It Could Have Been Different...

What can I share about myself? Life flew by so quickly. It seemed like there was so much time, but then suddenly, year by year, it started passing faster and faster. Now I sometimes wonder—did it all really happen? All those things from the past.

It started simply. Where to work? What to do? College wasn’t an option. I didn’t even hope to get in because I never thought it was for someone like me. I believed it was for other people, not me.

At first, I worked on a collective farm and helped my mother. We’d go to work early, at 5 a.m., and later I’d come home to look after my father, who was bedridden by then. After my father passed, I got a job in Brest as a nurse’s aide. I worked in a hospital, and those were good times. I worked hard and was praised for it. I felt valued and never mistreated. I even started to have some money, enough to help my mother a little. I lived in a dormitory in Brest, made friends with many colleagues from the hospital, and we’d spend time together—celebrating holidays, visiting one another. Those were truly good years.

Then I met a handsome man and got married. I was already pregnant when we wed, and six months later, my daughter Lena was born, followed by Edik. I was his second wife—that’s just how life turned out. He was a striking man, very charismatic. He boxed, stayed fit, and could tell stories that captivated everyone. His job was simple—he was a mechanic.

At first, we lived in the suburbs of Brest, in a house he owned. Then there was a fire, likely caused by a short circuit in the fridge. The house burned down, and while we dealt with the aftermath, we were given an apartment in Brest on Yanka Kupala Street because we had two small children. It was fortunate that housing was still being distributed back then.

My husband was an interesting man, to say the least. Neighbors envied me because he could step outside, gather everyone around, and create a lively atmosphere. He was charming and knew how to tell stories—about his army service in Krasnodar or his work. For me, Leonya was everything. If he said something needed to be sold or bought, I never questioned him. Whatever he decided, I did.

I looked after him constantly. If he drank with friends in the yard, I’d go out to bring him home. If he got into a fight, I’d visit his workplace the next day, making up stories about why he couldn’t come in. But by the late ’80s, things started to fall apart. Work became unstable, and he began drinking more.

By then, our kids were older. Edik had joined the army, and Lena, still living with us, was preparing to get married. Leonya’s drinking escalated, and I found myself chasing after him more and more—pulling him away from his drinking buddies who were dragging him down. Eventually, he started drinking at home and encouraged me to join him. He’d say, “You’re home anyway, so why not have a little drink with me?”

I’d barely drunk alcohol in my life before that—just a little with friends in my youth. But slowly, I started drinking too. After I retired due to a disability, and Leonya had little work, we both drank heavily. When my son returned from the army, he joined in too. They worked here and there, took odd jobs, but the drinking pulled us all down.

Years passed like that. Now, when I look back, I think about how I should have ignored everything and gone back to school. When I worked as a nurse’s aide, they even suggested it. I sometimes wonder how life might have turned out differently if I’d pursued it. I would’ve been more interesting to be around, more confident, and I wouldn’t have fallen into this spiral.

Why did I start drinking? Because I wanted to feel interesting, to feel like I belonged. I always felt like I wasn’t enough for my husband. I wanted to please him in every way.

You know, everything matters in life. The most important thing, of course, is family—your children and husband. That’s true. But I’ll also say this: you can’t forget about yourself. In those moments when you can do something, change something—don’t be afraid to do it.