It’s difficult to think about anything else. Every morning we wake to worse and worse news, more unimaginably awful events that the innocent Ukrainians are being subjected to.
Families ripped apart, not knowing when or even if they will be reunited. People having to leave behind everything that is dear, familiar and comforting.
Human beings running, literally, for their lives.
Not being completely consumed with the terrible situation unfolding before our eyes is becoming increasingly hard. Is it acceptable to admit to be struggling with it?
Because how dare anyone who isn’t experiencing it first-hand talk about struggling.
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But what are the rest of us meant to do?
How are we supposed to carry on with our day-to-day routines, which feel more frivolous than ever against this backdrop of unthinkable terror, suffering, and grief?
In a spiky society full of disagreement, we are currently united in this dreadful feeling of powerlessness. Unlike Brexit, Covid and all the other issues that have divided us, this war is something we can finally agree on.
It’s heartbreakingly horrendous, The End. And so, of course, we donate whatever money we can to the organisations providing aid, maybe go on a protest march… and then what? At the weekend, I watched my seven-year-old in a tap-dancing show, and felt ashamed for doing so. For fiddling while Ukraine burns.
For having the luxury of putting a silly costume and tap shoes in his little bag while at the same moment other mothers were frantically packing their kids’ bare essentials so they could flee to safety.
Continuing with normal life here seems wrong, insensitive, an insult. The default small-talk weather complaints between parents on the school run the next morning were uncomfortable too.
It’s all different now, the context of everything has changed. Suddenly you realise what has always been true, really – we are unbelievably lucky to be standing in the rain on a grey Monday morning, doing the same old same old, having a completely ordinary time.
Following the news is traumatic, not following it is worse.
How can we live with ourselves if we switch it off, something that’s impossible for the Ukrainians to do?
And how can we live with ourselves if we leave it on, watching through our fingers, impotent spectators to the horror? It’s all just impossible.
And of course, in reality, coming to a standstill is not an option, and would make no difference anyway. Life has to go on, as it always does.
It’s one of the most brutal truths of existence – no matter what tragedies unfold for you, outside your front door the world keeps on turning regardless.
All we can hope is that the people of Ukraine know we are with them, thinking of them, praying for peace.
It’s not nearly enough, but at the moment, unfortunately, it’s the best we can do.
