After fleeing Ukraine at the start of the war, Natalia arrived in the U.S. determined to rebuild—but instead found herself navigating a web of legal delays, health challenges, and uncertainty. With support from CWS and the strength she carries through laughter, she continues to hold on to hope as she pieces together a new life from scratch.
At six o’clock in the morning, Natalia’s* phone rang. Her brother, calling from Australia, didn’t waste any words.
“The war started. You need to leave. Now.”
Just outside Kyiv, Russian troops were advancing. She had barely an hour to pack. She left behind her apartment, her neighborhood, and the life she had carefully built over the years. She has not returned since.
Natalia’s departure from Ukraine in February 2022 was abrupt, but not entirely unexpected. “I knew something was coming,” she recalls. In the days leading up to the full-scale invasion, she had barely slept. Just 24 hours before Russian forces crossed the border, she had even been involved in a minor car accident. The timing felt cruel, but she laughs when she describes it.
“I guess it was my turn for bad luck. But at least it was just the car,” she says, smiling.
There’s a lightness in her voice as she recounts moments that many would describe only with tears. She laughs often, sometimes while describing the very worst days. But behind the laughter is a quiet tension—a weight that never fully lifts.
New Country, New Uncertainty
After days of navigating crowded trains and border crossings, Natalia eventually made her way to the United States, where she was admitted through a humanitarian parole program created for Ukrainians displaced by war. She arrived in August 2022, determined to rebuild her life.
In Ukraine, Natalia had spent over a decade working as a marketing professional. She hoped to continue her career in the United States, but quickly found that her experience didn’t easily translate.
“Here, employers expect perfect English—and they expect work authorization paperwork to be fully in place,” she explains.
Despite submitting all the required paperwork, administrative complications left Natalia without the physical work authorization card employers require. According to federal records, the card was issued—but it never arrived. The situation remains unresolved.
“I checked everywhere—my mailbox, my building management, the post office,” she says. “The system says it was delivered. But I never received it.”
Without that document, finding employment has been nearly impossible. Even when employers are willing to interview her, the missing paperwork often halts any opportunity before it can begin.
Recent policy shifts have only added to the uncertainty, as processing times for humanitarian parole renewals have slowed under increased administrative reviews. For many Ukrainians like Natalia, these delays mean months—or years—spent in legal limbo, unable to fully integrate or plan for the future.
“Even when you do everything right,” she said, “the system keeps you waiting.”
The Hidden Cost of Waiting
While Natalia’s legal status remains uncertain, a much more personal crisis has emerged. Earlier this year, a routine medical check uncovered a serious health risk: a precancerous condition requiring immediate surgery.
“If I didn’t have health insurance—which I was only able to get because of help I received here—I wouldn’t have even known I was sick,” she says. Her surgery went well, but her health insurance is set to expire in the coming months. “That’s my biggest fear now—what happens after? It keeps me up at night.”
At 34, Natalia lives with the layered weight of war, displacement, legal uncertainty, and health challenges—all while trying to build a life from scratch.
But remarkably, she keeps laughing.
“My therapist says I’m one of the strongest people she’s met,” Natalia says with a smile. “Maybe that’s true. I’m still standing.”
A Lifeline of Support
One of Natalia’s most important supports has been her therapy, which she calls her “lifeline.” In a city known for its harsh pace and dizzying challenges, it has helped her process the traumas of war, separation, and displacement.
She also credits Church World Service for helping her navigate the confusing maze of paperwork, applications, and immigration procedure.
“I am so grateful for CWS,” Natalia says. “Without their help, I don’t know how I would’ve managed all of this. They were the first—and sometimes the only—place I could turn to for help.”
*For the protection of this individual, pseudonyms have been used.
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