The War-Life Balance

The War-Life Balance:Freelancing While Adapting to a Wartime Reality

Veronica Morozova | Contributing Writer

“Hey, are you there? Russia has started bombing Ukraine. I spoke to our family and they’re all alive, thank God. I cannot believe this.”

I’ll never forget the first text I read on the morning of February 24. By the time I woke up, it had already been four hours since Russia attacked Ukraine. My sister was frantically trying to call me at night, but I had been blissfully asleep. I haven’t had a night of undisturbed sleep since.

As I shot out of bed and rushed to turn on the news, my phone went haywire with text after text. Seventy five unread messages and 22 missed calls. And there it was, highlighted in red, on BBC News — confirming what I had hoped was a mistake: ‘Russia attacks Ukraine.’

Since that day, life for Ukrainians split into two: life before the war, and life after the war. I sat on my sofa crying and watching the news in the safety of London — I moved here in 2008 for University and have lived here since — and felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for not being with my family in Kyiv. Although I’d built my life in the UK, Ukraine was always home. My beautiful home was now under attack.

I finally managed to get a hold of my relatives that afternoon to find out a little bit more about what was going on— no one had been harmed, but my parents were trapped in the worst possible location. The town where they lived was almost immediately occupied by the Russian forces, and there was virtually no chance for them to escape. I felt completely shell-shocked and lost. On top of it all, I had a big deadline looming, and since I could hardly get my thoughts straight, let alone work, I picked up my phone and texted my client: “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to take time off.”

Yulia Vus, Contributing Illustrator

Managing the initial shockwave

I’m a self-employed copywriter. Under normal circumstances, I have a regular, weekly schedule of work lined up with various startups. Incidentally, just a few days before the war, I agreed to take on more hours with one of my favorite clients — we mapped out a content plan and I was genuinely excited about the opportunity. When news of the war broke out, she was incredibly understanding and kind.

I asked for ‘two, or maybe three’ weeks off because I’d hoped everything would end soon. But with each passing day, the news coming out of my homeland only seemed to get worse. Phone connection with my parents was sparse, as they were caught in the middle of heavy battles.

I couldn’t sleep, because most attacks on Kyiv happened at night, so I spent my nights waiting for updates. Meanwhile, my family was running low on food, had no heating, and no safe way to escape their besieged town. I had never felt more powerless or depleted, and I honestly didn’t know what to do with myself besides cry, doom scroll on my phone, and pray.

The power of online communities

A couple of days into the war, I kept seeing calls for Ukraine to cede to Russia. These comments made me incredibly angry — how dare they tell us to surrender to an invader? In the heat of my frustration, I took to my laptop and created a very simple graphic that said: “If Russia stops fighting, there will be no more war. If Ukraine stops fighting, there will be no more Ukraine.” I posted it on my Instagram, without giving it much further thought, and went to sleep.

Within 24 hours, the post went viral and was shared over 15,000 times. I had over a thousand new followers overnight, and dozens of messages of support. I was taken aback at how well my post was received, so I tried something else to see if it would garner a similar response: I began sharing updates on my family in my stories and talking about my anxiety, insomnia, and the injustices of the war. Writing these updates and posts was cathartic, but it was the people that reached out to me that made the experience truly special. The kindness and love I received every day gave me the strength I needed to pull through and be there for my family. It became my way of surviving the war: writing, sharing, venting, and connecting with my community online.

Three weeks later, my parents managed to escape Russian-held territory and returned to central Kyiv. While they were by no means ‘safe’, they were at least no longer in immediate danger. There were rumors of Russian troops withdrawing from around Kyiv, and this gave us hope that things would be a little bit calmer. It also felt like a signal that I needed to try and get back to my clients and my copywriting work.

Veronica and her partner, Filip Rambousek, in front of Saint Sophia Cathedral in Kyiv, Ukraine. Taken before the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Veronica Morozova

But the moment I started trying to write about anything that wasn’t related to Ukraine, I felt a complete mental block. I just couldn’t put myself in the headspace to focus on anything but the war. I realized that asking my clients for extended time off meant I could lose them — they had businesses to run, after all — but I also knew I couldn’t push through and deliver sub-par work while struggling with unprecedented levels of stress and anxiety.

Veronica and her son, Lucian Watson (7) in the UK.

Veronica Morozova

Learning to prioritize and to say no

I knew that I couldn’t avoid work forever — I had savings, but because I’m self-employed, I don’t get holiday or sick pay, and my savings would run out eventually. Plus, as a single parent, it’s solely my responsibility to take care of my son, so in the eighth week of the war, I had to start easing myself back into work. I decided to approach this phase with honesty: I turned down several one-off projects, told my clients that I had to take things slow, and that if I felt my mental health declining, I’d need to take a couple of days off again.

This worked surprisingly well, and I’m forever grateful for the kindness and understanding that the people I work with showed me during this time. Alongside the paid work, I continued to post content on my social media about Ukraine, which kept me connected to my home and honestly, kept me sane.

What doesn’t kill us…

As we head into the fourth month of Russia’s unprovoked attack on our country, Ukrainians have had to accept something that no one should ever have to accept — that this could be a highly drawnout

war lasting years and that we don’t know when we will be able to reunite with our loved ones. This means that we need to try to live life with some sort of semblance of normality while grappling with trauma, a sense of complete powerlessness, and heartache. I look back on the pre-war times and yearn for simple, manageable worries because right now, I live with a cloud of uncertainty that weighs so heavy on me that at times I feel like I can’t breathe.

In all this tragedy, however, it is imperative that I remember to remain grateful. I am endlessly grateful for so many things: that my son is in safety, that my partner and friends have proven to be incredible sources of support, and that my family are all alive and okay. The online strangers that remind me to smile, look after myself and keep going. My clients, who have treated me with compassion and warmth. I am also grateful that I can now focus on the things that really matter to me — there’s nothing like experiencing war to make you understand what is truly important.

As I grapple with this painful new reality, I wake up every day and tell myself: you owe it to your country to do your best today. After all, I’m Ukrainian — perseverance and bravery are in my DNA.