Ukrainian Women on War, Marriage, Family Duty, and Emotional Survival Across Generations

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2026/04/04

By Scott Douglas Jacobsen and Anastasia Bura (Translator, English-Ukrainian)

Liubov Polischuk is a Ukrainian interview participant whose recollections focus on Soviet and post-Soviet life. In the conversation, she discusses scarcity, propaganda, military surroundings, restricted travel, prayer, and Ukrainian independence. Her comments emphasize lived experience across political change, including daily survival, faith, memory, and wartime moral perspective over several decades. Tetiana Shuliaka is a Ukrainian interview participant describing civilian life during Russia’s war against Ukraine. In the conversation, she recounts nightly drone threats, prayer, fear of missile strikes, and the pressures of self-defence. Her remarks connect contemporary danger to longer Soviet patterns of military industry and constrained freedom for civilians. Anastasia Bura is the youngest participant in this group discussion and is the translator (English-Ukrainian) in this interview. 

In this interview, Scott Douglas Jacobsen speaks with Liubov Polischuk, Tetiana Shuliaka, and Anastasia Bura about womanhood, family, emotional restraint, and war in Ukraine. Polischuk reflects on Soviet and post-Soviet life, marriage, labor, faith, and generational expectations of men. Shuliaka describes her responsibilities as a doctor, mother, and daughter while treating soldiers and civilians during wartime. Bura, serving as translator and participant, explains cultural patterns around masculinity, communication, and emotional control. Together, they explore marriage, forgiveness, independence, wartime love, and how war reshapes ordinary life, relationships, and moral endurance across generations in contemporary Ukraine through intimate testimony and lived memory.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: From your personal experience, how has it felt to be a woman in Ukraine over time, especially in professional life?

Tetiana Shuliaka: I see myself in many roles. I am a mother and part of a family. I am a doctor who feels responsible for my patients. I am a daughter who cares for my mother. I am an older sister who tries to guide and support others. I do not like to focus on myself, but I am a very responsible person. I often feel that responsibility constantly and cannot fully relax. Like many women, I would like to have time for myself, for ordinary things in life, but responsibility is always there.

During the war, this feeling has become even stronger. I treat soldiers and also help civilians who are suffering. Many people have been displaced or traumatized. As a doctor, I realize that I must also act as a psychologist, helping people cope emotionally. Before the war, we did not think much about this role, but now it has become an important part of my work and my duty to others.

I have my relatives here, including my mother. I have always felt a strong sense of responsibility, both before the war and now. I have a good son, a good husband, and a good mother. I have a stable and supportive family. I live a comfortable life. I have an apartment, a house, and everything I need. I have achieved this because I am a responsible person. This is only my personal view. My mother can speak for herself, but I can also speak about our family. She has been successful and, as a result, has built a stable life. She has everything she needs—a home, security, and the ability to take care of herself.

I have a comfortable life because I have everything I need. My children, my mother, and my relatives are healthy, and my family has stability. I believe this comes from being a responsible person who can carry many responsibilities. The war has changed my work as well. Now I must not only be a doctor in the medical sense but also something like a psychologist. I treat soldiers and must help them not only physically but also emotionally and mentally.

But my life is not only work. I also sew and embroider. I have a garden and a small country house where I grow flowers and tomatoes and prepare preserves. My happiness is tied to my work and activities. I admit that sometimes I may be overloaded, but perhaps that is why I do not fall into depression or thoughts of despair. I encourage people to have hobbies and meaningful activities. Even as doctors, we have taken special training courses. If I see that someone close to me has fallen into depression for more than a month and has stopped taking care of themselves, I should recognize this and help them. We support people so that no one becomes isolated or overwhelmed. There is a great deal of grief around us. If you look honestly at the situation, you will see suffering everywhere. But we must endure. As our soldiers say, we must survive this war one day at a time.

Shuliaka: Would you like to add something? I would also like to hear about you.

Liubov Polischuk: I am a pensioner now. I am seventy-eight years old. Because my husband was in the military, we moved frequently from place to place, and I worked wherever I could. My first profession was as an engineer and mechanic. I also trained as a railway technician and worked in Komsomolsk-on-Amur in the Far East. Later, we moved again and lived in Poland for several years. Throughout my life, I worked in different positions whenever we relocated.

I always tried to live as a responsible woman and mother. When we had little money, I sewed and knitted clothes for my children. I did everything I could for my family. I worked hard to make sure my children studied well and had opportunities in life. For several years, I hired tutors for them so they could succeed in school. I also took care of my husband and my household. Many women stayed home, but I worked as well. In Kyiv, I held several different jobs. I worked in a supply department, later as a chemist at a pharmaceutical factory, and in other positions as needed.

When my husband died at the age of forty-four, all the responsibility for the family fell on my shoulders. I had to care for my children and support my family. My mother still lived in the village, and we visited her often. We also rented a small summer house for the family. That is how we lived and worked. I am simply part of my family. That is how I would describe myself.

I worked constantly throughout my life and learned many different professions. I have always been a very hardworking person. I supported my family and cared for my children. I wanted them to receive a good education, so I hired tutors for them, even when money was tight. I made sure they were well cared for and properly dressed. When my husband died, the entire responsibility for the family fell on me. I took whatever jobs were available wherever we lived.

Now I work on my own creative projects. I do embroidery by hand. I sew pictures and decorative works. If you visit our home, you will see many of these pieces. They are handmade. This was also my husband’s hobby, and it became mine as well. I cannot live without work or activity. I have many embroidered pictures, often with religious themes. There are icons as well. In our tradition, we keep icons in the home. When my daughter married, she and her husband did not have icons. They were married in the Emirates, and I believed it was important that they be blessed with icons. So I brought them icons when I visited Canada.

I would divide Ukrainian men today into three groups: those who fight, those who left the country, and those who stayed. Many who stayed continue working because the state granted them exemptions from military service to maintain essential economic activity. They pay taxes and support the country in that way. Some also try to avoid military service and hide from mobilization. As in any country, I believe that people must make their own choices and take responsibility for them. A man should have the ability to make his own choices.

Today, men are more modern. In the past, they had far fewer opportunities to develop themselves. Many men worked for a salary and had little chance to build their own businesses or careers. Today, the situation is different. Men can start businesses, pursue education, and develop themselves more quickly. In the past, opportunities for advancement were limited, so it is difficult to compare generations directly. Many men in the Soviet period worked only for wages because there were few alternatives. Today it is different. Some men are satisfied with what they already have, while others continue to push forward and develop themselves further.

Jacobsen: I remember a small cultural moment in Kyiv that I found interesting as a foreigner. I was staying with a friend who lives in the Pechersk district. One morning, I asked him how he was doing. He replied, “I am going to the gym.” Baffling, he answered what he was going to be doing and where he was going in general terms – no feelings. I found it amusing and wondered whether that reflects how men socially respond in Ukraine.

Anastasia Bura: May I answer that question, please?

Jacobsen: Of course.

Bura: In Ukraine, people often answer questions practically rather than discussing their feelings. If someone asks how you are doing, you might answer by describing what you are doing rather than how you feel. It reflects a practical mindset. Traditionally, men were raised to believe they should not cry or openly express their emotions. They were told to be strong and not show vulnerability. Because of that upbringing, many men still keep their feelings to themselves. It was even stronger in previous generations. Today, attitudes are changing. For example, I would not tell my son not to cry because he is a man. Older generations were raised more strictly with that expectation.

Jacobsen: In that tradition, the idea was that a man should be judged not by what he says but by what he does. Actions mattered more than words. People would ask, “What did you actually do?” Feelings were considered less important. What mattered was the result of your actions.

Bura: Personally, I think that in many post-Soviet countries, men were raised to suppress their emotions. They were not encouraged to show pain or vulnerability.

Jacobsen: Emphasize that phrase.

Bura: Yes, men were raised almost like unemotional beings. They were not allowed to express their feelings openly.

Jacobsen: “Creatures” makes it sound like something emerging from under a bridge at night.

Bura: Yes, that is not quite what I meant. I meant human beings who were raised without permission to express real emotions. They were expected to be strong at all times. A common phrase was, “Do not cry—you are a man.” Many boys grew up hearing that. Only recently has that begun to change. My generation has mostly stopped telling our sons not to cry, though not everyone has abandoned that idea. Men are still often raised with the expectation that they must remain strong and emotionally controlled.

Shuliaka: It was almost like an unwritten rule. Your male friend: When you asked how he was doing, he answered with what he was doing. In that tradition, men are often judged by their actions rather than their words. For example, a woman might say, “How many flowers has he given me?”

Jacobsen: In North America, there is a phrase: “Words are cheap.” When I think about it, that phrase has a similar masculine tone. When I travel and spend time in other cultures, translation technology can help with language. Still, it does not fully capture social meaning. When you live inside the culture for a while, you start to notice patterns in everyday interactions. Moments like the one with my friend stand out. When I asked him how he was doing, meaning how he felt, he answered, “I am going to the gym.” 

From his perspective, that answer communicated that he was doing well. He was active, strong, and functioning as a capable Ukrainian man. The emotional language itself was not necessary. In that sense, men may express their feelings through actions rather than words, while women often express those experiences verbally. It creates a noticeable cultural distinction between genders. You can find similar patterns in North America, but there is also more variation there. Sometimes people do not know what to expect from those roles anymore. Every society negotiates these trade-offs in its own way.

Bura: Yes, that is a very noticeable difference in our culture, and it is quite strong.

Jacobsen: When you were falling in love, building relationships, and having children, what did you want or expect from the men in your life? What did you hope for in a partner? How did those expectations look in your relationship with your husband?

Liubov Polischuk: Since we belong to different generations, I think about what women expected from men in each period. When I was younger and looking for a husband, certain qualities mattered to me. If I begin with my grandmother’s generation, she wanted a man who was a good хозяйственник—a good provider and caretaker of the household. In the village where she lived, that meant a man who could manage everything: work the land, care for animals, repair the house, and make sure food was brought home. He needed a profession and the ability to support the family.

In my parents’ generation, the man was clearly the primary provider. He was responsible for supporting the household and making sure the family’s needs were met. My father was like that. He tried to do everything—organize family life and work, slaughter pigs for food, repair the house, and fix roofs. He made sure the household functioned properly.

In my own generation, it was still important for a man to have a profession and a stable position in society. That is one reason I chose a husband who was older than I was, because he had already built a career. When it came to my marriage, I wanted a man who had already established himself in life. My husband, Slavik, was nine years older than I was. By that time, he was already a captain and a doctor. He had a profession and stability. That mattered to my family as well.

In the earliest generation, men were expected to manage the household and help with all practical work, especially in rural areas where families had livestock and agricultural responsibilities. Women needed men who were reliable in maintaining the household and supporting the family, someone who could help sustain the home and family life.

Jacobsen: A wolf that has been trained.

Liubov Polischuk: Exactly—a strong person you can rely on.

Jacobsen: How old were you when you first fell in love, and how old were you when you married?

Liubov Polischuk: It happened very quickly.

Jacobsen: In one day?

Liubov Polischuk: Yes, in one day.

Tetiana Shuliaka: She saw him in the evening, and he proposed the same day.

Jacobsen: Really?

Tetiana Shuliaka: Yes, seriously.

Bura: It was not a joke. They truly fell in love.

Jacobsen: How old were you at that time?

Liubov Polischuk: I was twenty, and he was twenty-nine.

Jacobsen: Some people might call that infatuation.

Liubov Polischuk: He told me that he had never met someone so sincere before.

Jacobsen: Jacobsen: That is a very sweet thing to say. I will share an example from my own family. My Dutch grandparents met before the Second World War. My grandmother lived to be ninety-six years old and died many years ago. My grandfather died much earlier. I never met him because he had been born prematurely and had serious lung problems from early in life.

As history shows, Germany went to war with much of the world during the Second World War and ultimately lost. My grandfather was part of the Dutch underground resistance. He learned German and fought against the Nazis. During those years, he wrote love letters to my grandmother for six years while he was involved in the resistance.

For six years, he wrote letters to her, but she did not respond. When the war ended, he returned to the farm where she lived. He still hoped to see her again, even though she had never replied to his letters. Six years without a response, and he continued writing.

When he finally saw her again, he asked why she had never answered his letters. 

“What letters?”

Jacobsen: She had never received them. At that time, many families had traditions that the eldest sister should marry first.

Bura: Yes, similar traditions existed in Ukraine.

Jacobsen: It turned out that her older brothers had intercepted the letters for six years. During the war, you never knew whether people would survive. By chance, they both did survive. Eventually, the truth came out, the situation was resolved, and they decided to start a new life together. Later, they emigrated to Canada and continued farming there.

In Canada, they became Dutch farmers, in Ontario, near Toronto. They had three sons and two daughters. My grandfather died before I was born, and my grandmother died many years later at the age of ninety-six. I met her a few times.

I am reflecting on the contrast between your story of falling in love and marrying very quickly and the long life of my grandparents, who lived together through many historical events.

Polischuk: My husband came into my life in a rather unusual way. I had first met his uncle. His uncle liked me and said he wanted to introduce me to his nephew. Later, when my future husband, Igor, was on vacation in Kyiv, his uncle told him, “You should go to Samara and meet a good woman there.” At first, he did not want to go. He said, “Why should I travel from Kyiv all the way to Samara just to meet someone you recommend?” But eventually he decided to go.

When he arrived in Samara and saw me stepping off the train, he immediately decided that he would not leave Samara without me.

Jacobsen: That sounds very determined. Did it take much persuasion after that?

Polischuk: About three to five days.

Jacobsen: Three to five days. At that time, what was the best way for a woman to encourage a man to commit to a relationship?

Polischuk: Somehow. 

[Laughing among all three women.]

Bura: Perhaps she does not want to reveal all of her secrets.

Jacobsen: That may be the first rule of the secret craft of women, Female Freemasonry.

Polischuk: My father was a war correspondent during the Second World War. He participated in the liberation of Budapest and Vienna. During the war, he was wounded and became disabled. In our family, men were highly respected. My father had a strong presence in our lives. When I was born, he was already a captain. Later, he became a senior officer in a military medical unit and eventually headed a hospital and a separate medical battalion. He had a certain status in the family. Even though he was often on duty, we always knew that we had a father. My mother managed most of the daily matters—food, clothing, and household life—but he remained an important figure for us.

Shuliaka: When I married, I wanted a man who would be worthy of that role in the family. I did not want a husband who would stand below me in life, because by that time I was already a doctor. I wanted someone with a profession and dignity.

My husband and I met through mutual friends. He was an IT specialist who had studied at Kyiv Polytechnic Institute. I respected that because it meant he was educated and capable, and he respected that I was a doctor. We felt that we were equals. I also wanted to be interested in him intellectually, not only to have a provider.

Over the years, he has continued to surprise me with his actions. He has a very analytical mind as an IT specialist. He does not speak much about feelings. Sometimes I ask him, “Valera, why do you not tell me that you love me?” And he answers, “Do you not see how much I have done for you?” That is his way of expressing love. We have lived together for thirty-three years. I asked him that question once, and I did not need to ask again. That is his character. Actions rather than emotional expressions or words—that approach is very cultural.

For me, a man should still be the support of the family. Even though both partners may work and share responsibilities, I still want the man to be someone you can rely on, someone with strong shoulders to lean on.

In our family, we try to help one another so that everything works out well. We share responsibilities and support our children. Marriage is very important to us. Ideally, a person marries once and builds a life together. My mother married once. I married once. I hope the same for my children. Divorce and starting new families can be very difficult, especially for children. Children suffer when families break apart. I am grateful that my children did not have to grow up with situations like a mother’s boyfriend or a father’s girlfriend.

In our family, the men have always been the foundation. None of them was an irresponsible person. They were worthy men, and that is the example we try to follow. The men in my family, both my father and Tetiana’s father, were respected and responsible people who held important positions in society. Because of that example, I also wanted a husband who was strong, dignified, and serious in his profession.

We believe it is important to educate children well, teach them how to behave with others, and guide them in life. Slavik, for example, is the result of our upbringing. You have worked with him, so you know him. Raising children requires effort and attention. Parents must be involved and set expectations. That is how families remain strong.

I wanted the same kind of reliability for my children’s marriages. For example, I have a daughter, and we helped her decide whom to marry. Before she found the right partner, there were three other suitors. Each of them was politely discouraged by the family. We believe that marriage should ideally happen once in a lifetime, because the decision influences not only the couple but also their children. Because of this belief, we try to guide our children carefully in choosing a partner.

Jacobsen: What is your generation’s expectations about men, Anastasia?

Bura: Yes. In my generation, many women want a partner who is reliable and who has his own professional position. But he should not only be a financial provider. He should also be a companion, someone who motivates and understands his partner. The relationship should be based on equality. Both partners have their own rights, opinions, and hobbies. Ideally, those interests overlap, but even when they do not, each partner should respect and understand the other’s passions. For me, it is important that my partner supports what matters to me and that we share something meaningful beyond simply raising children and managing a household. There should also be a deeper emotional connection. Sometimes that emotional connection is more difficult because many men were raised in the Soviet tradition, where fathers and grandfathers were taught not to express emotions openly.

Jacobsen: They went to the gym a lot.

Bura: Yes, exactly. Even if men do not go to the gym, they still feel the need to stay active and keep doing something. For example, my husband is always busy. I rarely see him simply relaxing or thinking quietly. He is always working on something. During the war, this became even more intense. Perhaps he feels he is not doing enough compared to the men fighting for Ukraine. Because he is not on the front line, he may feel that he must compensate by taking on more work and more projects. He keeps himself constantly occupied. That creates a challenge for our family life, because sometimes I would like him to be more present with our family and with me. This is not only my situation. Many of my friends experience something similar with their husbands.

Jacobsen: When women talk about this among themselves, what words do they use to describe the situation? Women’s expectations have changed across generations. At the same time, men often continue along a trajectory similar to that of their fathers. How do women describe their frustrations? And what do they do about it? Do they divorce, accept it, or try to work through it 

Polischuk: I did not have very serious conflicts in my marriage. If something difficult had happened, I would have tried to talk about it first. I loved my husband very much, so I would have forgiven certain mistakes. Of course, there are limits. If something truly unacceptable had happened, I might have left.

I am capable of supporting myself and living independently. However, when we were younger, I needed to stay in Kyiv so my children could study there, which made separation more complicated. Still, my first response would have been to communicate and try to reach an understanding. If we could solve the problem and continue living well together, then the marriage would continue. But if the situation became impossible, then I would leave.

Shuliaka:I would also try to resolve problems through communication. I would explain my point of view and try to find a shared solution with my husband. In most cases, when difficulties arose, my husband made efforts to meet me halfway, and we reached a compromise. However, if that had not happened, I would have left the relationship, because I value my independence and would not accept anything I found unacceptable.

As for me, I also try to resolve problems through communication. But if my husband does not understand or does not change something important, I might eventually consider leaving. At the moment, during the war, I would not want to make such a difficult decision. We also have two small children, and I do not want to break the family during such a stressful time. But after the war, if the same problems remain unresolved and the situation still does not satisfy me, I am independent enough to make that decision if necessary.

Jacobsen: What about you, Anastasia? Have you already decided how you would handle such situations?

Bura: For now, I will wait until the war ends. During the war, it is very difficult to make major life decisions. Everyone is under emotional strain. It is better to wait until the war is over and see whether things change. If nothing changes, I am still young. I am twenty-seven years old, and I still have much of my life ahead of me.

Shuliaka: Yes, it is important to weigh the advantages and disadvantages. As psychologists sometimes advise, you can make a list of positives and negatives. When you look at them clearly, you can better understand the situation. In my case, I always knew that if something truly serious happened, I could return to my mother for support. These circumstances influence decisions. My situation was different. When we lived in the Far East, I needed to come to Kyiv. My children had to study there, and the family situation made that possible.

Bura: Yes, you were more independent in that sense.

Polischuk: Yes. Life circumstances shape what choices are possible. Now I have children and responsibilities. When you have a family, you must think carefully before making decisions like divorce. Families often go through many difficult situations. Sometimes the stories that happen in families could fill an entire film. But in the end, you try to keep stability and move forward.

Bura: If a woman is independent, she has more freedom to choose her own path. But if she depends on someone else, she often has to adjust to that situation.

Jacobsen: How do Ukrainians approach forgiveness? When there is a serious conflict with friends, family members, or partners, how do people give and receive forgiveness?

Polischuk: In my case, if there are very serious conflicts and we cannot reconcile, I distance myself from those people. I stop communicating with them and move on. I try to forget the situation and avoid mentioning it again. However, I value friendship very much. I still have friends from school and from technical college, as well as colleagues with whom I worked for many years. With true friends, I forgive many things. I try not to create conflicts and sometimes pretend I did not hear something hurtful. I prefer to live peacefully. But if someone begins to interfere with my life or cause serious harm, I separate myself from them and continue living my life with the people I trust and care about. I do not know whether this is the perfect approach, but it is how I have learned to live.

Bura: Sometimes it is difficult to find common ground with people. However, there are certain friends I have known since school or college. With those friends, I can forgive almost anything because our connection is very strong, and those relationships are very valuable to me.

Shuliaka: As for me, my attitude toward people depends on how close they are to me. If something unpleasant happens to someone in my immediate family—my children, my mother, or my sister—I treat it differently. My mother can say anything to me, and I can respond openly to her, and we will not remain offended.

When it comes to friends, colleagues, or more distant acquaintances, friendship also requires effort. You must maintain contact, meet occasionally, exchange gifts, and invest time. Friendship is also work. But if someone has very different values or a completely different worldview, I reduce contact with that person. I communicate less and create some distance. Usually, the person understands this without needing an explanation. In general, I treat my close circle differently from people who are less central to my life. The cold shoulder.

Sometimes people ask why I do not say anything directly or start an argument. But I prefer not to escalate conflicts. My mother endured many things in her life, but I do not feel the need to suffer in the same way. I have two children, and I must think about them as well.

I am not the kind of person who humiliates others or tries to offend people. But if someone humiliates me, I will permanently distance myself from them. I do not try to punish people, but I remove them from my life. That may be part of my personality.

I also believe that when you marry someone, you do not marry only that person. You marry their family too. Sometimes there may be only one or two people in that family who are truly reasonable, perhaps even fewer. But if you build a good life with your husband and your family functions well together, then that is what matters.

Bura: In simple terms, it means that marriage sometimes brings difficult relationships, especially with extended family. There is a common saying that you do not marry only the man—you marry the whole family.

Shuliaka: Not every relative, of course, but the family is always part of the relationship. Sometimes it is better to accept that and manage it carefully.

Bura: Even if a husband does not openly take sides, he may still feel loyalty to his family. That can create tension.

Shuliaka: Are you married?

Jacobsen: No. I am single, never married. I do not have children.

Shuliaka: That is very interesting.

Jacobsen: Perhaps fortunate for now.

Shuliaka: Do not go there.

Jacobsen: I am a lover, not a fighter. That topic could lead to a much longer conversation. But even during war, people still fall in love. I once overheard a woman say publicly that she decided to have a baby during the war, and that some women see it as brave for other women to have children in wartime.

I can convey this in an image. People can still paint a landscape during a war. The painting itself might look like a landscape painted during peaceful times—for example, a view of Maidan Square or a scene from Kyiv. The image may appear unchanged, but the frame around the painting is different. Because of the war, the painting’s meaning changes.

The same could apply to falling in love, getting married, or having children. The actions themselves are the same, but the context—the frame—changes how people interpret them. How does war change that meaning?

Bura: That is an interesting question. People can paint the same landscape in peacetime or during war. The image itself might not change, but its meaning does. It is like a metaphor. The same life events—falling in love, marrying, having children—still occur. But the backdrop of war shapes how people experience and understand those moments.

Polischuk: Of course, the war changes things. Even when men fall in love or marry, the circumstances are different now. Especially for those who are fighting, their experiences and emotions become stronger and more intense. Families who have soldiers at the front feel everything more deeply.

Shuliaka: For example, my husband’s cousin Valera went to the war when he was about thirty-two or thirty-five years old. One morning at four o’clock, he went to his position. He was the last soldier walking along the path. Three others had already passed safely, but he stepped on a mine. The explosion tore off one of his legs, and when he fell, his arm was also severely injured. He was a mathematics teacher before the war and had a family who depended on him. Imagine how suddenly his life changed. A young man with his entire future ahead of him lost an arm and a leg.

Bura: She explains that soldiers sometimes lose limbs—arms or legs—but life continues. Some had girlfriends before the war and later married despite their injuries, even if they returned home in a wheelchair or with physical and psychological trauma. Lyubov says that people who experience war often feel emotions more strongly afterward.

Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, everyone.

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