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"My Journey Through Life: Childhood"

Published: February 10th 2025, 3:00:13 pm

Hello, friends!

Today marks the beginning of my story. On December 28, 1995, I was born in the city of Dnipro, Ukraine, where I also grew up. I was a calm child—at least, that’s what my mother always said. I almost never cried or screamed 🐣

Six months after my birth, my mother had a dream. In it, she was walking with me in a stroller when suddenly, my great-grandfather—who had passed away long before—approached her and tried to take me away. He told her that I was meant to go with him. My mother clung to the stroller, refusing to let go. Somehow, she managed to pull me away from his grasp and run.

Shortly after that dream, I developed an intestinal volvulus (which left me with the scar on my stomach). The chances of saving me were almost nonexistent, as the twisted intestine couldn’t be untangled in time. My family had lost hope, and my parents, in their despair, even considered ending their own lives because they couldn’t bear the thought of losing me 😔 But then, miraculously, a surgeon flew in, managed to untwist the knot, and saved my life. To this day, my mother and grandmother still cry when they tell this story, and I can only imagine the terror they must have felt. That was the first time death tried to take me from this world—just as I had barely entered it.

When I was 5 or 6, we moved out of our old apartment, which was constantly flooded by the neighbors upstairs, and into my father’s parents’ house. Other relatives lived there too, and it was absolute chaos. For a long time, we didn’t even have a proper toilet—we had to use a bucket 🪣 I didn’t have my own room, so I shared a space with my parents, sleeping on a small couch in the corner.

My parents had to work a lot, so from the age of six, I was often left home alone. If they were gone for too long, I would stay with Grandma Nina, my nanny, though I truly saw her as my real grandmother 👵 Since my parents didn’t spend much time with me, I was grateful that she did!

I hardly saw my father throughout my childhood because he worked in the criminal investigation department of the police. He often worked around the clock and left for work very early every morning. On top of that, as a former boxing champion, he had sustained many injuries from the sport, and constant blows to the head didn’t come without consequences, as you can imagine.

As a result, I grew up in an environment filled with yelling, fights, and constant conflict. No matter how much I begged and pleaded for it to stop, the only thing I could do was try not to get caught in the crossfire.

I remember one of their most frightening arguments that left a lasting impression on me. I was about five years old and tried to stand up for my mother by placing myself between her and my father, hoping they would stop yelling so intensely. My father attempted to push me aside, I suppose, but it was too forceful, and I was thrown against the hallway wall, hitting my head hard. I recall not uttering a sound from the pain; in fact, I never cried when I got hurt—I always endured it without shedding a tear. My mother ran to the kitchen and returned with a knife in her hand. She approached my father, held the knife to his throat, and said that if he ever laid a hand on me again, she would slit his throat. I was terrified, thinking she might actually do it, and I screamed, “No, don’t!” Now, of course, I understand that she didn’t really intend to do it (probably 🙈😅).

That’s why, in my childhood, the ones I loved the most were our Dalmatian dog, Sabi, and my cat, Funtik. They were my true friends, and thanks to them, I didn’t feel so lonely ❤️‍🩹

I was very attached to them. I remember one heartbreaking moment when our Sabi was attacked by another dog on the street. She was injured so badly that she needed emergency surgery. I still vividly remember the drainage tube running through her stomach, sticking out of her side. I was probably around 7 or 8 years old at the time, and that all the night, I sat on the floor beside Sabi, reading fairy tales from my book and showing her the illustrations, hoping it would help her heal faster.

My parents saved up enough money and started renovating the house (so that we could finally have normal living conditions 😅). During that time, I moved to my grandmother’s village for a couple of years and even went to kindergarten there. As you can imagine, there weren’t many entertainment options for a child in a village, so I spent my days helping in the garden, reading, embroidering, and playing in the yard with my grandmother’s two dogs 🐕

By the way, at seven years old, I already knew how to mix dough and make pancakes all by myself! My grandmother even taught me how to flip pancakes in the air. One time, as I was doing it, I missed the catch and instinctively tried to grab the pancake before it hit the ground. In the process, I dropped the pan—and somehow, I reflexively grabbed it by the bottom. Do I even need to say what happened to my hand? 😅 From that day on, I never flipped pancakes in the air again! 😂

When I moved back to Dnipro to live with my parents, I was constantly attending different extracurricular activities—drawing classes, tutoring, dance, and swimming (I even competed in swimming competitions and was the best in my team!). But after 4.5 years, I quit. Puberty hit, and I started developing major insecurities about my broad shoulders from swimming, as well as my body in general—just like many girls at that age. 🙈

Overall, I’m not trying to say that my childhood was the worst—no one physically abused me, and my parents weren’t alcoholics or anything like that. But their behavior was enough for me to develop borderline personality disorder from a young age, along with countless phobias and fragile health due to constant stress and the unsafe environment at home. But I don’t want to speak poorly of my parents because they truly are wonderful people who taught me so much. Even now, they apologize for the way they raised me and say they’re just grateful I didn’t grow up to be an addict or an alcoholic, given my childhood. My father once told me, “You became who you are not because of us, but despite us. And that is a true miracle.”

No matter how imperfect your childhood may have been, remember this: your parents did the best they could with what they knew at the time. They may not have had the tools or awareness to do better, but they tried. What matters most is recognizing mistakes and wanting to make things right.

They were simply two wounded souls themselves—both had been severely beaten by their own parents as children and grew up in households where heavy drinking was the norm, which, at the time, was almost standard in many post-Soviet countries. That’s why I always tried to understand them—not just who they were, but how their minds had been shaped by their past. Deep inside, they are two pure, kind, and beautiful souls ❤️

Because of this, I always tried to create something good around me! For example, I loved picking flowers by the roadside, making tiny bouquets, and giving them to strangers with the words, “May today be the best day of your life!” And I genuinely enjoyed it! Sometimes, I would even make a little fairy costume out of the vine that grew behind our house 🤪.

I truly believe that we create the world around us. Have you ever read Pollyanna? If not, it’s a must-read for anyone who wants to learn the power of positive thinking and how to find something good even in the most seemingly hopeless situations!

Tomorrow, I’ll continue my story—I hope you’re ready for a long read!