August
Reflections about summer and burnout.
I didn’t notice how August came at all. Summer days, filled with worries, work, grief, and occasional moments of joy, are passing by too fast. I found myself frequently pausing in the middle of the tasks and transferring back in time when life was more peaceful and simple. My mind keeps coming to the years when there was no invasion, no constant terror, no disappointment in the world, and no bitterness. I think about the days when I was painting landscapes and flowers instead of translating raw war footage, fundraising for military equipment, raising awareness about Russian crimes, and trying to overcome centuries of Russian propaganda and lies. Some days, I think it’s all too much, and I can’t do it anymore, and I desperately want my old life back. I look at the people in my circle whose lives didn’t change that much and who occasionally donate to Ukrainian causes but, in general, just continue to live as they lived before – and I think that I can choose to live like them, too. Then I think about my friends on the frontlines, about my husband’s family who cannot return home, about all the people in Ukraine who don’t have this choice and can’t hide from war, and who are much more exhausted than all of us who live in safety – and I think that I cannot give up.
This week, I found out that a Ukrainian soldier I got to know through my work was killed. It happened a few months ago, but I found out only now. His death came as a huge shock to me. He radiated so much life, joy, and kindness. When Russians invaded Ukraine in February 2022, he took up arms the same day and went to protect his loved ones. Over the years, he became a very experienced soldier, and it seemed that nothing could happen to him, that he knew what to do to stay alive, but Russians still killed him. When I think about how many Ukrainian people Russians killed, my heart drops, and my brain cannot believe it. The pain that Russians brought and continue to bring is immeasurable and incomprehensible. I can only hope that this pain will return to them tenfold.
On days like these, it seems that everything I do is not enough, and too late. Even though my mind understands that this war is a marathon, not a sprint, that I need to keep going, and that what I do matters, I can’t fight the feeling of helplessness and complete exhaustion. If a friend were in the same situation as I am, I would tell them to take some time off, recharge, and start doing things that bring them energy so they have the strength to continue fighting and moving forward. For some reason, when I give such advice to myself, it doesn't work.
I will finish with a poem I wrote last September. It is relevant just as it was a year ago.
Summer I blinked, and summer was gone. Too worried, too exhausted to notice anything. I try to remember things that I did yesterday, but the ground underneath spins faster when I want to slow down. I remember the night when we went camping. I sat by the fire and looked at the stars. My body was still, but my heart was racing. I was telling myself: I’m alive, I’m alive. But was I? I was. But thousands of people I cared about weren’t. I sat by the fire and saw war in its flames. The stars above kept shining through millions of light years, but my inner light was put out. Only fire lit my face. I kept sitting in the middle of a tiny spinning dot in deep space. Feeling small, feeling big, feeling all at once. Finally feeling, breathing, noticing. Thinking of the future and looking at the light coming from the past. I blinked, and summer was gone. Too exhausted, too worried to notice anything. I don’t want to skip days, months, years anymore. I want to notice everything as this tiny dot that contains so much pain yet so much love continues its way around the Sun.
Email: daryazorka@substack.com
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I’m sorry you feel so much pain I hope it helps to write about it, and a heartfelt poem
It's always hard to take our own good advice. That's a lesson I thankfully learned still in my 20s when chronic illness sucker-punched me. I learned how to guard my energy so I could get through the day. I've applied the same lessons to helping Ukraine. Though I honestly don't have any idea if it would work if I lived in Ukraine or was Ukrainian in any way. I sit here as an American with absolutely zero Slavic heritage.
I'm also reenergized right now because I'm going to DC again next month with the American Coalition for Ukraine. We're meeting with senators and representatives again to hammer how important it is to continue helping Ukraine. And it looks like this time we'll be meeting with senators and asking them to support turning the bilateral security agreement into an actual defense treaty. This would put Ukraine equal with Israel and REQUIRE our help instead of just highly recommend. It's an exciting thing for me to think about being part of.
As always, it never happens fast enough. But we're still working and fighting to help Ukraine in every way possible. I'm honored to be a part of it. Never in my life have I done something so important.