I am Yuliia Rechkalova, and I am happy to share my story with you. I am 40 years old, and most of my life I have lived in the picturesque and very cozy town of Hola Prystan, in the Kherson region. I have three children. The eldest, Dima, is already an adult guy – he is 21 years old; Daria is 12 years old, and the youngest Danya is only 10.
I was a hairdresser by training when I finished my courses after school. But I almost never worked in my profession, because almost immediately after training I realized that my soul does not lie in this matter. So, most of the time I worked as a tobacco saleswoman.
The morning of February 24, 2022 was usual for me. I woke up, got ready to go to work as usual. On the way, our accountant called me and said that the war had begun. Somehow, at the same time, it all happened in an ordinary and terrible way. I went home to the kids and didn't know what to do at all. First, we collected the evacuation bag, then we disassembled it. It was no longer possible to leave the usual way by bus or minibus. My eldest son was in Kherson at that time. It is only 40 kilometers from our city. But it wasn't until three weeks later that he was able to return to Hola Prystan to us.
Almost from the first day, we were under occupation. But it took me 4 months to understand that children should be taken to the territory controlled by Ukraine. At first, our city was on its own, all businesses were closed, we just existed. We had almost no fear until the Russian military finally entered the city. That's when it became scary. We started planning to leave with our children.
And it was really hard. In the morning, we left in a column of carriers from Kherson to Zaporizhzhia. We drove about an hour and a half when the bus we were traveling on broke down. We waited three hours for help to arrive. The column just left us. The wait itself was difficult: I was worried that the driver would not take us any further. It was very hot. End of June. Then help came. We were connected by a cable to a passenger car and we set off. On the way, the cable broke several times. It broke once when we were going up a hill. We almost rolled over. But that's ok, everything went well.
There was a long queue at the last Russian checkpoint, but our bus passed it. And that's when the worst part began – the gray zone. This is a territory that is not fully controlled by either the Russians or the Armed Forces of Ukraine. There we were already driving by ourselves, without a cable. The driver somehow started the bus. There was a very big fear that in an instant we would stall right in the middle of the road. It was evening, and everyone was very tired and very nervous. Suddenly, something exploded nearby. Fortunately, we were not affected. But the children started crying, the adults started screaming. Emotionally, it was very difficult. Now I write, and the tears themselves flow from my eyes.
Then we still reached a normal road on our territory, and our hike to the Ukrainian checkpoint began. It was already a curfew, and we waited another hour for the police to arrive to accompany us. After one o'clock in the morning, we arrived in Zaporizhzhia. There, the volunteers fed us, calmed us down and took us to kindergarten for the night. It was already three o'clock in the morning. In the morning they woke us up, we returned to the volunteers and began to wait for the next trip. In the evening, a religious organization came to pick us up and brought us to the city of Kamianske. There we were fed, we took a shower, just breathed such good fresh air. And then I calmed down and realized that we were safe.
The next morning, another volunteer driver arrived and drove us on. And on July 1, 2022, at 3 pm., we got off the bus in Zhytomyr. We were met by a realtor who found us a place to live. She brought us to her home, fed us, we washed up and went to see the apartments. She took us in as if we'd known each other all our lives. I was just in a state of shock at her attitude towards us. Now I consider her our guardian angel. I have already made sure many times that we have made the right thing. Because now in my city in the Kherson region it is very scary – the Russians are gradually destroying it, killing residents, among whom there are those whom I knew personally. I am very grateful to my friends and acquaintances for their support and push to leave.
This is my first experience of war. But I was born in Crimea, and when I was 14 years old, we moved from Crimea to Hola Prystan. Although now I understand that moving in peacetime and evacuating in wartime are different things, and children react to them differently. My 12-year-old daughter Dasha took all these events very hard. Already in Zhytomyr, I was told that the child has depression. Only recently did my child accept the fact that we live in a new place, she goes to a different school, but she still can't find a new friend.
For the first 4 months of a full-scale war, I almost didn't work. I was dismissed from my main job on the second day after the invasion. But when we left for Zhytomyr, I was offered a job as an escort for blind people. I worked with them for 3 months. And then I got into the VILNI project. My classmate told me about it. Well, I went to read, I think why not fill out a questionnaire. A couple of months later, I got a call. And here I am. I knit wonderful socks.
I also knitted socks for our military as a volunteer and passed them on through various funds. I recently signed up for an English language course. And in my spare time, I like to weave macrame, make various interesting things out of paper and beads. But knitting is my love. I started knitting as a child. My mother taught me. I remember knitting my own clothes in high school. Then there were the children. There was no time or inspiration. I haven't actually knitted for years. And on the eve of a full-scale war, I so wanted to pick up the knitting needles. Apparently, fate even then pushed me to my future and to the fact that I began to remember my skills. And here I knit things that are bought abroad. To be honest, I'm in shock myself!
Only now did I realize that knitting is my antidepressant. When I pick up knitting needles and threads, it's like I'm living a different life. I analyze some events, and life in general, that has completely changed. I like to just listen to music and knit. Or listen to humorous shows. They generally distract from war and complex thoughts.