Living On: A Story of Adjusting to Peaceful Life

Already in Belarus, in the first weeks after the move, Kristina was sitting in a taxi with her children. Somewhere nearby a tractor was humming. Dust rose in a thick column, and the air carried a faint smell of smoke. Suddenly, her six-year-old son Ivan said quietly, “Mum, look — that’s an incoming strike.” “No, it’s just smoke,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Moments like this stay with you for a long time — sometimes forever — even after the danger has passed. Now, Kristina says, her son has stopped flinching at every sharp sound. “He’s forgetting all of it,” she says. That is how they are learning to live in peace again: step by step, convincing themselves that the sound of a tractor has nothing to do with explosions. A tractor means work, land, life — a life they still have to get used to.

They arrived in Minsk from Kostiantynivka, a town in Ukraine’s Donetsk region, in September 2024. In this interview, Kristina spoke about forced displacement, caring for her children, her mother’s treatment, and the everyday decisions through which a new life gradually takes shape.

A choice made for the sake of loved ones

Why Belarus? Kristina answers simply and honestly: the language and mentality felt familiar, and for her family that became decisive. “We were travelling with two children and my mom,” she says, emphasizing how important it was for them to stay together.

Kristina’s family is small and very close-knit: herself, her daughter Zhenya, son Vanya, and her mother Vera. Her mother has advanced cancer; her daughter is on the autism spectrum. Caring for loved ones determines almost everything: where to live, how to get treatment, how to arrange documents, where to work and how, despite everything, to keep dreaming of a brighter future.

Kristina speaks enthusiastically about Belarus: “We like so many things. The environment is wonderful, everything is so clean… We’re thrilled.” And then she adds what matters most to her: the children started school and kindergarten, and that became the family’s real anchor.

For 13-year-old Zhenya, school in Minsk turned out to be a place where she is accepted and supported. Kristina emphasizes that the curriculum is strong, and teachers involve her in school life and help her settle in. “We didn’t even expect it… She goes to school with pleasure and has already learned so much,” Kristina says. In her words you can hear not only pride, but relief: “She’s made friends here.”

At school there is something Zhenya especially loves: drawing, crafts — anything you can make with your hands and see the result. In practical classes they first learned embroidery, and then sewing on machines. At school, Kristina says, children are taught essential things for daily life: how to take care of themselves, how to cook, and how to set the table. These skills gave her daughter back a sense of confidence and the feeling that the world is becoming predictable and understandable again.

Kristina notes another important detail: the school has undergone major renovations, the classrooms are well equipped, and teachers see potential in her daughter. If everything continues the same way, she says, Zhenya may be able to receive recommendations for further education.

The younger child, Vanya, goes to kindergarten and takes ballroom dancing classes. “It’s our grandmother’s dream,” Kristina explains. In a year he has already performed at competitions in Minsk: “He was so happy, was running around with that medal, even going to bed with it.” Now training takes place four times a week. There are few boys in ballroom dancing, so Vanya has already been paired with a partner and is being prepared for the next performances.

Their peaceful life is made up of simple joys: weekend walks, nature, the zoo, the circus, but behind these “ordinary” things is a confession that explains a lot: “You could say the younger one has seen almost nothing except the war. For him, it’s like a whole new world here.”

The hardest part: housing and healthcare

“The hardest thing was finding a place to live,” Kristina recalls. Not everyone is willing to rent to a family with children, especially to foreigners. Two weeks of searching felt endless. In the end, they found an apartment through an agency. “It was only that way,” she says and adds warmly: “Our landlords are wonderful people.”

A major challenge was her mother’s treatment. At first, while the family did not yet have complementary protection status, healthcare was paid, and the costs became overwhelming. “Complementary protection gives you the right to free healthcare, which we desperately needed,” Kristina explains. Now, with that status, the situation has changed: “At the moment we have free healthcare. That’s a huge plus.”

She speaks about doctors in Belarus with special gratitude. Vera’s cancer is stage four, and the family’s life is measured between tests and appointments. “The doctors here are very good… everything is stable for us,” Kristina says, adding how deeply thankful she is that they are “prolonging her mother’s life.”

Support at the right moment

In Belarus, Kristina works in a kindergarten. She was offered the job when she was enrolling her younger child: the director, she says, treated the family in a very humane way and simply reached out a hand at the moment they needed it.

When asked whether she likes the job, Kristina answers directly: “I’m happy with everything.” And when she speaks about what gives her strength, she puts it even more simply: “Probably the kids. There’s no other option. You must keep going. You have to live.”

Her colleagues also supported the family: “I got a job at the kindergarten, we rented a place, and, frankly speaking, we didn’t even have dishes. People at work asked: ‘What do you need/ Can we help with something?’ There will always be people who help. Just as we help someone, we get assistance too,” Kristina says.

At the very beginning, the family especially needed financial support: their savings went to treatment. “Medical services for a foreign citizen cost ten times more,” Kristina says. As she notes, it is precisely in moments like these that you feel the value of simple human solidarity most.

The family received financial assistance from UNHCR through a partner project — the Refugee Counselling Service. In 2025, it was provided twice. “Some months we simply didn’t have to think about the expenses for healthcare or for the rent,” Kristina says about the impact of that help. She learned about the organizations offering support through a Telegram community of Ukrainians in Belarus, and in that chain of messages and advice, a map of guidance and support took shape.

Learning means reclaiming your future

Before the war, Kristina worked as an economist in the banking sector. In Minsk, she has not yet been able to continue that career. But she has another professional path — hair colouring: in Ukraine she worked as a colourist and even registered as self-employed. In Minsk, she went back to studying again.

The colourist courses were not free, and it was entirely her own initiative. She looked for something close to home and studied on weekends for six months. Before that, there were courses in office administration, suggested by the kindergarten director: Kristina helps with paperwork there and wanted local confirmation of her qualifications. “A person should do what they like,” she says. She has almost no free time as it is “taken up by the children” but she still looks ahead: she wants to deepen her skills, register as self-employed, and start earning extra income.

Plans that bring stability back

Kristina speaks about the future without illusions, but also without pessimism. For now, the family plans to stay in Belarus. The next step is a residence permit, but it requires registration at the place of permanent residence. “You need registration to apply for a residence permit … We plan to save up and buy at least some small place in a village or a small town so we can register there,” she says. Their further options depend on this, including arranging a pension and disability status for her mother.

Words for others

When asked what she would say to people in a similar situation, Kristina responds confidently: “The main thing is not to be afraid… Wherever you are, you have to move forward.” Perhaps that is her formula for a peaceful life: to remember what you lived through, but to learn again to trust ordinary things. The dust and smoke from a tractor. Silence. And human kindness.

In the year marking the 75th anniversary of the 1951 Refugee Convention, Kristina’s story reminds us how international protection becomes part of everyday life. The Convention enshrines protection from return to danger and sets out rights and responsibilities that help people forced to flee live in dignity in a country of asylum. Inclusion begins with concrete opportunities: a child going to school, a family accessing healthcare, employment, support and having plans.