You can hold a missile or a drone controller in your hands — or a history textbook. Olena does both.
Ahead of Ukraine’s Defenders Day, we spoke with Olena Totel, a participant in the StudMentor program. She went from a career in media to serving in a combat unit, and later became a mentor for schoolchildren from frontline regions who lost part of their childhood to the war.
This is a story about how war reshapes choices and destinies, how education becomes a lifeline for both teachers and students, and how history helps us understand what we are fighting for — and the future we want to build.
My name is Olena, I’m 29, and I come from Synelnykove, a small city 48 km from Dnipro.
Before the full-scale invasion, I worked in media as a manager, communications specialist, editor-in-chief, journalist, and investigative reporter. By training I’m a film director, and that’s what I always dreamed of doing.
When the war began, I went to Prague, but as soon as direct trains to Ukraine reopened in July, I returned. That’s when I realized I needed to consider joining the military. Soldiers were speaking about exhaustion and their longing to go home. I began to understand that when people said, “we’ll all have to fight,” it wasn’t just talk.
One day I came across a TikTok ad for my future brigade, “Khartiya.” It was aimed at women: “You can be whoever you want to be.” I filled out the form and was offered a role in the press service. I wanted combat duty, but agreed — and later transferred to an anti-tank guided missile unit. There I trained to operate Javelins, Stugnas, and other anti-tank systems. That was the beginning of my combat path.
When I joined, the brigade was just being formed. I felt I could influence its values. In “Khartiya,” we began speaking about patriotic education — first of all, for the soldiers themselves. They needed to understand why we were here and what Ukraine’s history really was. Many didn’t know, for example, that the Soviet Union’s presence in Ukraine was an occupation. It was crucial to explain this, to help people remember.
I believe this too is part of military reform. A small Soviet-style army cannot defeat a large Soviet-style army. We have to change.
Later, when we switched to drones, the war itself felt different. That’s when I had an existential crisis. I felt like I wasn’t doing enough.
Unlike firing a missile — where you immediately see and feel the result — with drones you sit behind a screen, watching from afar.
Around that time, I stumbled on a call for applications to the StudMentor program. It struck a chord with me. I felt it was unfair: I had the privilege of finishing school normally, without disruptions. Kids today lost not just lessons and knowledge, but socialization and basic life skills that are usually formed at school.
I thought: If I can help even a few children catch up, why not try?
When I was invited to the interview, my life was full of changes. I wasn’t sure I could balance military service and teaching, but I decided to give it a chance.
At the interview, I immediately admitted that I served in a combat role. The program team supported me: they said it would be difficult, but possible. What mattered most was the desire to help children. I went through training in mentoring and pedagogy, and after completing it, I was assigned to teach Ukrainian history to a group of 11th graders.
There were times I taught lessons from a dugout, losing connection mid-class. Sometimes I couldn’t teach at all — duty always came first. I couldn’t exactly tell my commander: “Excuse me, I need to teach a history lesson to 11th graders right now.” Still, everything worked out, and those eight weeks flew by.
Amid the chaos of war, when you can’t plan anything in advance, those lessons became an island of stability for me. Every Tuesday and Thursday, at the same time, I logged on to teach children from frontline regions.
Motivating teenagers was a challenge. At the media school where I used to teach, students came because they wanted to learn. In this program, the children were different: some joined out of their own interest, others because of their parents. In one class, I told them:
“You know there’s a war with Russia now. But let’s rewind to 2019 or 2020, when no one imagined this would happen. That’s why history matters: every event has causes. Looking back helps us understand the present.”
While my generation — people in their 20s and 30s — are fighting at the front, these children will be the ones rebuilding the country. What kind of Ukraine they build is our shared responsibility.
Those of us who return from war may say: “Please leave us alone, we just want to rest and recover.” That’s when reconstruction will depend on the new generation being formed right now.
If we raise a generation that doesn’t know the Soviet Union was an occupation, that doesn’t understand Russia has waged hybrid warfare against us since the 2000s, then we’ll keep repeating the same mistakes.
That’s why education is not just important — it’s essential.
