Вітаємо в Україні: A Student’s Reflection on Returning Home to Ukraine
Ever since I began studying at Georgetown in the fall of 2023, I’ve made sure to return home to Ukraine for every major school break. Even just a few weeks at home heal me and allow me to stay connected with my roots. This is especially important to me as my country and my roots are continuously attacked both physically and metaphorically. This May, I spent three weeks at home, and something about this visit felt different. The first time I returned, people still carried a certain lightness, a belief that better days were within reach. Now, there’s a quiet, heavy exhaustion. Everyone is tired, but no one is ready to give up.
Getting there is a journey in itself, as it takes over 30 hours. This time I flew from D.C. to the Netherlands, then to Warsaw, and from there took a bus toward the border. The crossing can take anywhere from a few hours to a whole day. This time it took around five hours. But no matter how long it takes, the moment I see the sign “Вітаємо в Україні” (“Welcome to Ukraine”), a wave of excitement washes over me.
My hometown, Rivne, is in northwestern Ukraine. As soon as I arrived, my mom and younger brother met me at the station, and we had our little family reunion. My dad joined us on a video call. He’s been serving in the military since the beginning of the full-scale invasion. We call each other whenever we can. Sometimes he shares light-hearted stories from his unit or tells me about a wild animal they spotted in an abandoned village. Since the beginning of the war, he has done various types of work, but now he focuses on demining liberated territories in the Mykolaiv region in eastern Ukraine. His unit alone has cleared over 600 hectares (almost 1500 acres), and across Ukraine, more than 210,000 hectares (over 800 square miles) have been demined in total. Since the war began, Ukraine has become one of the most heavily mined countries in the world, with an estimated 6 million people living in areas with a risk of mines or other explosives, according to the Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor. Clearing these mines is a critical step to protecting the people of Ukraine and restoring the country’s land. But it is dangerous work. He doesn’t talk about the hard parts, but I know they’re there: stories of loss, close calls, and quiet resilience. He’s tired. Everyone is.
Rivne feels similar. On the surface, not much has changed. The coffee shops are still open. The trolleybuses still rumble down the same streets. Fruit vendors are still set up on the corners. But if you sit still for a while, you begin to notice how the war is embedded into everyday life. As I walk through the streets of downtown, I pass photo boards filled with rows of portraits—local men who went to defend Ukraine and never came back. Every phone still carries the air alert app, ready to buzz with the sharp sound of a siren. When it goes off, people don’t panic anymore. They just glance up. One morning, I was riding the trolleybus when it came to a stop exactly at 9:00 a.m., no matter where it was on the route. Everyone stood in silence. It was a national minute of silence. Then, at 9:01 a.m. the driver quietly restarted the engine, and the city moved on.
The exhaustion is visible, but the will to live, to create, to connect—it’s still there.
This spring in Kyiv, I saw people continuing their work, organizing conferences, adapting spaces, and supporting Ukraine even with all the risks. Then, I traveled to Lviv, a city I like to call the cultural capital of Ukraine. Since the war began, Lviv has responded by channeling the experience of war through art. For instance, at the Jam Factory Art Center, The Stammering Circle is an art exhibition that explores the silence and rupture of time caused by war through visual, sound, and performance-based works. Meanwhile, Homefront Affairs at the Municipal Art Center offers residencies for artists and provides art therapy for veterans and families of the fallen. These are just a few of many initiatives. They don’t just reflect the war. They transform it into something that can be seen, felt, and remembered.
Going back is never about comfort. It’s about presence. About listening, remembering, and witnessing the way a country holds itself together. There are days when Ukraine feels far away, especially when I’m back in D.C., surrounded by deadlines and campus life. Then, I remember the silence of that trolleybus, the sound of my dad’s voice, the flags fluttering in the wind, and I know: Ukraine is never far. It’s a part of me.
That’s the part I bring with me every day in the US. I speak up, I share stories, and I remind people that even though so much has been lost and people are exhausted, they refuse to give up. Every headline, every piece of foreign aid, every sign of support makes a real difference. It gives people back home the strength to keep going. And that’s why your support matters, because it saves lives, lifts spirits, and reminds Ukraine it’s not alone.
Karyna Stepanovych (SFS ’27) is studying International Economics at Georgetown University. Since February, she has been working with the Georgetown Institute for Women, Peace and Security (GIWPS). She is particularly interested in the intersection of global development, security, and economic resilience.
Explore More
End of Year Reflections
This year has been particularly challenging for peace around the world, with…
“No Amnesty, No Silence:” Ukrainian Women Urge Accountability for War-Time Sexual Violence
Last week, the Georgetown Institute for Women, Peace and Security (GIWPS) brought…
