Michelle84

About Michelle84

My daughter Yana and I came from Ukraine when the war started. Just two bags. My husband, Yana's father, he could not leave due to army. I try not to talk about this because I cry in public and it is embarrassing. The last time we heard from him was Christmas, two years ago. Two minutes, so much static, I could barely hear his voice. I keep his photo on the refrigerator. Yana kisses it every morning.
Being here alone is difficult to explain. American grocery stores are overwhelming, too big, too many choices, I walk around feeling lost. After parent-teacher meetings, I sit in my car and cry because I understood maybe half of what they said, just nodding like an idiot. Yana asks why her friends have big families and big houses, and we have one bedroom. When she goes to sleep, I am alone. No one to talk to. I pretend I am okay.
This past summer, a man from church named Robert, invited us to his pool. He said it was a nudist place, very casual, like "oh, bring a towel if you want, but you don't need a swimsuit."
I grew up in Europe. Beaches. Swimming with cousins with no clothes. This was never a big deal for me. But the social part? Making small talk with strangers while naked? That was terrifying.
But I was desperate. Yana had no friends. I had no friends. We spent weekends just existing, me cleaning the same three rooms over and over, her on her tablet. Both of us lonely.
So I said yes. Then I panicked.
The whole drive I was sweating. Yana kept asking "Mama, are we really doing this?" and I kept saying "we can leave anytime" but my hands were shaking on the steering wheel. I made her promise not to tell anyone at school.
We arrived and I almost backed out, literally put the car in reverse. But Robert came out, fully dressed, thank God, and he was just normal. Kind. He introduced me to Linda, who has a daughter Yana's age, and the kids immediately ran off to see the pool.
I don't remember exactly when I took my clothes off. I think I just did it fast, like ripping off a bandage. Then I sat in a lawn chair and waited for someone to be weird. But nobody was. Someone handed me a glass of wine, my first in months because I am cheap and wine is expensive at the store, and asked where I was from. Just normal conversation. About Ukraine, about the weather, about how hard it is to find good bread here.
Yana was in the pool within ten minutes. Laughing, actually laughing. Someone gave her a big ice cream sundae. Another kid taught her a game with a beach ball. She was getting attention from adults who weren't me, which I think she needed more than I realized. Attention I couldn't give when I was working double shifts and falling asleep during homework help.
In the car on the way home, she was quiet. Then: "Mama, can we go back?"
I cried the whole way home. Happy tears, sad tears, "I miss my husband" tears, "my daughter is growing up without a village" tears. All of it.
We have been going back ever since. Not just the pool, they have potlucks, movie nights, holiday parties where everyone brings food from their culture.
It is not really about being naked. It is about being seen. not as the Ukrainian refugee" or "the single mom" Just a person. A mom trying her best. Yana has friends now. Real friends, she gets invited to sleepovers, she has inside jokes, she talks about her "pool friends" constantly. I have friends now too.
Life is still really hard. I still haven't heard from my husband. I still have days where I want to get on a plane and go home, even though home isn't there anymore.
But I actually feel like I can breathe.
That is it. That is us. Just doing our best.

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