“It became morally impossible for us to stay.”

My name is Iryna. I’m from Kyiv, Ukraine, though my roots trace back to Dnipro, a large industrial city in the eastern part of the country. I’m a proud mother of three boys—two “big” ones, ages 10 and 12, and a little one who’s just a few weeks away from celebrating his birthday. Life before the war was full and busy. I worked in logistics for years, and for the last nine years before the full-scale invasion, I ran a small private business.

In 2005, my husband had been offered a contract position with a major company in Russia, so we moved to Moscow together. His job was prestigious and provided us with financial comfort, but I’ve always told myself that it doesn’t matter how much my husband earns – I always need to have my own money. That belief drove me to open a logistics business from scratch while living in a foreign country. I poured everything into it and built it up with hard work and determination.

In 2014, Russia invaded Ukraine. It became morally impossible for us to stay. My husband and I couldn’t justify contributing to the economy of a country that had attacked our homeland. So, we made the decision to leave. We returned to Ukraine, this time settling in Kyiv. Once again, I rebuilt my logistics business, again it felt like from scratch and again in a new city. It was challenging, but I did it. Life was moving forward.

“When the bombs started falling, my husband insisted I take the children and leave.”

Then came 2022. Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine. When the bombs started falling, my husband insisted I take the children and leave. He stayed behind. I packed our lives into our car, strapped my two sons in, and we started driving. Along the way, I picked up a mother I didn’t know and her child. They needed help, too. We had no destination, no real plan, just a direction: west, toward safety. We stayed in different countries, rested in hotels, and relied on the kindness of strangers who offered food, a bed, or warm clothes.

Eventually, we reached Riga, Latvia. It was here that I finally exhaled. The people of Latvia embraced us with warmth and generosity. That was one of the most emotionally powerful experiences of my life. I had never been the one to ask for help, I was always the one helping.

“Accepting help felt foreign, but the way people gave so freely, without expecting anything in return, truly changed my understanding of the world.”

At first, I started volunteering. I reached out to different organisations with an idea to organise summer groups for Ukrainian refugee children. I knew that Ukrainian women like me were trying to find something for their kids to do during the summer while they spent their time looking for work. Through this, I connected with Diakonija Latvia. They believed in my idea and provided funding. After some time working together, they offered me a formal position as a project manager.

Since 2022, I’ve been working in the social sphere with Diakonija, supporting Ukrainian refugees here in Riga. Every day, I feel inspired by the work we do. It keeps me motivated. Social work has opened up a world of opportunity for growth and purpose; from one-on-one connections to large-scale international projects that bring in resources and innovation. I’ve never felt so professionally fulfilled.

“Of course, the journey hasn’t been easy. Finding work in a new country, especially when you’re new and unknown, is a challenge. And if you’re in an irregular legal situation, it’s even harder.”

But I was determined to use my time wisely, to get training, and to make myself visible through volunteering and taking initiative. Eventually, opportunity found me—but not without effort and perseverance on my part.

My greatest fear when we arrived in Latvia was that the war wouldn’t stop—that it would spread to Estonia, Latvia, or Lithuania. And to be honest, that fear hasn’t faded.

“I still live with the worry that we may one day have to run again. I would love to plan my life without constantly looking back at war and danger.”

What do I want for the future? Above all else, I want safety and health for my family. I want my sons to live happy, secure lives without constantly looking over their shoulders. I dream of buying a small house where we can create beautiful memories – a peaceful, rooted life. Professionally, I hope to keep bringing joy and support to others, to continue making a difference in the lives of people who’ve been through hard times, just like I have.

Since becoming a refugee myself, my entire perspective has shifted. Material things don’t mean as much to me anymore. What I value now is time; time spent with people I love, time sharing emotions, time experiencing true kindness and sincerity. I treasure every chance I get to see my mother, who stayed behind in Ukraine. I hold onto those moments deeply.

This journey has taught me that we are so much stronger than we think. With faith and perseverance, we can get through anything.  And even in the hardest times, there’s still beauty, there’s still hope, and there’s still so much to be grateful for.

This story was collected in collaboration with Latvijas Evaņģēliski luteriskās Baznīcas Diakonijas centrs-Diaconia Center of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Latvia (Latvia). Photography by Yulia Dobrynina.