The Pain Didn’t End When the War Did
War followed me into every chapter of my life – from Sarajevo to the suburbs of Chicago
From the beginning of my journey, I always wondered why I had decided to embark on such a tumultuous path. I wondered what the purpose was – if there even was a purpose.
What I have discovered is that the answer isn’t always so simple. It’s a multi-layered and multi-dimensional process that is, more often than not, hard to put into actual words.
However, I decided to give it a shot and do my best—because the world deserves to hear it. Because you deserve to know that you, too, can get to the other side. That you can continue to grow and transform into a better version of yourself.
I always knew that one day I would share my story with the world, in one way or another. I knew that the words would have to come out of me one day, but I had no idea how or why that would happen.
I only knew it to be true. It is the only thing I knew, deep within my heart and soul.
…even when my heart and soul felt completely covered in darkness and pain.
Where Does It Even Begin?
I’d love to start at the beginning except, I don’t really know what the beginning is.
There are constantly beginnings and endings, flowing in and out of each other, throughout our entire lives.
Our life is one big beginning and one big ending.
I grew up believing there was nothing more to this life than us. That we’ll just go to sleep and that’s the end.
But if there’s anything I have learned through this journey, it’s that life and creation aren’t that simple. Not that simple at all.
If anything, that big “end” might just be an even bigger beginning.
Coming to the United States as a Refugee
I moved to the United States with my family as an excited, 10-year-old girl—full of life, dreams, and hopes.
What I didn’t know at the time was that this was just the very beginning of my journey.
Moving from one place to another wouldn’t fix my life or erase the trauma I had left behind.
At ten years old, you don’t realize that.
You just know that you are moving across the world, and you don’t even realize how big the world is at the time. You don’t realize what or who you are leaving behind.
You don’t realize that you may never see some of your family members ever again. Or that you may never see your home again—or at least, what was left of it after the war.
Yet, we didn’t really have a choice. We had to leave.
After the war in Yugoslavia had ravaged our hometown and country and we were left with nothing, we had to take the risk of moving across the world to try to have a better life elsewhere.
I remember the day we landed in Chicago and drove to Naperville, IL, to our first apartment. I was looking out the car window, my eyes wide.
The grass was truly greener here—not just metaphorically. It was beautifully cut and green, and looked perfect to me.
I didn’t understand anything at the time—why we were leaving our family and friends, why we had to move so far—and I certainly didn’t understand what had happened during my childhood.
I’m not sure I still do to this day, but I’ve definitely learned a lot about life throughout my journey.
And that’s where this piece of writing comes in. That’s where my need to express my experiences in some sort of meaningful way comes in.
Surrounded by Darkness
My life has been filled with darkness and light to the brim, and I never knew how to express any of it.
After all, I was only 2 years old when the first shelling on my hometown of Sarajevo happened. I didn’t understand any of it.
I was still in my developmental stages of childhood—the ones every psychologist says are most important (from age 2–6).
I don’t remember much of it, so I’ll try not to bore you with too many of the details, but what I do know is that I got to see and experience some of the biggest “evils” at a young age—and it impacted the rest of my life, up until this very moment.
By the time I was 4 years old, I weighed about 9 lbs—what a newborn weighs.
We had escaped to Croatia, while the rest of the kids in Bosnia were being “weaned off” of food.
When we returned, the drastic change from eating normally to eating practically nothing at all took a toll on my tiny, developing body.
I imagine that’s when my brain entirely changed, too.
I spent a month or so in the hospital, screaming out for my mother every night, trying to get the nurses to let her come sleep with me. I had formed a very severe attachment to her during that time.
I don’t remember what I was thinking at the time, or how I understood the situation, but I do know that I was terrified—all the time.
My mother used to say that young children like me at that age don’t experience fear, but I think that’s just something she told herself to feel better about my experience.
Don’t get me wrong—she was (and is) a wonderful mother—but I think it’s easier to deny some things than to accept that they changed your child’s entire life.
From War to Chronic Illness
That same year, I developed a rash under my armpit.
Urgent care said it was eczema and prescribed my first steroid cream. That cream would alter my life more than I ever could have imagined.
It would start a cycle of temporary relief, followed by worsening symptoms, hospital visits, and emotional chaos.
At 13, I fell in love with someone already carrying heavy baggage of his own.
He was my first everything—and that love became a reflection of the trauma I hadn’t yet named.
At 17, I lost all my hair. The doctors called it alopecia areata, with no known cause.
I was put on steroids and immunosuppressants, which caused life-threatening side effects. My body was shutting down.
Eventually, I shaved my head and tried to keep living. But inside, I was unraveling.
Road to Self Expression and Healing
I never really knew how to be myself in a world that constantly tries to tell you to be someone else.
I feared my own potential. I feared being loud, or too much.
I feared being me.
I pushed it all down. But the truth is, unexpressed emotions don’t disappear—they find other ways out.
They seep into the body. They show up on the skin. They haunt your sleep. They demand to be seen.
Sometimes I fear I’ll die without expressing the depth within my heart and soul.
Sometimes I fear my story will stay buried with me.
But that fear is exactly why I’m here, writing this.
To face it. To speak it. To finally let it out.
So if nothing else…
Cheers to that.
