Fall
It seemed that life was finally stabilizing. But a year and a half later, the company faced a crisis. Losses in the Ukrainian and Russian markets forced it to downsize. Dasha was laid off, and it was a real blow.
"The most terrible part was that I was being prepared for a promotion. I was already performing new duties. They told me: in the new year, you'll get a new position. And instead, I was laid off," she says with pain.
Darkness Within: Depression and the Fight for Herself
Being laid off was not just a professional loss for Dasha. It was a blow to everything—stability, confidence, the future. "I didn't understand what tomorrow would bring. I was paying for my housing, helping my parents, supporting my boyfriend in Ukraine. And now—emptiness," she recalls.
She was left alone, without a job, in a foreign country. A period she calls the darkest of her life began: "Those were probably the most terrible three months. Not even comparable to the start of the war."
Symptoms appeared that were hard to ignore: exhausting fatigue, apathy, procrastination, and no strength to even get out of bed. "I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. I had no strength to even leave the house. I felt destroyed," she says.
British doctors diagnosed her with depression and offered medication. But Dasha refused, afraid of dependence. "I just wanted to get through it. I wanted to find myself, not numb the pain with pills."
As if the trials weren't enough, during this same period, she was accidentally diagnosed with a tumor. "I just went to Ukraine for a few days before starting a new job; I wanted a regular check-up. And suddenly—a diagnosis. The stress and depression had probably taken their toll," she says. Doctors in the UK confirmed the diagnosis and recommended surgery. Dasha was again on the edge—physically, mentally, and financially.
Step by Step Back to Life
She knew: either she would give in, or she would rise again. And she rose.
"At first, I just forced myself to get up, then to drink water, then to open my laptop. Small goals every day," she shares.
Friends and parents called and wrote every day, offering support. It was like a lighthouse when you're in the dark and there's a light somewhere. "I started reading again. Listening to music. Looking for anything that would distract me from the constant anxiety."
At the same time, she was actively looking for a job. She submitted over 1,000 applications, repeatedly reaching the final stage—and each time, she wasn't chosen. She set herself a deadline: six months. Otherwise, she would return to Ukraine.
To save money, she moved from an apartment to a room and started receiving minimal state assistance. And she held on.
Finding Herself Again
And it happened. In one day, she received two offers. And she chose the one that provided stability. A new job. A new team. A new start. "In less than a year, I was already promoted. It was proof—I could do it. I'm back in my place. I'm alive. I'm strong."
Love at a Distance: The Relationship That Couldn't Withstand the War
At the beginning of the full-scale invasion, Dasha was in a relationship. Her boyfriend stayed in Ukraine; he himself insisted she go abroad to be safe. For a long time, hope persisted between them: this would end soon, and everything would be as before.
"We believed the war would end soon. That it was temporary. That we would just get through this and return to each other," she recalls.
But time passed, the war continued, and Dasha's life changed. She was building a new reality, learning to live in a different country, to work, to speak a different language, and to find herself. The distance was becoming not just geographical, but internal.
"One day, he told me: you have to choose—are you staying or are you coming back?" she recalls. But for her, it was no longer just a question of geography; it was a question of her personal path. She stayed. And they broke up. Without scandals or resentment. They simply couldn't withstand the circumstances.
"We're not enemies. We broke up because that's how it happened. He saw how I was changing, how I was adapting. And, I think, he subconsciously understood: my place was no longer beside him," Dasha says.
Despite the breakup, she continues to maintain a connection with him and his family. Her mother still talks to him; he lives nearby and helps out. The warmth didn't disappear; it just transformed.
"He's closer to my mom than I am now. And I'm grateful to him for that."
