REAL-LIFE DEFENSE INFLUENCER ⟩ Estonian Woman Moved from London to Ukraine to Help Soldiers

How do you manage interactions with soldiers?

I always have to think about what to wear. (Laughs.) In general, they are very polite and respectful. Most have excellent discipline. The older commanders tend to hug longer.

It’s usually easy to communicate with soldiers, easier than coordinating with other volunteers (who assist the Ukrainian army). Soldiers are always on time at the agreed location. They love dark humor. The fatigue and strain are becoming increasingly evident, especially this year.

How much and in what ways have the soldiers changed, particularly those you’ve known for a while?

Emotionally, they’ve become more detached. As individuals, they’ve changed completely. Many haven’t had a proper break, and the level of stress is overwhelming. They’ve become almost robotic. Perhaps, from a military perspective, that’s not a bad thing—maybe a professional soldier needs to be like that, focused solely on completing their tasks. But none of them ever wanted to become like this.

One of my acquaintances is in a special forces unit. When we first met in the fall of 2022, he was always cheerful and positive. You could easily read his emotions. But he’s witnessed so much loss among those beside him. He’s constantly on missions. He’s simply no longer the person he was. I can see how his relationships with loved ones have changed dramatically.

He’s only 26 years old. He was born in Luhansk, so for him, the war has been ongoing for ten years. When the Kharkiv offensive began this spring, you could sense his attitude: “Here they come again.” It was already difficult on the front, but now it’s unbearably hard. He no longer has words to express his anger, no words to express his sorrow. He just feels defeated. Yet, he must continually lead his squad into battle. As a squad commander, he has to make the right decisions and think clearly.

In a way, it’s good that he has so much responsibility, as it leaves less time for emotions and self-reflection. It’s all deeply repressed. I dread to think what will happen to him when there’s a longer pause and he steps away from this work—then everything will catch up to him. Right now, it’s all one big escape from emotions.

Can you think of another soldier whose transformation has been particularly striking? How have they changed?

A friend’s husband, who volunteered to become a soldier, was very positive and determined a year ago, ready to give everything in the fight. But now, he has practically resigned himself to the fact that he will die in the war.

A few months ago, after he was wounded in a tank attack on their base, he had his first opportunity during the war to spend an extended period of time with his children and wife. Upon returning from this break, he told me that it was probably his last time with his family, as he no longer has any hope of returning alive from the front.

I want to emphasize, though, that no Ukrainian soldier is ready to give up, because otherwise, the last two and a half years of fighting would have been for nothing. However, the emotional changes are very noticeable.

To what extent can you see and feel changes in the motivation of Ukrainian soldiers?

In 2022, the motivation was to end the war quickly. Now, the motivation has shifted somewhat, as everyone understands that the war won’t end anytime soon. No one can imagine what the end of this war will look like. If there were a clear understanding of how this war should end, it would be easier to fight. But right now, everything feels so distant.

At the moment, their motivation is to give their best every day. And of course, as I mentioned, after two and a half years of fighting, the losses are so significant that they must see it through to the end. Otherwise, all of this would have been in vain.

I also want to say that the sense of community between soldiers and the volunteers who support the Ukrainian army has grown stronger. There is immense anger and frustration over the diminishing aid from Ukraine’s allies. The feeling of solidarity is all the more important and powerful because of it.

What else has stood out to you in your recent interactions with soldiers?

Many soldiers are starting to think more about the kind of country they are fighting for. It’s clear that, at the state level, there are various issues. There’s disappointment, but many have a clear vision of the kind of country they now want to build.

A lot of frustration arises when soldiers see or read news about military aid from allies, but that aid doesn’t reach them directly. This could be due to miscommunication or a flawed system of distribution.

Could you describe the recent dynamics of the relations between the Ukrainian society and the army?

The polarization between society—soldiers versus the rest of the population—is very apparent. Nobody does anything for free anymore. Recently, we needed to park some ATVs that were brought as aid for the units, just for one night. This is aid for your country. We only needed to park them for one night. The response was, "Thanks for helping, it’s great what you’re doing, but that'll be 100 hryvnias (€2.20) for parking." This kind of attitude is especially common in Lviv.

This polarization is particularly visible now in Western Ukraine. At the start of the war, many people were giving their all to help the military and their country, but now, on the whole, that support has significantly waned. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to find help from locals when I approach them with something related to assisting the military.

Previously, if I asked for help with something like car repairs or for supplies from a store intended for the military, many things were either heavily discounted or free. People would put aside their other activities to contribute as much as they could. But now, that kind of enthusiasm isn’t really there anymore. Often, you can see that soldiers and volunteers have a very different sense of urgency compared to ordinary people who aren’t involved in the war on a daily basis.

And the encounters with soldiers in settings like restaurants are always somewhat surreal—for example, when someone at the next table is celebrating a birthday. They’re all dressed up, they’ve brought a photographer to capture the moment, and we’re sitting right next to them with a soldier who has come to essentially beg for help for his unit. Of course, life goes on, and I’m not saying no one should celebrate their birthday, but in those moments, we all pause and reflect: we’re in the same room, we’re the same people, but it’s like we’re living on different planets.

How did you get involved in helping Ukrainians?

When the full-scale war began, I came to the Poland-Ukraine border from London with a friend, Jordan Andrews, who’s a ski coach for the British junior ski team. It was the second week of the war. We started helping women and children. Most of them had no idea where to go or what to do.

We gathered money from friends and acquaintances, booked hotels, bought plane tickets, and helped with documents. I spent all my free time here. I would spend two or three days at the border, then go back to London for three or four days, and then return again. Even when I had to work at the office in London, I was constantly in touch with others at the border, raising money. There were about ten of us volunteers coordinating refugee transport across Europe. In three or four months, we helped thousands of people. I’m still in contact with many of the families.

What drove you to help? Did you have any prior connection to Ukraine?

No, I did not have any previous connections. It all started with Jordan. He had been to Ukraine many times for competitions and training. He had many friends among cross-country skiers and biathletes. We had a roller skiing club in London, and we trained together in Hyde Park.

In the early days of the war, Jordan was in Poland for a competition. He immediately drove to the Ukrainian border. What he saw there, and what he showed me via video, affected me so deeply that I felt I had to go, I couldn’t just stay behind. I simply wanted to go and do something. When Jordan came back to London for a short time, we both returned together.

And how did you move from helping refugees to assisting Ukrainian military units?

In the summer of 2022, I realized that it was more important to help soldiers, especially medics. That summer, the first off-road vehicles arrived, which the soldiers had bought with money raised by their families. I helped them purchase the vehicles in England, where prices remained low for a long time. We filled the vehicles with aid collected by local organizations. I personally drove several times from London to Lviv and Kyiv. It took about 30 hours to reach the Poland-Ukraine border, and from there, it was a lottery how long it would take to get through.

And then you moved to Ukraine?

I spent a year going back and forth. By the summer of 2023, I realized I could no longer live in London while occasionally coming here to help. It felt strange to go out in London, to sit in restaurants and drink cocktails, knowing how much I could accomplish here with that same money.

So, I moved. At first, I was mainly in Kramatorsk. I didn’t have a permanent place until I moved to Lviv this summer. My rent is $300 a month. Honestly, I don’t really like Lviv, but it makes the most logistical sense because the cars and other supplies come here. (The border is 65 kilometers away – J.P.) If needed, I can quickly cross the border.

Does that mean you gave up the work you were doing in London?

I still have a job. I don’t want to live off donations. Living in Ukraine allows me more time and opportunities to help while still working.

How do you balance working in London, living in Ukraine, and helping the army with regular trips to the front?

When the war began, I was working at a large U.S. software company, leading their marketing efforts in London. They allowed me to work remotely a few days a week in Ukraine, but then I had to return to London. I had only started working there a month before the war. My colleagues and the company’s owner supported me by raising funds, but I wanted to spend more and more time in Ukraine.

Presently I work as a marketing director for the Blend cultural festival in Barcelona. This job helps me maintain stability and my own income. My goal is for every cent collected to go toward aid. That’s why I work. The job also helps me detach a bit from the constant needs in Ukraine because the demand for help can be overwhelming.

And the people running the festival were okay with hiring you even though you live in a war zone? You didn’t hide that from them?

I told the company right away that my condition was that I could work from Ukraine. And that sometimes, things might happen. I was in Kyiv when a children's hospital was hit. I was downtown at the time. I had never gone to a shelter before, but this time, we ran.

Afterward, I went to my hotel, opened my laptop, and held a meeting with my team. Everyone was talking about their weekend, and that’s when it hit me what had just happened. I said, "I don’t want to spoil your mood, but there was a big attack in Kyiv just now." They were shocked. From the news in Europe and elsewhere, you might not fully grasp that the war is still raging here, and this is everyday life.

How have you structured your aid work? As far as I know, you don’t work directly with any specific aid organization.

I work directly with various units, but also with different organizations when we can implement projects together. Generally, I work with units that I know well because I can’t provide aid on a large scale. I mostly coordinate various forms of assistance—for example, between local volunteers and organizations or with volunteers in England and the U.S. who help run programs and secure support. When units need something, I connect them with organizations I know can assist them.

In short, I hustle as much as possible to support the military. I haven’t fully aligned myself with any single organization because each focuses on its own area, or they operate under principles I don’t fully agree with. It’s better to work independently. I refer to myself as an independent volunteer. However, it’s clear that connections and collaboration with organizations and other volunteers are crucial. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be possible to operate on such a scale. Working alone doesn’t get you very far.

How did your first connections with the Ukrainian military units come about?

Through Jordan, I got acquainted with skiers who were in various military units. As I helped them, new connections emerged. Word of good deeds spreads very quickly here, and there aren’t that many foreigners around.

How do you decide which ones to help and which not to? In my experience, all units need and ask for help.

There’s a limited number of units that do good work and ask for support. Most units want everything, and always in large quantities. I always do my homework, researching the background of a unit I don’t know. For example, where are they located? Are they truly a frontline unit, and is their current position at one of the most critical points of the front? I only help those who meet these criteria.

There have been plenty of lessons learned along the way. Some units always claim they need everything, and later you find out that they’re just stockpiling supplies in warehouses, in the best-case scenario.

If someone declines an offer of aid, to me, that’s a green light. It shows that they can be trusted and are straightforward about their needs.

How often do you meet with the units? Do you always personally deliver the aid?

When helping a new unit, I meet the men face to face for the first time, but after that, it’s not as important. It’s not practical to personally deliver something like a drone each time. The fuel costs would be too high, and it takes a lot of time. From Lviv, it’s 1,200 kilometers to the eastern front.

Of course, it’s important to meet with the units and their commanders from time to time. I visit them because the situation changes so much and so quickly. Feedback from the unit is also important. Sometimes they update me on how things are going, and I regularly check in on them myself. It’s not just a matter of “see you next time when I bring something.”

You mentioned you’ve already had your fair share of lessons learned. Can you talk about some of them in more detail?

One thing I’ve learned is that sometimes the loudest cries for help come from places where, compared to other brigades, the need isn’t as desperate. For example, I had a soldier acquaintance who reached out with an urgent plea for a vehicle to help with evacuations. He sent me numerous videos showing how they had to transport injured comrades in an open pickup truck during the winter.

Clearly, they needed better conditions for evacuating the wounded. But when I spoke to his brigade commander, I learned that there were actually other units in the brigade that didn’t even have a basic vehicle for evacuations. Since I had the opportunity to provide an evacuation vehicle through an organization, this information was crucial in ensuring that aid went where it was most needed.

Prioritizing is very difficult because, of course, help is needed everywhere. But there are some units that always ask for everything, even when they may not need it all at that moment. Through these experiences, I’ve learned whom I can trust, how to determine if a request is genuinely critical, and to do more background research before committing to help someone I haven’t worked with before.

You said it’s getting harder to stay motivated. What keeps you going right now?

The only thing that keeps me motivated is meeting with the soldiers. When I see how tirelessly they continue their work—work that is far, far harder than mine—it gives me strength. They keep fighting because they have no other choice. Successful aid projects also provide a boost of energy. Everything else tends to drain motivation.

What do you mean by "everything else"?

By "everything else," I mainly mean the fact that the war has been going on for so long. I’ve found it increasingly difficult to articulate the need for help because I feel like I’m constantly repeating myself—making another urgent plea for drones, vehicles, and so on. Sometimes it feels like people care less and less. And of course, the hardest part is when someone I know is killed in the war. Unfortunately, that’s happened too many times over the last couple of years.

The war hardly makes it into the news globally anymore. People are tired of it. No matter where I go, even in Estonia, everyone asks me, "When will this war end?" What am I supposed to say to that? Everyone asks this question, but no one asks, "How can I help to bring this war to an end more quickly?" But I’m not giving up. I’ll keep going as long as I can.

How does it feel when you go to Europe, which isn’t at war but still feels "war fatigue"? Do you see it as normal that people want to live their lives as usual, no matter what, or is it discouraging?

In some ways, it’s normal. At the beginning of the war, it was much harder to deal with the anger when I went back to London. Everyone was talking about where to go for pizza or cocktails, and for me, those were two completely different worlds. Now I’ve gotten used to it. It’s natural if it doesn’t affect you directly. I’ve come to terms with it. But it’s still disheartening. In Estonia, I noticed that people avoid the topic of the Ukraine war.

Why do you think that is?

There could be various reasons. Maybe they don’t see an end to it. It’s like, "Okay, I donate, but what difference does it make?" It’s an old story, but if everyone thinks that way, nothing will change. Another reason could be that some people feel guilty for not doing anything, so they avoid talking about it. Occasionally, some acquaintances reach out, saying they’d like to help, but there aren’t many of them.

How do you see your future?

Right now, I’m here, helping for as long as I can. I probably won’t live in Ukraine until retirement. (Laughs.) Here, I have the freedom to stand for what I believe in. When I moved here from London, I felt like I had escaped from prison. In my 20s, I worked tirelessly to build my career, but what I’ve achieved by helping Ukraine has given me a far greater sense of accomplishment. Looking back, my previous life feels like it was just pointless ticking away. I moved away from Estonia when I was 18. The thought of moving back to Estonia is a bit frightening.

How has living in Ukraine and constantly seeing death and loss through the soldiers affected you?

I never believed I could carry so much on my shoulders. I’ve definitely become much stronger in sticking to my principles. I trust my instincts more now. I get to do what I believe is right for me, and that’s incredibly important.

Emotionally, there are times when I hit a limit. When that happens, I take a few days off. I go into nature, as far away from people as possible. But unfortunately, even then, I have to keep my phone close by, because even when I take a break, someone might be bringing a vehicle across the border and needs documents that I have to sort out. You can never fully disconnect here.