Contending With Trauma Amid The War In Ukraine

Russia is at war with Ukraine, displacing millions of women and children, and the experience has brought my grandmother’s trauma to the fore in my own family. She calls me in the early morning hours, complaining of anxiety, heart palpitations, and fear.

“If they bomb us, we will all die,” she said the other night, pointing out that I live in Washington, D.C., a likely target. “If war breaks out, I swear to God, I’m going to throw myself out the window,” was another dramatic moment during one of our many 3 a.m. exchanges.

Grandma grew up in Cuba under Communism during the Cold War. She was used to the idea that she might get bombed any minute. I grew up there, too, until we came to America on a raft when I was 7. It was me, my grandmother, 16 other people, and a dog. I spent time in a refugee camp at Guantanamo Bay, then, like many Cuban refugees, resettled in Florida.

Eventually, I became a congressional staffer on Capitol Hill through hard work, perseverance, and mentorship. I love America, being an American, and all the American freedoms that I am accustomed to experiencing. I understand how the thought of foreign powers threatening those freedoms could be frightening to my grandmother, not to mention the people of Ukraine.

There’s a thing called empathetic trauma; adults who experience traumatic events in childhood have elevated empathy levels. The severity of those traumas correlates to the empathy you feel. So when my grandma calls, when we both follow the news in Ukraine, that’s an awful lot of empathetic traumas in the air. When we see people lining up at cash machines and sheltering in underground train stations, it hits home. When we see young men saying last goodbyes to their daughters, mothers, and wives — when we see seas of desperate people lining up at the borders of neighboring countries — it breaks our hearts.

I didn’t understand politics when I was 7, but I knew what fear felt like. I could see it in the eyes of the people with tears in their eyes and trembling hands. I can see it again in the coverage of the war in Ukraine.

History repeats itself, and we carry the trauma in our bodies and our reactions to news events. In some ways, it is comforting for us both to go through this on the phone together.

It is particularly important for women to speak out about their traumatic reactions because doing so has power; it’s a prelude to taking ownership of our narratives. The women of Ukraine have shown strength that has inspired me to take control of my own narrative. I am not paralyzed by my trauma — in fact, I now run a fundraising business. I coach my staff to raise money for some of the biggest nonprofits in the world.

This week, I’ve been training them on “lessons from Russia.” We’ve talked about the things they can and can’t control and the power the Ukrainians have demonstrated by using their words to inspire others, to work hard when others are not watching, and, most importantly, forging on despite danger, opposition, or things not going their way. With that sentiment, we have created a fundraising initiative for a nonprofit working in Ukraine to help send needed items to the country. We want to use our empathy to help and improve the lives of women and children of Ukraine.

Thankfully, my grandmother, the most important woman to me, is proud of me. She has also agreed to turn her anxiety into action by helping fundraise for Ukraine.

—Jessi Calzado-Esponda is a former refugee living in Washington, D.C., where she is the delegate for Refugee Congress, a national nonpartisan advocacy organization built and led by former refugees, asylum-seekers, and other vulnerable migrants to promote the well-being and dignity of all vulnerable migrants.