Інесса Кривенко is a representative of Ukrainian women in Norway who today speaks about things that cannot be measured by numbers or status: inner transformation, the strength of experience, and the new identity of women in times of global change.
Her perspective was formed at the intersection of two realities — the Ukrainian one, marked by war and loss, and the Norwegian one, where adaptation becomes not only a social challenge but also a deeply personal one. At this point of intersection, a special perspective is born: honest, restrained, and at the same time uncompromising in its precision.
In her reflections, Inessa speaks about women who today are not simply changing countries of residence — they are changing the way they think about themselves. About those who go through ruptures, losses, and new beginnings, yet do not lose the most important thing — the ability to remain themselves and continue building life even in instability.
This is a text about strength that does not require demonstration. And about a voice that is formed where old definitions end and a new reality begins.
After the War, Women Became the Mirror of Society
War never destroys only cities. It destroys illusions.
And one of the greatest illusions shattered over the past years is the belief that human strength is measured by words, status, or public image.
In reality, great upheavals always reveal what is genuine. They very quickly show who is capable of building even among ruins, and who begins destroying everything around them even more.
I think about this often while living in Norway after Ukraine.
Once, I had a life with a clear structure. I worked as a practical psychologist, child psychologist, managed a professional development center, had a professional environment, plans, opportunities, and confidence in the future.
Then the war began.
And it turned out that between the person “before” and the person “after” there is an abyss that cannot be crossed without inner transformation.
Emigration is not simply relocation. It is both a political and psychological test.
Because in a new country, all external decorations disappear very quickly. Previous status no longer works. No one is particularly interested in who you were in your former life. The world asks a different question: who are you now, when everything has been taken away?
And this is where the most important part begins.
War Created Two Types of Strength
It seems to me that today Ukrainian women have become a separate social phenomenon.
We see women who, after losing their homes, stability, professions, and familiar worlds, did not lose their ability to live.
They work. Learn languages. Raise children. Rethink themselves. Make mistakes, cry, become exhausted — yet continue moving forward.
And there is no pathos in this.
On the contrary, true strength is almost always quiet.
It does not require constantly proclaiming oneself a “strong woman.” It does not need demonstrative correctness. It does not live in an endless desire to prove one’s importance to the world.
Such women do not spend their lives fighting for moral superiority over others.
They spend it on living.
But war has also created another type of behavior.
When trauma stops being an experience — and becomes an identity.
When a person becomes so accustomed to inner conflict that they can no longer exist without it. And then any space — professional, female, social — turns into a territory of constant tension.
We see this everywhere.
In endless arguments. In the need to control others. In public aggression disguised as “principled behavior.” In the strange habit of constantly searching for enemies even among one’s own people.
And the most dangerous thing is that such behavior is often disguised as strength.
Symbols Do Not Yet Create Maturity
Our time has generally become an era of external symbols.
You can wear the right clothes. Say the right words. Demonstrate the right position. But none of this has any meaning if a person internally remains in a state of destruction.
True maturity is revealed not in declarations.
But in the ability not to turn one’s own pain into a weapon against others.
This is an incredibly difficult thing, especially after war.
Because war gives a person the moral right to pain. But it does not give the right to endlessly make that pain the center of everyone else’s life.
And it seems to me that this is one of the greatest challenges facing Ukrainian society today — not only in Ukraine, but also within the diaspora.
Not Everyone Can Handle the Freedom of Responsibility
The hardest truth is that not everyone goes through crisis in the same way.
There are people who, even after loss, remain capable of empathy, work, creation, and not destroying others.
And there are those who gradually begin to live only through resentment, conflict, and inner war.
And here arises a question society does not like to ask honestly: is it possible to help a person who does not want to leave their pain behind?
As a psychologist, I once believed that almost anyone could be pulled out — through support, the right words, empathy.
Life turned out to be harsher.
Help is only possible where a person is at least minimally willing to take responsibility for their own condition.
Without this, any support turns into endless maintenance of someone else’s chaos.
After the War, Quiet People Hold the World Together
It seems to me that the history of any country after great tragedies is never saved by the loudest people.
It is saved by those who, despite fear and exhaustion, continue doing their work.
Those who did not allow darkness to completely change them.
Those who, after everything they have endured, are still capable of creating a space of life around themselves rather than a space of war.
And these are exactly the women I consider truly strong today.
Not because they never broke.
But because even while breaking, they did not make destruction the meaning of their existence.
Photo: Inessa Kryvenko