I was in the throes of Covid when the invasion of Ukraine began. In my own personal pits of exhaustion and despair, I watched in disbelief as a war in Europe began.

The first 48 hours we were glued to the news. I watched line after line of Russian military vehicle stream into Ukraine as the people did their best to prepare. There were images of Ukrainian teachers picking up arms through tears, everyday civilians making molotov cocktails to protect their homes, and soon-to-be refugees fleeing in all directions over the borders.

Even before Ukrainians began arriving at Berlin’s Hauptbahnhof (main train station) – estimated at 10,000 people a day – the effect was immediate. Donation centers and welcome reception were hastily arranged. People opened their homes to the refugees for a day, a week, a month and even more long-term. A mountain of food is required and individuals and businesses are doing their best to provide. People have been writing their representatives in Germany and in their home countries. Many people have cut their power usage significantly as bills are expected to balloon significantly, and to limit the revenue for Russia (a powerful supplier of energy for Germany). I was still Covid home-bound during the first protest at Brandenburger Tor, but watched from social media as over 100,000 people rallied. About a month in, if you talk to anyone long enough the topic of Ukraine will come up.

Doves for Ukraine at German school PHOTO: Erin Porter

With this crushing level of awareness of a humanitarian disaster in the making, the mood has been subdued for a Berlin spring. As we’ve settled into acceptance that this could be a long-term crisis, I have tried to focus on what I can do to manage my stress and help where I can. I am limiting my consumption of news and trying to concentrate on things I can control.

It was obvious the effect the war was having on all of us, but equally impossible to ignore that I was among those least affected. I am an American based in Berlin with no direct ties to Ukraine or Russia. The same cannot be said of many of my colleagues that are Ukrainian and Russian. The trauma they have experienced since the start of the war is heartbreaking. As part of the HR department at a Berlin startup, we leapt into action, encouraging people to take time off for mental health and pushing programs like access to an online therapist. As a recruiter, I listed our open positions on Ukraine-specific job boards and have begun the process of interviewing (hiring board as well as tips on evaluating candidates from Ukraine). The company made internal and external statements in support for Ukraine including a significant donation… and then we slowly went back to work. I noticed my colleagues still struggling and want to do more to support them, but the truth is – this is out of our hands. There is a war.

When my parents in the USA called, they half-joking asked if we were at risk. Realistically, I think an invasion of Germany is unlikely…but is it a possibility? Yes. Among my group of friends with deep roots in Berlin there hasn’t been any serious talk of leaving Germany. So I was surprised when I logged on to the Americans in Germany facebook group which has more transient population (military or temporarily abroad) and saw many of them have purchased flexible tickets for flights back “home”. Even my South African colleague said she was considering having a ticket, just in case. As my family all have American passports, I recognize this is an enormous privilege to have options, even if it is one I do not want to take.

While fleeing is too much for me to contemplate, have I interrupted my doom scrolling to look into options that at once feel so absurd I am almost embarrassed to admit them? Again, yes. Realizing we only have one cat carrier and two cats, I casually researched cat carrier backpacks. We shyly asked about iodine tablets at the Apoteke (pharmacy) and she kindly explained these would most likely be useless in case of a nuclear attack. As we don’t have a car, we are able to bypass much of the hand-wringing about gas prices. I have tried to be more careful to keep staple foods in the house and stock up on medications so we aren’t short. There is some Hamsterkauf (panic stockpiling) I’ve noticed at the store as all the flour and Rapsöl were out this week. I am trying to accept that I simply can’t prepare for the worst.

Flour is missing once again from stores PHOTO: Erin Porter

These dark thoughts have also impacted our children. Original GDR songs like “Kleine weiße FriedensTaube” have been re-introduced to a new generation. Both my kids brought home song books about peace along with messages from the administration about how to approach the subject. At the school they had a bake sale to raise money for charity and “sang so loud, even the Burgermeister (mayor) could hear us!” my daughter proclaimed proudly. You can see Ukrainian flags and blue and yellow doves everywhere. My son is 2-years-old so most of this is over his head, but the talk of war is something I can see my daughter rolling over and over in her head. We have broached the topic of war with her before, usually in reference to the marks of WWII still readily apparent in Berlin. Even though it is close enough to be seen in our daily life (like the sign noting that our Kellar doubles as a bomb shelter) it always felt so distant. 

I remember visiting Auschwitz during a stay in Krakow. It was the dead of winter and snow covered the ground. On the way there, the heater in our train car broke and we were chilled to the bone before we even stepped foot on the memorial site. We shivered beneath thick jackets and in warm boots as we followed the tour guide and heard about the atrocities that occured here. Even as tears froze to my face, my husband and I didn’t say a word about being cold. It felt too cruel when you knew others had suffered so much greater than you.

Please feel free to share resources and how you are dealing with this crisis in the comment section below. I wish you all peace, or as much tranquility as can be expected in these times.