“I want to help survivors cope with what they have been through”: Yuliia’s story of long years in Russian captivity, unbreakable hope, and the path to recovery

Photo: UN Women / Anastasiia Dereko

Yuliia, 45, spent 6 years and 3 months in Russian captivity. Originally from Donetsk, she was unlawfully detained by the occupation authorities in 2019. After a prisoner exchange on August 14, 2025, Yuliia settled in a small community in Kyiv region created to support people affected by the war. There, she is building a new life. In her interview with UN Women, Yuliia speaks about the years of captivity, the strength of hope, and the challenges she has faced since her release. Today, Yuliia’s voice is the voice of many women who have survived violence and captivity and have found the strength to speak about it, to fight, and to support others.

Could you please tell us about the safe space you currently live in, how you have arranged your home and everyday life here?

The environment here is very warm and supportive. The village is mostly home to internally displaced families, and our building accommodates people who survived captivity and sexual violence during the war. We all have difficult experiences, so there is a lot of understanding between people and a kind of silence that doesn’t require explanations.

You can live in the village for up to five years — hopefully, the issue of housing and the future will be resolved by that time. This is already my second apartment here. At first, I lived in a larger place, but when this new building was constructed, those of us who live alone were moved closer together. There is less space now, and sometimes I miss having room for my sewing machine and my belongings, but it is very cozy and peaceful here. After years in captivity, this place has become a safe space for me, where I can finally breathe a little and begin to recover.

What is your current situation with power outages? How do you cope with these challenges?

In our building, as in the rest of Kyiv, there were practically no outage schedules — we were constantly waiting for the situation with electricity and water to improve. The first problems with water supply started in September 2025 after massive attacks. Sometimes the water would be on and off for several days in a row, and sometimes there would be neither water nor electricity for several hours straight. At the moment, the situation has stabilized, and all the buildings in the village have been equipped with powerful generators.

But we have already become used to living in a state of constant readiness: as soon as electricity is back, we immediately charge everything — phones, laptops, power banks. I hardly watch TV, I just turn on the news sometimes. My sewing machine, of course, doesn’t work without electricity. I received it through a project that provides urgent interim reparations for survivors of conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV), implemented by UN Women and the Andreev Family Foundation. I also completed training with their support — and I am still learning. This became an important step in my recovery after captivity. I completed a basic computer course and sewing training — in particular, I learned how to make corsets.

But I actually started sewing while I was still in captivity. It was part of mandatory daily work — from morning until late evening, without choice or rest, for four years straight. I just made straight stitches automatically, following orders. I couldn’t make anything for myself. Only here did I make my first pattern myself and sew my own corset — and it felt completely different. Now this craft has a completely different meaning for me: not coercion, but an opportunity to grow and build a new life.

Photo: UN Women / Anastasiia Dereko

What did you do before the start of Russia’s aggression against Ukraine?

I am a physics teacher by education, although I never worked in that profession. I studied at Donetsk National University, attending both the Physics Department and the Accounting and Finance Department at the same time, majoring in physics, business economics, and finance.

For 15 years, I worked at an ice cream factory in Donetsk in the supply department. I worked my way up from economist to head of the supply department. I loved my job very much. It was my first and only workplace — I lived and breathed it.

When we got the opportunity to leave the city in 2014, my mother and my daughter moved to Dnipro, but I stayed to continue working and lived between the two cities. That decision later became one of the reasons why I ended up in captivity.

Now I am studying at Mariupol State University, which is currently based in Kyiv. I chose a specialization in practical psychology and am already finishing my exam session. I chose this field primarily to help myself cope with what I went through. I understand that many people will be returning from the war, and they will definitely need support. Perhaps one day I will be able to be helpful to others as well.

How did you stay in touch with your daughter and mother during your captivity?

In the first years after my detention, they did not even know where I was or whether I was alive at all. At that time, I was held in a secret prison in Donetsk and had no contact with my family. Later, I was transferred to a pre-trial detention center in Donetsk region, and then we were able to see each other, even though our meetings were very short and took place in a confined space. My daughter could visit only occasionally. In the last years of my captivity, we were allowed to make phone calls. I had some money to pay for calls to my family only because I worked there sewing. Those years of separation were extremely difficult.

When I was taken captive, my daughter was only 13 — she was still a child. Now she is almost 20. I used to be very involved in her upbringing and training, and it was very important to me. She had practiced figure skating, ballet, and dance since childhood. I raised her on my own and always tried to give her the very best.

We were finally able to meet early this year. It was our first real meeting after six and a half years — when we could hug each other without looking over our shoulders and talk about anything we wanted. Now I stay in touch with my parents by phone every day. We are planning to meet in the summer, when it is warmer. But even talking at a distance has become a great relief for us after years of separation.

Photo: UN Women / Anastasiia Dereko

Day of the exchange – August 14, 2025 – what do you remember about that day?

Back in 2019, I understood that the only way out of captivity would be through a prisoner exchange. In 2021, during the so-called trial, I was sentenced to ten years. This is the minimum sentence that the occupation authorities usually give. I was charged with espionage. In reality, people were detained simply for their pro-Ukrainian position — for crossing the contact line, communicating with friends, and similar things.

On the day of the exchange, we were at work when suddenly we heard over the radio that Svitlana [who returned to Ukraine together with Yuliia in the exchange on August 14, 2025] and I were being called to the medical unit. When we stepped outside, I immediately said, “This must be an exchange.” I thought so because I hadn’t requested any appointments, and accessing the medical unit was usually very difficult.

When we approached the checkpoint, I saw a lot of people in uniforms — shift supervisors, administration staff, guards. They were all standing there together, and there were unusually many of them in one place. I said again: “Svitlana, this is an exchange.”

We were taken to the library and told that we had been pardoned. They told us to sign some documents and collect our belongings. Then we were transferred to a men’s prison. There, we were taken into a room — we were told to undress and they took our photos. Later, when I saw captured men in the next room behind grates in the uniforms of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, I knew for sure: it was an exchange.

A military cargo aircraft was waiting for us at the airfield. First, they took the men out. They pulled garbage bags over their heads, wrapped them with tape, and tied their hands behind their backs. Svitlana and I were taken out last — our hands and heads wrapped the same way — and we were literally thrown onto the cold metal floor. When the plane took off, I realized that Svitlana was sitting at my feet. She started shouting — her hands had been tied very tightly. I held her with my knees because a cargo plane takes off very sharply. It was frightening, and we did not understand what would happen next. And it was cold. I asked them to untie my hands so I could get some warm clothes for myself and for Svitlana. Toward morning, another aircraft arrived at the intermediate airfield, and soon after, they brought another woman to us — Maryna from Luhansk [who returned to Ukraine as part of the exchange on August 14, 2025].

Around nine in the morning, we landed in Belarus. Before opening the aircraft ramp, they finally untied our hands. Then we were put on buses. At the exchange point, civilians and military personnel were separated, and we were taken to Chernihiv region. And it was something incredible — people came out to greet us with flowers and signs. I was crying. It felt as if the entire Chernihiv region was there to welcome us back.

I don’t know if I would have survived if I had realized at the beginning that there would be such a long sentence ahead. The only thing that helped me hold on was hope for an exchange and faith. I knew that I had people waiting for me. That my loved ones believed in me and that I couldn’t leave them.

What was your life like in the first days after your return?

When we were in captivity, it felt as if we were living in a dark cave — cut off from the world, from time, from reality. Life there seemed to stop, and we lost our understanding of how the world works now.

Even the simplest things became a challenge to me after my release. I couldn’t even figure out how to pay for public transport. When I asked about it, I was told that you just need to tap your bank card on the validator. It sounded almost unbelievable. Just tap it — and that’s it? And how do you pay in the subway? How do you create a Diia.Signature? It felt as if the world had taken a step forward without us over those six years.

The most difficult things turned out to be everything related to bank cards, documents, and digital services. All of it was scary because it was new and unfamiliar. Even simply walking to the police station on my own to restore my passport felt like a huge event. It’s only about two hundred meters from the hospital — but it was a long way for me.

Photo: from Yuliia’s personal archive

What are your plans for the near future?

I am still searching for what I want to do next. Right now, I have a home — temporary accommodation. I do not work, but I am studying. I am still undergoing rehabilitation and I really need positive emotions. I dream about the sea — just to be in a safe place for a while, to breathe out.

I want to be useful to society — to help people who have gone through similar experiences. Last autumn I completed a training for paralegals organized by UN Women and JurFem. It somewhat overlaps with my studies in psychology — topics such as captivity and CRSV are also covered there. I have already talked to a woman who survived a CRSV attempt, and I continue to support her. There are also many survivors in our town who went through captivity. If I have the opportunity, I would like to help people like them cope with what they have experienced. But first I need to become a little stronger myself and recover.

I lived without freedom for six years. Without the right to choose. Without a voice. Those were six years of trials. But today I am here — alive and with faith in the future. After my release, I felt supported. People helped me start a new stage in my life. For me, it was a sign: the world does see women who have returned from captivity.
I truly believe that supporting women is not only about words, but about concrete actions that help us recover and rebuild our lives. And today I want to speak not about loss. I want to speak about strength. About gratitude. And about the future we are creating together.

Women who return from captivity do not need sympathy — they need opportunities to move forward with their lives. I want to believe that the world supports women not only with words. We did not return to be pitied. We returned to live, to create, and to inspire.

I survived. And now I am moving forward.

*The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the individual featured and do not necessarily reflect the official positions of UN Women, the supporting organizations, or the funding partners.