The best way to transform your fear

I normally write these weekly letters to you pepped up on coffee with a smile on my face. But as I type these words today I have to admit to feeling a little tearful and on edge.

Part of me wonders if I’ll even end up sending this at all. Perhaps I’ll pour out how I’m feeling then delete and start again, once I’ve had a good cry and a strong black Americano.

But for now I’m going to keep going, even though what I’m about to write is embarrassing and fills me with a weird kind of guilt.

I’ve been back in Ukraine for a week now and I’m still finding it hard to sleep. Or rather, I’m finding it hard to get back off to sleep when I wake every night at around 2 or 3 and the anxiety kicks in.

It’s a very specific kind of anxiety and one I’d never experienced before coming to Ukraine, in that it’s related to certain sounds.

Certain sounds that bring to mind air alert sirens, air defence artillery, drones, missiles and explosions.

Sounds I heard when I was last here in Lviv.

Sounds that make you fear for your life and the lives of others.

The soundtrack of a country that is being attacked by an invading, occupying force.

The trouble is that sometimes it’s hard to distinguish one sound from another and until this week I had no idea that certain sounds can be so similar.

For example, through a closed window, a suitcase being wheeled over cobblestones can sound uncannily like air defence fire. A thud from a neighbouring flat can sound eerily like a distant explosion. And the high-pitched hum of a tram can initially sound a bit like an air alert siren. And, all can cause gut-clenching moments of panic, which are most definitely not conducive to sleep.

The reason I feel embarrassment and guilt for experiencing this is because I don’t live in Ukraine.

Since the start of the full scale invasion I’ve spent a total of two months here. Ukrainians have now had over three years of this psychological torture. So how do I have the right to feel stressed and anxious when I’m able to leave?

Twenty-four hours later…

After I wrote the above words to you I had to meet up with a local tour guide named Yuliia, who was taking me to the Jewish Museum here in Lviv.

Yuliia and I met for the first time on Monday, when she took me on a historical walking tour of the city to help with the novel I’m writing which is set here.

At the museum I met with a local Jewish historian who gave me a fascinating talk about the Holocaust and shared countless stories of incredible bravery.

One thing that really stood out for me was the old Torah pictured below…

A Jewish family here in Lviv gave it to their Ukrainian friends for safekeeping before being taken to the concentration camp by the Nazis.

Being found in possession of the Torah would have resulted in their death but they kept it hidden, not even telling their children about it, such was the fear of what the Gestapo might do to them.

As I looked at the Torah I felt such sorrow for the original owners, and such awe for the countless people throughout history who have been brave enough to risk their lives to help the persecuted.

After the museum trip, Yuliia and I took the tram back to the heart of the city and she started telling me about her own personal experiences since the full scale invasion.

Like many Ukrainians I’ve spoken to, she felt gripped by fear for the first few days, but then she was galvanised into taking action, and she began volunteering at Lviv central station, helping the influx of millions of displaced people cross the border into Poland.

Sensing that she might benefit from someone truly listening to her experiences I asked if I could buy her a coffee, so we went to my favourite coffee house on Rynok Square and what followed was one of the most moving and heartbreaking conversations I’ve ever had.

So much of what she disclosed was deeply personal and not my stories to tell but there was a moment when she told me about the grandmother of a friend who was living in occupied territory that was so impactful I wanted to share it with you.

Having told me how the inhabitants of these regions have had to give up their Ukrainian citizenship, education and language, Yuliia shared that this grandmother was no longer able to wear her beloved vyshyvanka, a family heirloom, because doing so could get her killed.

Vyshyvankas are traditional Ukrainian embroidered tops and dresses. Here’s one I bought to wear to a special event this week in Lviv…

There was something so obscene about the notion of killing people simply for wearing a specific type of embroidery - embroidery for f**ks sake! - that it took my breath away. It’s cultural genocide pure and simple, and something I hope you all bear in mind the next time Trump suggests that Russia should be allowed to keep the Ukrainian territory it has occupied. This isn’t just about land, it’s about people’s lives, homes, safety and identities.

Tears streamed down Yuliia’s face as she told me how the grandmother eventually ended up escaping the occupied territory, and although she wasn’t able to bring her beloved vyshyvanka with her, she did manage to smuggle out an old embroidered tablecloth that had been in her family for decades.

Our conversation then moved on to our sons and I told her how, when my son first came to Ukraine to work for a humanitarian organisation helping victims of the war here, I made the conscious decision to hide my fear for his safety from him.

I was so proud that he had the courage and compassion to come here on his own at the age of 25 to try and do his bit to help that I wanted to be nothing but encouraging, and not add to his stress in any way.

So when he’d talk about hearing artillery fire when he was working near the frontline, or explosions in Kyiv and Lviv, I’d swallow my terror and tears and save them for my poor friends!

As Yuliia talked about her own fears for her son it felt so nice to be able to bond in this way, one mama to another.

She also spoke about the guilt she felt being here in Lviv, when she had friends in or close to the occupied territories who were experiencing rocket and drone attacks on a more regular basis and at such close quarters there's no point having an air alert siren as the missiles reach their targets in seconds.

I instantly told her that she shouldn’t feel guilty at all and that, just because other people are going through more stressful situations it doesn’t make your own feelings and experiences null and void.

As I spoke those words out loud I realised that they were words that I too needed to hear and that my own fears were also valid.

So I asked Yuliia if she’d become afraid of certain sounds since the start of the war and Lviv being attacked on numerous occasions.

She nodded and went on to share the times she’s witnessed missile attacks and some of the sounds that now make her heart stop - like the children in the upstairs apartment thudding on her ceiling when they jump up and down.

As I listened to her talk about her own fear of certain sounds it broke my heart to realise that it must be the same across the entire country. As I’ve written here before, war is just as much psychological as it is physical.

When it was time to leave we hugged each other tight and agreed to meet again when I’m back in the city.

I walked home feeling so grateful for the opportunity to have such a meaningful heart to heart with such an inspiring woman, and to no longer feel guilt or embarrassment about the fears I’ve been experiencing.

And then I had an idea.

Several years ago, I was approached by the Norwegian Refugee Council to write the script for a cartoon to help young Syrian refugees deal with the stress and fear of being displaced.

It was a wonderful project to be a part of, and as I walked home yesterday it occurred to me, what if I did something similar now, to help frightened children in Ukraine?

What if I combined my experience of air attacks with my experience as a children’s author and alchemised my fear into a story that could help Ukrainian children navigate their own fear?

My Ukrainian daughter-in-law is an illustrator and book designer and we’d already spoken about one day working on book projects together. Perhaps this could be the perfect start to our creative partnership?

As soon as I got home I called her to see if she’d be up for it and she absolutely was!

So I’m going to come up with some characters and the first draft of a story and when we meet soon we’re going to begin work in earnest, creating an e-book we can give away for free to any Ukrainian parents, schools or organisations that might find it helpful.

I went to bed last night feeling bone-tired but happy.

The world might be a scary place but it’s full of wonderful, brave people, all trying to help in any way they can and I’m so grateful that during this trip to Lviv I’ve got to meet so many of them - not to mention being proud mama to two of them!

And my research as a historical novelist over the years has really brought it home to me that it’s always been this way. Just as there was someone in this city back in 1941 brave enough to hide their Jewish friend’s treasured Torah, there are people like Yuliia here today dedicating their lives to help victims of the current war.

It can be all too easy to feel scared about the state of the world right now but one of the best ways I know to quickly feel better is to transmute that fear into ways of caring for one another.

Last night, for the first time since I got here, I slept all the way through until morning.

Until next week, sending so much love from Lviv,

Siobhan