The First Weeks of Freedom

It’s strange, but the feeling of finally being free was very restrained. I expected stronger emotions from myself, but it was exactly like that — quiet. One moment stands out vividly: when I arrived in Minsk. I didn’t feel anything except the realization that it was no longer my home — and a deep disappointment that came with that realization. I didn’t want to go anywhere, even though in prison I imagined that the first thing I’d do would be to run to a café for a cup of coffee. But my first cup ended up being in forced exile.

I understood that staying was impossible, even though I had never thought I would leave the country. But nothing was changing — the repressions continued — so as soon as the colony doors closed behind me, I knew: I had to run.

The truth is that in the colony, women are broken down and forced to expect cruelty from the administration every single day. When you find yourself free but still living in Belarus, you’re still under the pressure of the system. You can be detained again — even those released by pardon have been re-arrested.

Abroad, you feel freer, although you also realize that your mental health has worsened.

Every Political Prisoner Has PTSD

I believe every political prisoner has PTSD — the human psyche simply cannot go through such extreme stress without consequences. But everyone experiences it differently.

For me, anxiety became much stronger — something I had never struggled with before. It especially shows up in my work (I’m a veterinarian). I used to be braver. Now, sometimes when I read the news from Belarus or Ukraine, I start crying — I didn’t use to react so painfully. Panic attacks also happen, so I always keep the necessary medication with me: I take a pill, and it helps for a while. I also take antidepressants. Still, I think I’m not in the worst state, because I’ve always been used to controlling myself — and that skill helps me now.

I also spoke with a psychologist — those conversations helped a lot — but at some point, I realized that long sessions weren’t necessary for me. That said, I truly believe every political prisoner should talk to a psychologist. It’s a valuable experience, and you can always stop the sessions when you feel ready.

A New Level of Communication with People

I’ve kept good relationships with many of my friends — in some ways, they’ve even become stronger. But with some people, I’ve become much stricter. For example, one of my former colleagues was a Lukashist (a supporter of Lukashenka). I used to ignore his remarks, thinking, “Well, he’s just a difficult person, nothing to be done.” I could even tell myself that politics is one thing, and conversation is another. But after the colony, that became impossible — you immediately cut off all contact, even simple small talk.

Once, there was a situation: I was with a group of people, and when someone offered to help, I said, “Thank you, no need,” but added, “Yes, prison life is very hard.” Someone interrupted me and said, “Oh, please, let’s not talk about this — it’s too difficult for us to hear.” That honestly made me angry. Because the truth is, what’s really hard is being imprisoned. Even now, hundreds of women are still behind bars — some are spreading sand on the yard, or shoveling snow in winter, some are standing in wet boots, some are in solitary confinement. This is a tender topic for me, because before, I used to understand why someone would want to shut it out — but now I believe you shouldn’t. If you close your eyes to injustice, you stop helping. And to solve problems, you have to face them directly.

Unfortunately, many Belarusians who left through humanitarian corridors are now busy building their own lives and don’t care about what’s happening in the country. Those people won’t read this article — because they simply don’t care.

In prison, I learned a rule often heard in the criminal environment: you must stand by your words. If someone doesn’t understand what they’re saying, I just stop communicating with them. It’s hard to offend me — and there’s no point in taking offense at stupidity, because, sadly, there’s plenty of it around.

Imprisonment Taught Me to Value Myself

The truth is, at the time of my arrest, I didn’t like myself at all. I often thought I wasn’t doing enough, that I could have done more. There were also moments of weakness when I was detained — moments I’m ashamed to remember — thinking, “Why was I arrested? There are more active people than me…” But after the trial, I was able to come to terms with the situation, realizing that things happen as they happen, and that’s just how it is. Then other questions arise: how to survive in prison, and how to preserve your dignity and principles. I’m grateful I managed to do that.

Now I feel I’ve become better. I take steps forward despite anxiety and fear. I’m starting life from scratch in a new country, feeling a rush of adrenaline, and I’m curious about what lies ahead. I do things that feel meaningful. For example, this summer I rescued nine kittens. They were brought to the clinic to be euthanized, but I couldn’t do it — and I’ve never done such a thing, even in Belarus — so I decided to raise them myself. It was a joyful moment when my kittens finally went to their new owners.

Why do you learn so quickly in prison? Because you can’t control everything. You do what you can and then watch what happens, hoping it will turn out okay. There are things you simply can’t bend to your will. Before, I tried to control every aspect of my life; now I’ve learned to approach life differently.

After three years of imprisonment, I realized I need to pay more attention to myself. To value myself and not demand the impossible. To do simple things just for myself. Recently, for instance, I went through the effort of making myself steak tartare. I mixed the sauce, chopped cucumbers, toasted the bread, and then ate the raw meat — and it felt so good! I could have skipped it and bought a simple hot dog from a store, but I wanted tartare. For some reason, I never allowed myself that before.

I’ve also started speaking Belarusian. For me, this is a very important step in my new life of freedom.