By Olha Chepil | 2026-03-13

When Russian forces occupied Berdyansk, Katya was 10 years old and terrified of the shelling. Three years later, she runs a football pitch in Kyiv, and her mother says she's the calmest person in the room.

Katya is one of millions of Ukrainian children displaced by war. Many have lost more than their homes. But across Ukraine, something unexpected is happening: children who survived occupation, shelling and upheaval are emerging stronger -- through football, dance and art.

Soccer defeats fear

Ekaterina Pozhidaeva was born by the sea in Berdyansk, in the Zaporizhzhia region. She fell asleep to the sound of waves and watched the sun rise over the water each morning. When the full-scale invasion began in 2022, she and her mother spent six months under occupation before fleeing to Kyiv. Her grandparents stayed behind -- they would not have survived the journey.

"The connection there is terrible, but I try to talk to them every evening. I can't get used to them not being here," 10-year-old Katya told Kontur.

In Kyiv, she rebuilt from scratch: a new school, new classmates, a new neighborhood. Then she discovered the soccer pitch.

"I love PE class. Our school has a field, and I watched the boys playing soccer. I gave it a try and realized I was actually really good at it. I signed up for the club, and now I play too. I love it so much!" she said.

Football did more for Katya than fill her afternoons. When her mother underwent major surgery in 2024, Katya stayed alone for 10 days with a colleague her mother barely knew -- cooking for herself, attending school, managing everything independently.

"She has matured so much. I see how soccer gives her that confidence," said her mother, Natalya Karachentseva.

"My advice to other kids: never stop dreaming. And if you want to try something new -- don't be afraid," Katya said.

'My superpower'

Nazar Romanenko grew up in Zolote, in the Luhansk region, near the front lines. After a mortar shell landed next to his house, he developed a nervous tic. His family fled, expecting to be gone two weeks.

"I'd give anything to go back there, even for just a day," the 13-year-old told Kontur.

In the Kyiv region, he found ballroom dancing.

"I discovered a talent in myself. I compete in tournaments and win awards," he said.

The Russians bombed his school to the ground. But Nazar says he has grown stronger, and more confident, in the years since leaving.

Liuba Shurdenko, 9, is also from Berdyansk. She lived through the occupation in a home shared with refugees from Mariupol before evacuating to Kyiv. Now, her world is made of paper and markers.

"My superpower is drawing. I draw characters -- girls -- on watercolor paper. It's my favorite thing to do," she told Kontur.

Her mother, Maria Shurdenko, believes children mirror the adults around them.

"Children react strongly to their parents' state of mind. We tried to remain resilient, to show them that everything would be okay -- that we are free and can start our lives over again," she said.

'Two treetops'

Sofia Stetsenko, a psychologist at the Voices of Children foundation, says talent is not the point. The real superpower is the ability to adapt, take responsibility, and support others.

"Yes, war is a trauma. Yes, there is collective fatigue and exhaustion. But post-traumatic growth is also possible," she told Kontur.

Stetsenko compares a child to a young tree: cut off the top, and it may stop growing -- but with support, it can grow two treetops instead.

"Children develop a new strength and a new faith: 'If I survived this, I can survive anything,'" she said.

The stories of Ekaterina, Nazar, Liuba and dozens of other children are part of the "Nitochka" (Little Thread) project, created by Voices of Children in collaboration with photographer Marta Syrko and the Museum of the History of Kyiv. Portraits are linked by a blue thread, a symbol of continuity and connection.

"This exhibition isn't about being broken; it's about transformation," said Olena Rozvadovska, co-founder of the foundation. "Childhood is a state that will never be repeated, and we want to preserve those memories."

Each child's dreams are written along the thread: a house in the Carpathians, a father's return from captivity, the courage to stay open to the world.

"Our children continue to live; they've stopped asking when the war will end. They simply live and dream," Rozvadovska said.